What? Nothing. Good. The boy ran before Grant could decide whether to pursue him. The mail came that afternoon.
A rider from Elk Crossing brought ranch notices, a bill from the blacksmith, and a cream colored envelope addressed to Grant. He opened it beside the kitchen table. Hannah was sorting dried beans. His expression did not change much, but she saw the small tightening near his mouth. What?
Grant handed her the card. The annual Elk Crossing harvest supper. First Saturday in October, church hall. Families and guests welcome. Hannah read it once, then handed it back.
You'll enjoy yourself. Grant folded the invitation. We're going. We, you, me, the children. One bean slipped from Hannah's fingers and rolled across the table.
No. Grant looked at her. No, I'm working here. Yes, I'm not family. The words came out more quickly than she intended.
Grant's expression went still. Hannah began gathering the beans. You and the children should go. I'll stay here. Why?
She almost laughed. He truly did not understand. Because I have no wish to spend 3 hours being inspected by women who already know exactly what they think of me. Grant leaned one hip against the table. Hannah.
Her hands stopped again. Her name, not Miss Pierce. She wished he would stop doing that. She wished he would say it again. Grant took the invitation and placed it on the beans.
You work at High Meadow? Yes. You live at High Meadow for 8 weeks. His jaw shifted at that only slightly. Then he said, "The children want you there." Hannah looked toward the doorway.
Molly stood in the hall. Henry was behind her. Of course, they had been listening. Molly asked. "You'll come?" Hannah swallowed.
Grant did not press. That made refusing harder. She looked down at the cream card. Elk Crossing, a room full of familiar faces, women who had watched her grow from a heavy girl into a heavier woman, and considered every unmarried year confirmation of their judgment. She could already hear their voices.
Grant reached for his coffee. We leave at 3 Saturday. That sounds less like an invitation. It was was You took too long answering. Hannah stared at him.
He drank his coffee. Henry turned away, shoulders shaking. Hannah picked up the harvest invitation and read it again. Saturday, 5 days. She could manage one supper.
She had managed worse. But that night, standing before the small mirror in her room with her best burgundy dress spread across the bed, Hannah pressed both hands against the fabric and wished for one foolish moment that she could become somebody else before Saturday. Downstairs, a chair scraped across the dining room floor, then another. The children were setting tomorrow's breakfast places. Hannah descended 20 minutes later and stopped outside the doorway.
Her chair stood beside Grants again. He was already seated, reading his mother's old book beneath the lamp. He looked up. Neither of them mentioned the chair. Hannah crossed the room and sat down.