Chapter 48
“I’D BE MOST OBLIGED, Mrs. Dunham,” Mr. Daniel continued, “if you would attend the dinner parties at my home when we host the upcoming gatherings for vendors. All of the dinners. And you must save a couple of dances for me. Does that sound fair to you?” He tossed her a look of victory as he closed the door.
Josephine just stared after him.
“You know he would’ve thought of it eventually.” The barest hint of humor edged Dodge’s tone. “And considering the circumstances, it doesn’t seem like too big of a request.”
“I suppose not . . .” She slowly peered up. “Hezekiah.”
He gripped his chest as though mortally wounded. “Oh . . . now that hurts.”
She smiled. “I’m only joking. It’s not a bad name.”
“What about . . . Hezekiah Eustace Coburn?”
“I hope you thanked the bull for sparing you that dreaded fate.”
“More times than you would believe.”
She laughed softly, and something in his expression, in the way he looked at her, stirred the memory of that kiss.
She wondered again what it might have been like to meet him before all of this.
Then again, would she have even noticed him while marching at rallies, flanked by suffragist sisters?
Something told her she would have. Because Dodge Coburn was a most memorable man, even without his given name.
Breaking their gaze—just as he did—she glanced at the mantel clock and adopted a casual tone. “I think I’ll head back to the boarding house. It’s a bit early, but supper duties await, and Calla can always use the help. Not that I can cook, mind you.”
A look passed across his face that gave her pause, then she realized . . .
“Wait,” she said. “Did Uncle Jack tell you about what happened in Miss Mary’s kitchen?”
“You mean with your biscuits hard as rocks and sausage gravy a congealed mess? No, he didn’t. But Mrs. Gibbs did. Twice. Even after me telling her she’d already told me.”
“That woman . . . She absolutely detests me.”
“Detests is a pretty strong term.” He paused. “Loathe might be better.”
She smiled a little. “So you’re headed to Tullahoma?”
“Yes, ma’am. For the white arsenic and a few other things.”
He walked her outside where Jessie remained dutifully waiting, her tail wagging, and he closed the door behind them. “One last question before you go?”
She paused by the top step.
“Is it someone at the boarding house? Who you referred to before?”
It took her a moment to realize what he was asking. “Dodge, I really can’t say who it is. It would reveal a confidence that’s not—”
“Yours to share, I understand. But I’d like to help, and think I can. Especially if it’s someone I know.”
“I appreciate that, and I’m sure they would too, but—”
“Is it Calla?”
She faltered for an instant.
“Because if it is,” he continued, “I hope you’ll tell me. She’s mighty special to us, Bethie and me. And was to Kathleen, too.”
Josephine struggled for what to say that wouldn’t break a promise but that also wouldn’t be another lie.
“While I haven’t been here long, Dodge, I actually have gotten to know many people, and not all of them are associated with the boarding house.
Besides, we both know how Miss Mary feels about drinking, and Calla is the last person in the world who would ever want to go against Miss Mary’s wishes. So please, can we just—”
He held up a hand. “All right, I get it. I’ll leave it alone.”
Relaxing again, she took the porch steps to the street, grateful he’d accepted her response. “Be careful on your trip. Especially if you come back late tonight.”
“I know these hills as well in the dark as I do in the day.”
“I know, but still. Do you need help with Bethie?”
He shook his head. “I’ll ask George Green if she can stay with them for the night. Bethie and his daughter Moriah are fast friends.”
They walked to the corner where he gave her a parting salute.
“Dodge?”
He glanced back, and Jessie did too, the cattle dog panting in the afternoon heat.
“Thank you again for your understanding today. It wasn’t deserved, from either of you, and I know it.”
His smile came slowly. “I’ve always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.”
“That’s an easy one. Abraham Lincoln. But I’m impressed. This from a man who barely knows how to read.”
His laughter followed her as she turned and walked back in the direction of the boarding house.
The upheaval of emotions from the last couple of days gradually caught up with her and, on a whim, she stopped into Velma’s Candy for a long-desired purchase.
She chose three chocolate-covered caramels and three pralines—with Calla and Miss Mary in mind—and ate her two on the way home.
Delicious didn’t come close, the chocolate silky on her tongue, the pecans rich and buttery.
As she turned onto Miss Mary’s street, the late afternoon sun spilled across the blue-green hills, bathing them in a hush of golden light.
Thick stands of hardwood forest—hickory, oak, maple, and walnut—boasted hues too numerous to count and, even now, hovering above the highest rise, a shimmer of pink danced against the flawless blue sky.
A trick of the heat or humidity perhaps, but still so beautiful, and her vision blurred with unshed tears.
She couldn’t deny the beauty of this place or the surprising depth of community she’d found here, and in so short a time.
While grateful, she felt unmoored and displaced, another world away from who she was, or had once been.
So far from Atlanta, Sarah, her students.
Did they even think of her anymore? Sarah did, she knew. But her students . . .
She’d seen enough teachers come and go to know how quickly most students acclimated and moved on. Which was what something inside her told her she needed to do. To move on. But to where? If she knew that, she would have already done it.
As she hurried up the walkway to the boarding house, an idea came as to how she might get the letter she’d written to Sarah delivered, along with the money, while still keeping her whereabouts hidden. Eager to speak with Calla, she reached to open the front door when it opened with force.
Miss Mary, a satchel in each hand and her expression fierce, marched across the porch and down the walkway. “When I say no liquor in my house, I mean no liquor in my house!”
Josephine froze. Calla! Somehow Miss Mary had found out. Thoughts colliding, she fought for what to say in Calla’s defense. Something—anything—that would change Miss Mary’s mind.
Then Mr. Morgan, a traveling salesman who’d checked into the boarding house two nights earlier, came running out. “Please, Miss Mary, I won’t do it again. I-I must’ve forgotten the bottle was in my bag!”
“Well, maybe this will help you remember.” With impressive strength, Miss Mary hefted the satchels and tossed them into the street.
One of the bags, apparently not latched, came open, and clothes went flying, along with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s that landed with a thud in the hard-packed dirt.
“And don’t bother asking to stay here again. ”
“What if I pour it out right now? Would that change your mind?” Mr. Morgan looked from the street back to Miss Mary. “And even if I can’t stay, can I still take my meals here?”
Miss Mary’s thunderous glare needed no words.
The man silently gathered his clothes, stuffed them into the open satchel, and trudged toward the town square.
Huffing, Miss Mary strode into the house. “I cannot abide somebody taking shelter in my home while disrespecting my rules.”
Josephine followed her into the foyer and found Calla standing just inside, a stricken look on her friend’s face.
“And did you hear him?” Miss Mary paused, hands on hips.
“Having the nerve to ask for a seat back at my table. My lands, what is this world coming to? People everywhere seem to be losing their minds. Just look at this.” She grabbed a newspaper from the side table.
“One of them suffragists in New York City attacked a judge right outside his home. All for not voting the way she thought he should. And he was with his young daughter!”
Josephine stiffened. She’d seen that article when scouring Mr. Daniel’s newspapers in recent days. Feeling Calla’s attention, she hadn’t forgotten how Calla had found her suffragist sash beneath the bed, yet had obviously said nothing about it to Miss Mary.
“When did people decide the rules don’t apply to them?” Miss Mary continued. “I just can’t for the life of me understand how—” Miss Mary suddenly stopped short. Her face paled, and she swallowed hard. She pressed a hand to her waist.
Josephine reached out, recalling the morning she’d seen Miss Mary in the field and wondering again if her hunch then had been right. “Are you unwell, ma’am?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” Miss Mary took a deep breath. “Just got myself too worked up, is all. Well, come on, you two. Supper won’t finish itself.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
But Calla didn’t move, her focus moving to the street. “Lord, help me, Josephine. That’s gonna be my fate, too, once she finds out.”
“She won’t find out.” Josephine lowered her voice. “You’re going to get through this, Calla. And I’m going to help you do it.” Although she didn’t have the slightest idea how to do that yet.
Later that evening, with supper dishes done, the kitchen set to right, and menus for the next week decided, Miss Mary was saying good night when Josephine remembered her impromptu detour on the way back that afternoon.
“Before you go, Miss Mary, I got you and Calla a little something today.” She reached into the cloth bag and handed them each a chocolate-covered caramel along with a praline. “It’s from Velma’s Candy on the square. Consider it a very small token of my appreciation for all you’ve done for me.”
Calla stared at the candy in her palm. “You got any idea how long it’s been since I ate anything not of my own making?”
The softness in Calla’s voice touched her, as did the look of pleasure when Calla popped the caramel in her mouth. “Oh my, that is some kind of good.”