him in there alone with her sister. And that just would not do. Gwen never volunteered for anything that even came close to resembling work.
No, she’d let the handsome Elijah Eversole go on off to his kitchen duties with the menfolk. She needed a word with her sister.
She lingered at the table, waiting to get Gwen alone, but then she left with Mother to look at something she wanted her to embroider for Crockett. One thing her sister could do and loved doing was needle work. Laura had taught her, and she truly excelled.
So, Cecelia hung around a little more hoping for bit of time with Mister Eversole.
Her father dashed those plans, taking her subject straight from the kitchen to his office then monopolized him until staying at the table all alone seemed ridiculous, even to her. She meandered up to her room.
How to broach the topic of the debonair houseguest with her sister consumed her thoughts. Though she kept starting over, no good intro came.
Maybe she’d write Mary Rachel a letter. Taking her stationery Mother had insisted she have monogramed in New York from the desk drawer, she sat and opened the inkwell. She dipped her pen and put it to paper.
Dear Mary …her oldest sister knew Elijah well, should she ask her about him? Elijah has arrived. He’s down with Daddy now . She sat back in her chair.
After a few hoots of the old owl out in the tree by her window, she leaned forward again and dipped the tip of her new pen. Cecelia Belle Eversole. CeCe Eversole. Mis’ess Elijah Eversole.
The double E looked beautiful. She loved the flourishes they allowed. Mis’ess Cecelia Eversole. She liked the S’es alliteration, too. Her first name proved a fit—Gwendolyn Eversole—oh, yes, much better than her sister’s.
Again and again, she wrote it. Hers flowed right into his and looked so pretty. She’d need a plan if she were to have him. And one flitted into her conscious, a good one.
But then a fly flew right into the ointment of her daydream and flapped its tiny wings to beat the band. Wait. She could enlist help.
Upon reflection, getting Bonnie—or Heaven forbid, Houston—to comply wouldn’t be that hard. Would it? Shouldn’t be. So, she tried her new signature again and again, filling the page with and without her middle name.
The Carol didn’t really sound appropriate, but it did still look nice.
Tomorrow! What a great day it promised to be.
Henry leaned over the crib, gently lifted his hand from its last pat, then straightened and waited to see if Crockett would stay asleep. The littlest Buckmeyer exhaled then took to sleep suckling.
Once he tucked the man-plant in, he slipped into bed and May’s waiting arms.
He kissed her cheek. “He’s almost two. Isn’t he getting a bit long of tooth to still be nursing?”
She kissed him back. “Oh, darling, he’s still a baby.”
He laughed. “If he gets to where he can unbutton your blouse by himself, then he gets weaned.”
“We’ll see. Now if…” She let her voice trail off. Even in the pale moonlight, he could see the wheels turning. Him and his big mouth.
“We already agreed. One’s enough.”
“Didn’t you tell me that Sue nursed all her babies until the next one came along?”
“All but Houston.” He let the declaration hang between them, wafting on the crickets’ song more than a few heartbeats. “We were young and stupid.”
“Not so. You, my love, were never stupid. Young? I’ll give you, but short of brains? No, sir.”
“Perhaps. Speaking of smart young men, what did you think of Elijah?”
“Oh, he seems very capable, entertaining, and kind, but I’m telling you, he’s brought trouble. I’m afraid we’ve got a problem.”
“How so?”
“Didn’t you see him staring at the girls?”
“I noticed him watching them play with Crockett, but I wouldn’t call it staring.”
She laughed. “And I don’t suppose you’d say our daughters were staring back even harder either.”
“Gwen and
No, she’d let the handsome Elijah Eversole go on off to his kitchen duties with the menfolk. She needed a word with her sister.
She lingered at the table, waiting to get Gwen alone, but then she left with Mother to look at something she wanted her to embroider for Crockett. One thing her sister could do and loved doing was needle work. Laura had taught her, and she truly excelled.
So, Cecelia hung around a little more hoping for bit of time with Mister Eversole.
Her father dashed those plans, taking her subject straight from the kitchen to his office then monopolized him until staying at the table all alone seemed ridiculous, even to her. She meandered up to her room.
How to broach the topic of the debonair houseguest with her sister consumed her thoughts. Though she kept starting over, no good intro came.
Maybe she’d write Mary Rachel a letter. Taking her stationery Mother had insisted she have monogramed in New York from the desk drawer, she sat and opened the inkwell. She dipped her pen and put it to paper.
Dear Mary …her oldest sister knew Elijah well, should she ask her about him? Elijah has arrived. He’s down with Daddy now . She sat back in her chair.
After a few hoots of the old owl out in the tree by her window, she leaned forward again and dipped the tip of her new pen. Cecelia Belle Eversole. CeCe Eversole. Mis’ess Elijah Eversole.
The double E looked beautiful. She loved the flourishes they allowed. Mis’ess Cecelia Eversole. She liked the S’es alliteration, too. Her first name proved a fit—Gwendolyn Eversole—oh, yes, much better than her sister’s.
Again and again, she wrote it. Hers flowed right into his and looked so pretty. She’d need a plan if she were to have him. And one flitted into her conscious, a good one.
But then a fly flew right into the ointment of her daydream and flapped its tiny wings to beat the band. Wait. She could enlist help.
Upon reflection, getting Bonnie—or Heaven forbid, Houston—to comply wouldn’t be that hard. Would it? Shouldn’t be. So, she tried her new signature again and again, filling the page with and without her middle name.
The Carol didn’t really sound appropriate, but it did still look nice.
Tomorrow! What a great day it promised to be.
Henry leaned over the crib, gently lifted his hand from its last pat, then straightened and waited to see if Crockett would stay asleep. The littlest Buckmeyer exhaled then took to sleep suckling.
Once he tucked the man-plant in, he slipped into bed and May’s waiting arms.
He kissed her cheek. “He’s almost two. Isn’t he getting a bit long of tooth to still be nursing?”
She kissed him back. “Oh, darling, he’s still a baby.”
He laughed. “If he gets to where he can unbutton your blouse by himself, then he gets weaned.”
“We’ll see. Now if…” She let her voice trail off. Even in the pale moonlight, he could see the wheels turning. Him and his big mouth.
“We already agreed. One’s enough.”
“Didn’t you tell me that Sue nursed all her babies until the next one came along?”
“All but Houston.” He let the declaration hang between them, wafting on the crickets’ song more than a few heartbeats. “We were young and stupid.”
“Not so. You, my love, were never stupid. Young? I’ll give you, but short of brains? No, sir.”
“Perhaps. Speaking of smart young men, what did you think of Elijah?”
“Oh, he seems very capable, entertaining, and kind, but I’m telling you, he’s brought trouble. I’m afraid we’ve got a problem.”
“How so?”
“Didn’t you see him staring at the girls?”
“I noticed him watching them play with Crockett, but I wouldn’t call it staring.”
She laughed. “And I don’t suppose you’d say our daughters were staring back even harder either.”
“Gwen and
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