“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Yes,” the woman says. “At least I hope you can. Is this the home of Martin Hocking?”
“Yes, it is. I am Mrs. Hocking.”
“Is Mr. Hocking at home?”
How odd it is to have someone at the door asking for Martin. No one ever comes calling for him.
“I’m afraid he’s not,” I reply. “Is there something I can help you with?”
The visitor seems hesitant to speak her reason for coming.“Would you happen to know my husband, James Bigelow?” she asks several seconds later.
I shake my head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
The woman bites her lip, perplexed. “It’s just that Mr. Hocking asked a favor of my husband and he’s been gone on this errand longer than I expected. I’m... I’m getting worried.”
I don’t know how I can be of help and yet I feel compassion for this woman, who seems ready to collapse with exhaustion.
“Please come in and have some tea and I’ll see if there isn’t some way I can be of help to you.”
The woman hesitates a moment and then steps into the foyer.
“I’m so sorry to be a bother,” she says. “I’m only... I think something might have happened.”
“’Tis no bother at all. I’ve already got the kettle on.”
The woman exhales heavily, a hand resting on her abdomen. “You’re very kind.”
“It’s truly no inconvenience, Mrs.—?” I have already forgotten her name.
“Bigelow. Belinda Bigelow.”
I freeze in place with my hand on the door to close it. “Pardon? What did you say your name is?”
“Belinda Bigelow.”
How extraordinary. Belinda isn’t that common a name, is it?
“That’s a beautiful name. My husband has a cousin named Belinda,” I manage, as I push the door shut.
“It was my mother’s favorite name. At least that’s what my father always told me. I never knew her. She died when I was a baby.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. May I take your wrap?”
The woman takes off her shawl and hands it to me, and I hang it on the hall tree.
“Did you say Mr. Hocking asked a favor of your husband? James, is it?” I ask as I motion her into the sitting room.
“Yes, but I don’t know what the favor was.”
“Please have a seat,” I tell her. “Does Mr. Bigelow also work for the insurance company?”
Belinda Bigelow gives me a puzzled look as she sits down on the sofa. “Pardon?”
“Does your husband also work for the insurance company?” I take the chair across from her.
“No. He’s a land surveyor. Are you saying that’s what your husband does? Works in insurance?”
