“All right, but you can’t come in. Not yet. Not until Mama says you can.”
“I understand.”
Lizzie looked him over as if she could divine the truth of that, and then, deciding she could, she retreated and relayed the message to her mother.
“A job?” Lily frowned, puzzling over that. She set the seam ripper on the table at her side and nodded once to her daughter. It was hard to move her next words past the lump in her throat. “Go on. You can let him in.”
Lizzie didn’t immediately move. She watched her mother closely, saw the smile that was meant to assure but only madeLizzie’s belly hurt. She couldn’t have explained why that was exactly, just that it was. She said, “I’ll be right here,” and she couldn’t know that saying that about broke her mother’s heart.
Roen was still standing with one foot in the doorway when Lizzie returned. He regarded her with a single raised eyebrow and a glimmer of amusement playing about his mouth.
“You can come in,” she said importantly. “Mama said so.”
“Thank you.” He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and followed Lizzie into the parlor. He was struck immediately by the cheerfulness of the room, or perhaps dumbstruck. It was unexpected, given the homey practicality of the kitchen. Two tall windows fronted the parlor, and sunshine poured through the open drapery. Roen suspected that even on a dreary day, there was enough color in the room to suggest the arc of a rainbow. A plump, ruby velvet sofa sat just beyond the beam of sunlight so it was in no danger of fading. Two ball-and-claw chairs had damask seat covers in royal blue. The area rug, where Lizzie was already sitting cross-legged and turning over cards, was patterned in repeating prism shapes that reminded him of looking through a kaleidoscope. There was an emerald velvet overstuffed chair that complemented the sofa in design, if not in color. All of the pieces were gently worn, lending the parlor a certain warmth that did not require a fire in the fireplace. There were no photographs on any of the tables or arranged across the length of the mantel. In places where he might have seen them, there were short stacks of books. The family had an interesting assortment of histories, anthologies, and thick reference tomes, interspersed with dime novels and children’s literature. Roen suspected the Salts were frequent visitors to the town’s library because the breadth of the collection represented varying interests and a great deal of money. He took all of this in while standing under the wide archway, but it wasn’t until his eyes alighted on Lily Salt that his attention was fixed.
She sat unmoving in a rocker, sunlight spilling over her shoulder, illuminating the cornflower blue dress spread across her lap and draping her legs. She was flanked by an end table on her left and a large canvas carryall on her right. The table held a lamp and an open box of spools. Pins poked a wrist cushion and needles lay safely side by side in a cardboardcase. The carryall was overflowing with material, though whether it was fabric remnants or garments in need of repair, he couldn’t tell.
Touched by the sun, Lily’s hair was shaded more toward red than rust, and highlighted silver threads at her temples. He wondered at the silver because she was still a young woman and her coloring did not seem to lend itself to premature graying. She wore her hair loosely pulled back from her face and coiled in a topknot. It was slightly askew, but the effect was charming, not untidy. For some reason, Roen wanted to smile. He thought better of it when her chin came up as if she was daring him.
“Thank you for seeing me,” he said. He had his hat in hand and bowed his head slightly. He did not assume he could take a seat and waited for an invitation or an opening where he could ask to sit.
“Pardon me for not getting up to greet you properly,” Lily said. She indicated the table, the carryall, and Lizzie at her feet to show she was hemmed in.
Roen heard no apology in her tone and her gesture was merely an explanation. He had the sense that she was more at ease in the rocker than out of it, and as he had no wish to add to her discomfort, he graciously accepted her at her word. “Please, don’t give it another thought. I don’t hold with ceremony. As the intruder here, I am already out of bounds.” He took Lily’s silence as agreement. The cheerful parlor was decidedly chilly now. “I believe Lizzie explained why I’m here. Did she?”
Lizzie’s head came up, proof she was listening to every word. “About a job for Clay.”
Lily leaned forward and touched the crown of her daughter’s head. Her fingers ruffled Lizzie’s feathery curls. “Mr. Shepard knows you did,” she said while pinning Roen in place with her narrowing, blue-green eyes. “You’re a good girl.”
Pleased with herself, Lizzie ducked her head to escape her mother’s fingers and returned to the pretense of playing with her cards.
Lily sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “Well?” she asked.
Well, indeed, Roen thought. She was giving no quarter.There was nothing for it but to go straight to the point of his visit. “I have some work for Clay. He mentioned that he did odd jobs for the sheriff and it got me thinking. I spoke to Ben after church and he gave Clay good marks for his work.”
“That was three days ago. You must be doing a powerful lot of thinking on it.”
“I have,” he said truthfully. “There’s his age to consider. He’s only twelve.”
“Only?”
Roen thought it was interesting that she bristled on behalf of her son. She might have objections to Clay working, but for him to be dismissed because of his age was objectionable. “Twelve going on twenty,” said Roen, seeking to regain a foothold.
“Yes, but you’ve spent very little time with Clay. I’m surprised you noticed.” Her eyes kept him pinned. “Unless...” What she was going to say remained a thought.
Roen picked up the trail. “Unless I’ve had time with him that you don’t know about?” he asked. “Is that what you were going to say?”
“It was. I didn’t go on because I think I know my son. He would have told me or at least dropped enough hints to give himself away.”
“I want to be clear,” said Roen. “I haven’t seen Clay since Sunday, and then only as you all were leaving church.” His eyes purposely strayed to the nearest ball-and-claw chair. “May I?” he asked, indicating the chair with a sweep of his hat. It was a risk to pose the question; she might turn him down and turn him away. She didn’t, though. Following a brief hesitation, she nodded. Roen slid onto the chair and carefully released a breath he hardly knew he’d been holding.
Lily arched an eyebrow. “Are you all right, Mr. Shepard? If I may be frank, you look ill at ease, and I thought, what with you wearing a suit today and presenting yourself in a parlor instead of a kitchen, you’d be comfortable in your skin. I’m not sure you are.”
Roen regarded her with equal candor. “You’re not wrong. I know I am not welcome, so I would say that accounts for it. Perhaps a suit of armor would improve my comfort, but what I’m wearing now is inadequate to the task.”
Lily felt heat rush to her cheeks, but she did not look away. In her lap, her folded hands tightened. “I deserve that because it’s true,” she said quietly. “You are not welcome. I don’t know you and I don’t care to know you. You’re simply passing through. As I’m sure you’re aware, I’ve been a widow almost two years, and you are not the first snake oil salesman or whiskey drummer or railroad front man to make a fuss over one of my children in order to insinuate himself into my life. I’m not flattering myself; there is nothing flattering about the attention I’ve received. You can deny that is your motive, and perhaps you’ll be stating the truth, but I won’t believe you. History is an excellent teacher and I am a good student.”
Roen carefully considered his words before he spoke. He was comfortable with his silence. Lily Salt, he observed, was not. Her clasped hands had loosened and she was tapping her fingers ever so slightly. “Ben Madison told me you and he were in school at the same time. He said you were whip smart, and I have no reason to doubt the truth of that since I’m still feeling the sting. I am not going to deny an interest in you since, as you have indicated, it would be a waste of breath. I have an urge to apologize on behalf of all the salesmen and railroad front men, but upon reflection, I believe it would be an insult to you. You have demonstrated beyond any doubt in my mind that you are eminently capable of keeping any man at arm’s length.”
