“I thought Mrs. Vandergrift made all her own bread,” he said, nodding to Mrs. Palmer as she passed them going in the other direction. He noticed that Fedora gave no indication that she had seen the milliner.
Fedora tugged at her scarf until it was snug under her chin. “Mrs. Vandergrift complained of feeling poorly so Ellie sent her home. Louella Fuller is working in her place, but she can’t manage all the baking.”
Two full sentences, Hitch thought. It was the most she’d ever said to him. She had a sweet voice. She spoke words as if they were musical notes. He wondered if anyone else noticed or if narrow-mindedness made one person deaf to another. Mrs. Palmer hadn’t acknowledged Fedora either.
“I suppose Louella will need help in the kitchen,” he said. “Will that be you?” He asked because no one was occupying a cell, which meant he’d have no reason to visit the kitchen. He’d see Fedora again only if he took a meal in the dining room.
“No. Ellie asked Annie Fish not to wait tables so she could help Mrs. Fuller. Ellie and I will take care of the diners.” She hesitated while she gave him a sidelong look. “I’m not permitted to prepare food. I only carry it out.”
Surprise made Hitch’s next step awkward, but he caughthimself before he tripped over his own feet. “Ellie doesn’t allow you to cook?”
“For myself, yes. Not for others.”
“Why in the world not? Unless you don’t want to cook, of course. That’d be different.”
“Ellie would permit it if the customers wouldn’t complain, but some people don’t even like me serving them. If they knew I was cooking, they’d stay away altogether.”
“Maybe they should. Who complains? Give me a name.”
Fedora shook her head. “Ellie won’t tell her son for the same reason I won’t tell you.”
“Now, see, that doesn’t make sense. We’re the law.”
“That would be the reason.”
“Oh. I guess you don’t want interference.”
“We don’t want trouble. Ellie says you can’t reason with stupid.”
Hitch chuckled. “That sounds just like her.” He tried to shorten his long-legged stride and slow his steps as they approached the hotel. It required only a few moments to realize that Fedora wasn’t going to go slower than she already was. Surrendering to the inevitable parting of their ways, he said, “We should cross the street here. Watch your step.” He managed to thrust an elbow toward her without dropping a single loaf. “Here. Take it.”
Fedora shook her head with unmistakable vehemence.
“It probably seems ironic, me trying to help you, you bein’ so full of grace that you put me in mind of an angel, and me fallin’ all over myself when I’m around you.” He pulled in his elbow and stepped off the boardwalk. When she didn’t follow, he turned to see what was holding her back. Apparently it was because she was staring at him so hard that he flushed for the second time in her presence. “What?”
“Don’t you know people are watching us?”
What was he supposed to say? That hedidn’tknow because he was oblivious to everyone except her? He turned back to face the opposite side of the street. Dolly Mangold was standing by the large plate glass window at the front of her store, looking in his direction. Farther down the street, Buzz Winegarten was leaning on his broom at the entrance to the Songbird. He’d stopped sweeping to take measure of what wasgoing on. There were folks going in and out of the butcher’s and the mercantile who paused when they saw him and a few passersby who openly stared.
“They’re looking this way because they know me.” He made sure the bread was secure before he raised a hand to recognize Dolly Mangold. “See? She waved back.” He watched Dolly turn away from the window and move out of his sight. “And she’s gone. Folks are friendly here.”
Fedora stepped down from the boardwalk. “These people have known you all your life. Of course they’re friendly.”
“And I’m a deputy,” he said with mocking conceit.
She waited for a wagon carrying dry goods to pass and then started to cross to the hotel. “More importantly, you’re Amanda Springer’s son.”
“Why do people say that? I’m my father’s son, too.” But he knew why and didn’t expect an answer. His mother was practically a force of nature. Not only did she operate her own business, she had a leadership role in a half-dozen charitable, political, or social causes. She also had definite opinions and was not shy about sharing them. He wondered which of the people who had seen him offer help to Fedora would be the first to tell his mother and how long it would be before she showed up at the jail to confront him.
“We should go in the back,” Fedora said when he started to take the stairs to the hotel’s large porch.
“Right.” Hitch backed down and followed her around the building to the trade entrance. She was at the point of juggling her loaves to open the door when he stopped her. There was a lump in his throat that made speaking difficult. He cleared it twice and pushed on. “I was thinking... wondering, actually... if you’d allow me to call on you.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. For once, her dark eyes were not unfathomable. They hinted at sadness, at regret. Still, she did not say no outright. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”
Hitch had given it some thought and now he didn’t hesitate. “I can walk you from the hotel to the boardinghouse. Not every night because sometimes I’ll be working, but there are plenty of nights when I’m not. I could talk to Ellie and Abe Butterworth about it. They’d give me their blessing.”
“They’d give you their concerns. A list of them, I suspect.”
