“I might’ve said something like that.”
“Uh-huh. That was the catalyst.”
“Catalyst?”
“The thing that lit a fire under her.”
“Oh. Didn’t realize what would come of it when she set off the way she did. I reckon she needed to prove something to herself.”
“I reckon she did,” Call said quietly. “Are we done here, Rooster?”
“Except for the animals, yeah, we’re done.”
Call nodded, satisfied they would not be talking about Laurel again. Ever.
***
The second time Laurel woke, the sun was higher in the frame of her bedroom window than it usually was when she rolled out of bed. She hadn’t remembered Callopening the curtains before he left, but maybe he had. She had slept like the dead.
Laurel washed at the basin, cleaned her teeth, and dressed in yesterday’s denim trousers and a fresh but faded blue cotton shirt. She rolled up the sleeves to three-quarter length before she dropped to the upholstered stool in front of the vanity. She usually groomed the horses with more care than she showed for her hair, but today was different, and in spite of the late hour, Laurel took her time pulling her mother’s old brush through her hair and pulling it into a smooth tail instead of plaiting it. She secured it with a blue ribbon that was almost as faded as her shirt and wondered at the sudden urge she had to visit the mercantile for new ribbons and maybe material to make something new.
The old vanity mirror was cracked, darker at the bottom than it was at the top, and there were little bubbles in the glass, but Laurel valued it for its history because it was one of the precious items her mother brought with her from the East. Now she twisted her head this way and that to find the best reflection, and when she finally found it, she mocked the effort with a short laugh. Really, she thought, she had lost her mind.
Laurel jumped off the stool and hurried out of the bedroom. She stole a heel of bread from the loaf Mrs. Lancaster was slicing, ducked the playful swipe the cook took at her, and headed for the privy. She was washing her hands at the pump when Jelly sidled up to her and waited his turn to do the same. When she stepped back from the pump, she caught him staring.
“What is it, Jelly?” She swiped self-consciously at her cheek with the back of a damp hand. “Is it gone?”
“Is what gone, Miss Laurel?”
“Whatever it was that you were staring at.”
He grinned toothily. “Nope. Still there.”
She started to lift her hand again and stopped when she realized he was talking about her. “Does your father know what a devil you are?”
“Yes, ma’am. He remarks on it regularly, but it wouldn’tbe right not telling you that you are looking especially fine this morning.”
Laurel glanced to her right and left and then over her shoulder before she rested her gaze on Jelly again. A flush was beginning to creep under his fair skin. Still, Laurel was suspicious. “Who put you up to saying that?”
He shook his head earnestly. “No one. I swear. Cross my heart. It came to my mind on its own. One of those vagrant thoughts that trips off my tongue before my better self can stop it. Did I offend you, Miss Laurel? That surely was not my intention.”
Laurel judged his distress was sincere and knew a pang of guilt that she had assumed it was someone else’s mischief that had provoked his declaration. She put a hand on his shoulder. “You didnotoffend me, Jelly. You surprised me, is all. It was a lovely compliment and I should have accepted it graciously. You were kind to say so.”
Jelly looked at her hand on his shoulder and then back at her. His lopsided smile was a trifle giddy and swallowing hard didn’t alter it.
Laurel removed her hand and let it fall to her side. She smiled gently before she turned and walked toward the house. “How long ago did I hire Jelly?” she asked the cook.
“Been at least a week now.” She frowned in disapproval as Laurel spun a chair away from the table and straddled it. “That’s no way for you to sit, Miss Laurel. I’m never going to get used to your boyish ways.”
Laurel set her forearms along the back of the chair. It was not the first time she’d heard Mrs. Lancaster’s criticism and she merely grinned.
“Why’d you want to know about Jelly?” the cook asked.
“Oh, he just said something to me that made me wonder if he might have a bit of a case of calf-love.”
“Good Lord, Miss Laurel. Are you only getting around to noticing that now? Me and Rooster remarked on it the second day the boy was here. You gave him that hat on account of him always trying to squash his cowlick. He was already a gone goose but that just about did him in.”
“I had no idea.”
