Morgan said nothing.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I don’t have family.”
“You can say that all you want, but it doesn’t make it true.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Mostly nothing. I told her to ask you.”
“Mostly nothing?”
Mrs. Sterling removed her spectacles, cleaned them with her apron, and then carefully replaced them. “I told her some about you and Benton because she asked. Just a few of the kind things he said about you. I might have mentioned Lander. Frankly, I didn’t see the harm in it.”
Morgan briefly closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It isn’t your place to say anything.”
“You don’t think so? Benton was my husband. I guess I can talk about him if I have a mind to.”
“Sorry.”
“How’s that again?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, more loudly this time.
“That’s better. Lord, Morgan, I know you have no one left you’re proud to claim as family, but I don’t see the sense in keeping them a secret. What do you think will happen if Jane hears about Jack and Gideon? And is it the worst thing in the world for her to know about that Jezebel who raised you?”
A muscle jumped in Morgan’s jaw. “I don’t see myself ever talking to Jane about Zetta Lee. I don’t like saying their names in the same breath.”
Mrs. Sterling’s slim smile was rueful, her eyes full of regret. “I understand.”
Morgan’s nod was almost imperceptible. He picked up his hat. “I’ll be going. I have to find Jane.”
Reaching across the table suddenly, Ida Mae Sterling caught the sleeve of Morgan’s coat. “What’s going on, Morgan?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m getting the impression you don’t like her out of your sight.”
“She was here with you the entire time I was picking up supplies and listening to Ted Rush talk about the time he almost got lost in the blizzard of ’86. That means she was out of my sight.”
Mrs. Sterling released his coat and sat back. “I said it was an impression, didn’t I?” She looked him over as he put on his hat. “You’d tell me if there was something to worry about, wouldn’t you?”
Morgan walked around the table, bent, and kissed her on the cheek. “Dear Ida Mae, you would be the very last person I would tell.”
“Humph.”
Smiling, he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You’re my family, Ida Mae.” And then he left.
Jane emerged from Mrs. Garvin’s shop carrying a parcel containing material, thread, and a skirt pattern that Mrs. Garvin made especially for her. Her attention was drawn inward as her mind leaped ahead to laying out the material, pinning the pattern, and cutting the fabric. She was not looking where she was going.
She walked right into the stranger.
“Oh! I am so sorry.” Jane smiled apologetically as she bent to pick up her parcel.
“No, ma’am. Allow me.” He stooped and slipped two fingers under the string that held the parcel together. He held it up as he straightened but did not precisely hand it over.
“Thank you,” said Jane. “You are very kind. I’ll take it now.”
