“You don’t have room at the auto body shop for Bessie and me.”
“Not there, the house on Champlain Street.”
The Bailey house? Not once in her life had she spent a single night at Ezekiel’s parents’ home. “You won’t mind Bessie and me staying there?”
“It’s my house. I own it. So, no. I won’t mind.”
She wanted to sleep. To close her eyes and rest for a long, long while and then wake up from this nightmare. “Okay. Yes, I will.”
Ezekiel picked her up and carried her across the street toward the truck. He called over Jeremiah, and he loaded the items she and Bessie had saved. The four of them squeezed into the front seat. Honoree sat in Ezekiel’s lap with Jeremiah behind the wheel. Bessie latched on to Honoree’s side and curled herself into a small ball to fit in the space next to Honoree.
As the truck drove away, Honoree didn’t turn around to see the flames and ashes. She sat stiffly, looking straight ahead.
“Honoree, how’s your leg?” Ezekiel asked.
What was wrong with her leg? “It hurts.” She nuzzled into his side with eyelids as heavy as her heart. The next instant, she awoke, and the truck was parked in the driveway of the house on Champlain Street. The last time Honoree had seen the Bailey house was the summer the Baileys disappeared, and she’d sat on the stoop, weeping and waiting for hours.
Ezekiel, the man who had broken her heart, now carried her into the foyer and toward the staircase, passing by the parlor and the den. With each step, Honoree’s chest tightened.
From room to room, wall to wall, nothing had changed. The walnut dining table was still polished to a glossy shine. The oil lamp painted with honey blossoms and blue hummingbirds swayed from the ceiling. Rose-colored glasses and dogwood bowls lined the shelves of the china cabinet. The staggering scent of kerosene, the damp wool of the Oriental rugs, and the burn of the Black Cat stove polish still thickened the air.
There had never been enough air in the Bailey house. Never room to breathe. Ezekiel reached the top of the staircase, and Honoree closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was sitting on the bed, and Ezekiel had turned down the sheets. Too exhausted to speak, she watched him as he carefully removed her shoes, her sweater, and her shift, leaving her in her cotton chemise. She burrowed beneath the covers, and he placed a thick wool blanket over her.
“Where’s my mother’s quilt?”
“I’m not sure, but Bessie will find it, and when she does, I’ll bring it to you. For now, I want you to rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on your leg and your ankle.”
“How’s Bessie?”
“She has a nasty burn on her arm.”
“The same arm where she was burned before?”
“I think so. But I’ll take care of her. She’ll be fine, Honoree. Close your eyes and sleep.”
PART 5
CHAPTER 41
HONOREE
Saturday, December 26, 1925
Daylight from the bedroom’s bay windows heated Honoree’s face and throat and scared her nearly to death. She scrambled upright in the bed, grimaced, and exhaled slowly, calming herself before tucking the sheet across her lap. There were no flames in Ezekiel’s bedroom, only the lingering odor of smoke and memories. Also, something was wrong with her leg.
“How are you?”
She jerked sideways, startled by Ezekiel, sitting in the rocking chair next to the bed. “Morning,” she said softly. “How long did I sleep?”
“A few hours.”
“Have you been here all night? Watching me?”
“Yes.” The twitchy smile on his lips mirrored the concern in his eyes. She chewed the inside of her cheek. “What’s wrong with my leg?”
“How does it feel?” He had a hand on the sheet next to her feet. “Do you mind?”
She shook her head.
