“Morning, Miss Wilson,” said Jackson heartily. He met my gaze as well, but instead of relief, there was something sharp and worried around his eyes.
Then the other man turned—his back had been to me—and Asa Phelps said, “Morning, Miss Wilson.”
“Mr. Phelps,” I said. “How unexpected.” I stepped around the table to take the chair next to Jackson. Somehow it seemed important to range myself on the side of the Kents against the intruder, although I wasn’t quite sure why.
Mrs. Kent brought a plate of bacon to the table. She put one hand on my shoulder as she leaned over to set it down, and gave two quick, sharp squeezes. Clearly a warning, but of what?
Phelps, either oblivious to the tension or unconcerned by it, helped himself to the bacon. I tried to eat a biscuit, but my mouth had gone dry and it stuck in my throat like heavy clay.
“So what brings you by, Mr. Phelps?” I asked, when I had drunk enough coffee to dislodge the biscuit.
He shrugged. “The doctor asked me to keep an eye on a few things while he was gone.”
I felt myself bristling at the implied insult. “I’m sure Jackson’s more than capable of keeping an eye on things.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Phelps in his dolorous voice. “But the doctor insisted.” He met my eyes squarely and held them uncomfortably long, until I looked down at my plate. “How are you settling in, Miss Wilson?”
None of your damn business, I thought, feeling unaccountably hostile. I gave him a shrug of my own. “It’s been nearly two months,” I said. “I figure I’m pretty well settled by now.”
Phelps nodded solemnly and pushed his chair back. “Fine cooking, as always, Mrs. Kent.”
She gave him a bare nod. He tapped a finger to his brow in my direction and went out. I heard the side door slam a moment later.
Both of the Kents sagged in clear relief.
“What wasthatall about?” I asked, taking another slice of bacon.
“Didn’t have time to warn you,” said Jackson. “Phelps don’t know we’re married, and we ain’t looking to tell him.”
“Ohhhh…” It was amazing how people who’d turn a blind eye to a mixed couple living in sin would become outraged if they got a church sanction on it. I could just hear Phelps holding forth about miscegenation and the curse of Ham. He was practically the type specimen for that species.
Still, that didn’t quite explain the relief that I’d seen from Mrs. Kent when I walked in. “He sure won’t hear from me,” I promised. “But what’s he doing here, anyway?”
“No idea,” said Jackson. “The doctor didn’t say a thing to me about it.”
“Mmm.” I remembered meeting Phelps out by the gunpowder shed. Had the doctor hired Phelps to tend to his mysterious animals?
“He asked about you,” said Mrs. Kent unexpectedly. She wiped off the chair Phelps had vacated, as if he might have left some residue behind, then sat down.
“Me?” I paused with my coffee cup halfway to my lips. “What about me?”
“Where you came from. Who your people were. That sorta thing. Normal enough.” Jackson frowned. “Course, whenhedoes it, it sounds like he’s getting ready to accuse a body of witchcraft.”
“And whether you were a ‘moral and upright woman,’” said Mrs. Kent, lip curling.
I set the coffee cup down with a thump. “Awhat? What business is it—I mean—what?”
“Mayhap he’s sweet on you,” said Jackson. “And just bad at showing it.” He considered. “Very, very bad.”
“Gah! I’d sooner wed a toad. No, I actually rather like toads.”I tried to think of a creature I didn’t like. “A botfly. Or a hookworm.”
“Jackson’s a romantic,” said Mrs. Kent tartly. “Me, I think Phelps was just being nosy, or worse.”
“Worse?”
Her lips turned down at the corners. “Don’t know. I don’t like him and I don’t trust him. I was glad you showed up when you did. He could just as well ask you to your face, but did he?”
I stared into my coffee, wondering if Phelps somehow knew that I’d followed Halder to the shed those times.No, that makes no sense. He wasn’t there. When you’ve got a secret, you worry everybody else knows about it, that’s all.
