Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,99

matters.”

“No, Pauline, what matters is the reality,” Anna said, getting angry now. At the sound of her raised voice, a few people turned to look at them. “I don’t care what people think.” She leaned closer. “Can we close this subject please? Let’s talk about your baby again. Have you thought about names?”

Baby names were definitely the topic of conversation over dinner that evening. Even Karl seemed to have an excited glow about him, only letting go of Pauline’s hand when he needed his own to eat the chicken and dumplings Freda had made. They talked about names for most of an hour before Karl politely changed the subject, asking Anna how the mural was coming along.

“It’s all I think about,” she admitted. “I even got up in the middle of the night last night and went over there to paint.” She knew as soon as the words left her mouth that she should have kept her nighttime foray to herself. She was too tired to think clearly, and the three of them stared at her as if they’d misheard.

“You did?” Miss Myrtle said finally. “When was this?”

“Oh, around three this morning.” She shrugged as though it had been nothing. “I was just itching to paint.”

“Women can’t stay out all night unchaperoned like that,” Miss Myrtle said. “Maybe up north they do, but it’s not the way we do things here, dear.”

Anna was so tired of hearing that sentiment. “It wasn’t ‘all night,’” she said, carefully holding on to her smile. “Think of it as early morning.”

“People will talk if they know you’re out at all hours like that,” Pauline said.

Pauline and her talkative people, Anna thought. But even Freda disapproved. The maid had brought another basket of her biscuits into the room, and she caught Anna’s eye as she set them on the table and shook her head. Her silent two cents.

“Seriously, Anna,” Karl said. “You could have an accident driving late at night and no one would know. It’s not a good idea. At the very least, you need to let folks know your whereabouts.”

“All right.” Anna gave in with a sigh. She was sorry she’d brought it up. “It probably was silly of me, anyway. I ended up so tired this afternoon I fell asleep with my head on my worktable. I often wish I had a little settee or something like it at the warehouse. All I needed was half an hour’s shut-eye and I was ready to go again.”

“You artistic types are so intense!” Pauline said. “I wish I had some of your drive.”

Karl rested his hand on hers. “You’re perfect just the way you are, dear,” he said.

Pauline glowed at the compliment and Anna felt that niggling bit of envy again. Pauline was so lucky to have him.

“You know, we actually have a cot you could borrow,” Pauline said. “You could keep it at the warehouse and take a catnap in the afternoon any time you like.”

“It’s hardly a settee.” Karl chuckled at his wife’s suggestion.

“True,” Pauline said, “but better than your worktable.”

“I suppose,” Karl said. He looked at Anna. “It’s just an old army cot,” he said. “It was my father’s and we use it for camping, though I doubt I’ll be able to get this one camping again any time soon.” He smiled at his wife.

Anna imagined having the cot in the warehouse. She could take a little snooze whenever she liked, then get up and go back to work. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “Thank you for the offer.”

“What about William?” Miss Myrtle said, and it took them all a moment to realize she was returning the conversation to baby names. Miss Myrtle looked at her daughter. “That’s a good strong name, don’t you think?”

The following day, Anna stopped by Pauline’s to pick up the cot where they’d left it for her on their front porch, since neither Pauline nor Karl were at home. The cot was compactly folded and Anna set it on the backseat of the Ford, then turned the car around in the wide driveway. She’d nearly reached the street again when one of those red Indian motorcycles sped around the corner and whizzed past the front of her car at breakneck speed. Startled, Anna pressed hard on the brake, the cot whacking into the back of her seat, sending her heart into her throat. Her leg trembled on the brake as she stared after the motorcycle and its rider: Martin Drapple, his red hair far too