Beauty for Ashes Page 0,14

to dislike everyone. “If you think Ada is stuck-up, then you don’t know her at all.”

Through the kitchen window, she watched bright-blue morning glories trailing along the backyard trellis Henry had made for her birthday last year. Caleb and Joseph, bareheaded and shoeless, were chasing the chickens around the yard. “Ada Caldwell is one of the kindest, most tenderhearted women I’ve ever known.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot she made you a hat for free when you finally decided to throw away your widow’s weeds. No wonder you think she’s something.” Mary slid the sizzling potatoes onto a platter and brought them to the table. “Lady Bountiful, spreading her gifts around Hickory Ridge. I imagine she got a boatload of free advertising for her hat business out of that little gesture.”

“Maybe. But that isn’t why she did it.” Carrie stared at Henry, feeling heartsick and bewildered. How had her sweet brother, the very soul of kindness, wound up with such a hateful, bitter bride?

Mary took the biscuits from the oven, piled them on a plate, and placed it on the table in front of Henry. “Sit down, Carrie.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Sit down anyway. There’s something Henry and I want to talk to you about.”

“I’ll stand.” Carrie folded her arms and leaned against the sink.

“Suit yourself. Henry? Sweetheart?”

Henry set down his paper and looked up at her, questioning.

“This might be a good time to talk to Carrie. While the boys are outside.”

“Oh. Right.” Henry buttered a biscuit and took a bite. “Well, you see, Carrie girl, Mary . . . that is, the both of us, were wondering if you would mind swapping rooms with Caleb and Joseph.”

“What? You mean move into the attic?”

“Maybe not forever, but until they get used to living here.”

“But that room is so small.”

“Exactly.” Mary stirred cream into her coffee. “It isn’t large enough for two active boys, and they need to be closer to me at night, so they won’t be scared. Whereas you—”

“I won’t do it.” Carrie plopped into her chair and faced her brother across the table. “Henry, you can’t expect me to give up my room. All my things are there. My books, my journals, the few things I have that belonged to Frank.”

The door flew open. Caleb and Joseph raced through the kitchen, laughing and shoving each other. “Go on, Joe,” Caleb yelled in a voice that shattered Carrie’s last nerve. “I dare ya.”

Joseph reached into his pocket, drew out the snake, and tossed it at Carrie. “Gotcha.”

The snake slithered across the pine floor. Carrie grabbed the boy and held him fast. “How old you are you anyway, you little heathen?”

“Five and three quarters.” He stared up at her, his pale blue eyes bright and defiant.

“You pull a stupid stunt like that again and you won’t see six.” She shook him, hard. “Do you understand me?”

“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my ma. You’re just a dried-up, mean ol’ widder woman, and—”

Carrie slapped him, hard. A red handprint rose on his cheek, and he buried his face in his mother’s skirts, his shoulder heaving. She stared, horrified and dismayed at her loss of control. How could one small boy cause so much trouble? “I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t mean it.”

Mary shoved away from the table and scooped up her son, her eyes blazing. “If you ever hit my boy again, Carrie Daly, so help me, I’ll—”

“Now, Mary.” Henry got to his feet. “Let’s all settle down here.”

“You can settle down, Henry Bell. I will not have anyone hitting my children.”

“I apologize,” Carrie said. “It was wrong of me to strike him. I lost my temper.”

“You should know better.” Mary sent Carrie a murderous glance and handed Joe her handkerchief.

“Joe should have known better than to toss a snake at her,” Henry said. “And he shouldn’t have talked to Carrie like that. Boys should be brought up to respect their elders. Especially womenfolk.”

“He’s just a little boy.”

“That’s no excuse. Where did he get a notion like that anyway?”

Mary blushed to the roots of her hair, but she stood her ground. “Whose side are you on anyway, Henry?”

“There’s no call to be taking sides, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. Not if you’re going to let that sourpuss sister of yours force my children to sleep in a dark attic where they’re scared out of their wits and then beat them for playing a harmless joke.” She began to cry. “I thought you loved me. I thought we’d be happy, but now I feel