Beauty for Ashes Page 0,36
was mean of you, considering the amount of work there is to do every day. Then you move to that dingy old hotel. And now you’re socializing with Mrs. Whitcomb and that . . . that . . . woman as if she were a respectable sort.”
“Rosaleen is quite a flirt, granted, but she is respectable, as far as I can tell.”
“As far as you can tell? And what do you know about such women, Carrie? You’ve hardly set foot out of Hickory Ridge.”
Carrie emptied the grounds from the coffeepot and set it back on the stove. “Whereas you are a woman of the world.”
“Well, I—I’ve been to Memphis, and Knoxville once, and . . . well, lots of places.”
“Good for you. Excuse me.” Carrie busied herself wiping a shelf that didn’t really need it. Otherwise she might actually strangle Mary Stanhope. Bell. That her beloved Henry had actually married this harridan hit her again like a punch to the stomach.
“If you won’t do it for me, do it for the boys.”
“What?” Carrie’s hands stilled. She stared at Mary, at her milky face and pale eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“What I’m talking about,” Mary said with exaggerated patience, “is stopping this silly stunt you’ve pulled, move back to the farm where you belong, and stop embarrassing us.”
“Us?”
“Henry and me. We want the boys to have a chance to be somebody in this town. It won’t happen if you keep on acting like this. Living at the Verandah, working as a common shop girl, associating with that empty-headed Rosaleen.”
“She may dress fancy, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t smart.”
Mary sighed. “It is possible, I suppose, that the woman’s brain is a veritable storehouse of knowledge, but the way she acts, who can tell? And anyway, I’m less worried about her than about your keeping company with Mr. Rutledge.”
“Keeping . . . ?” Carrie laughed. “I’m not sure where you’re getting your information, Mary, but I assure you I am not keeping company with him.”
“This is Hickory Ridge. People talk.”
“When they’d be better advised not to.”
Mary shrugged.
“The way things are going, by the time Joe and Caleb are grown, Hickory Ridge will be a ghost town and all your efforts will be for naught.” Carrie pointed her finger at Mary. “You’d better hope people come here to watch Mr. Rutledge ride that horse. You’d better hope that they spend lots of money while they’re here and that some rich businessman decides he’d like to set up shop here.” Frowning, she peered at her sister-in-law. “Are you angry because we didn’t discuss the book you brought?”
Mary began to weep. “I couldn’t care less about your stupid book society. I only came here to talk some sense into you, but I should have known you’d be mean and unreasonable. I swear, I don’t see how your brother turned out so sweet and kind, and you’re so . . . so . . .”
Carrie folded her arms and leaned against the book shelves, waiting for the waterworks to subside.
At last, Mary sniffed and fumbled for her handkerchief. “Go ahead then. Do what you want. But Henry and I will never speak to you again.”
“Don’t presume to speak for my brother. Except for the short time I was married to Frank Daly, Henry and I have been alone in the world, dependent on each other since we were children. Blood ties are thicker than water and always will be.” She shoved a book onto the shelf. “And I would appreciate it if you’d stop paying attention to idle gossip. A lady’s tongue should be an influence for good. Nothing positive can come from speaking ill of others.”
Mary reddened and snapped her reticule shut. “I have to go. And don’t expect me to come to the next meeting of your pathetic little book society. I wouldn’t step foot in here again if you paid me, and neither will any other respectable woman in Hickory Ridge.” She laughed. “One old woman, one of questionable character, and you. Charter members. What a joke.”
Mary flounced away, her fan dangling from her wrist, and slammed the door on her way out.
ELEVEN
“Thank you for your purchases. Please call again on your next trip to Hickory Ridge.” Carrie smiled at the well-dressed man and his little girl and handed them their wrapped packages. The gentlemen had chosen a book of poetry and a handsome edition of Mr. Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities. His daughter selected Little Women and Snow-Berries: A Book