Page 16 of Charlotte

Cornelia’s mouth twitched. “Books are powerful things.”

“Delly has already threatened a borrowing ledger.”

“Then your sister and I are going to become excellent friends.”

Across the churchyard, Delly stiffened slightly, as though she had sensed a ledger being discussed from twenty feet away.

Lottie smiled. “I believe she would like that, though she will pretend otherwise at first.”

Mrs. Schulte moved in briskly. “The meeting hall can be used for the first sorting. Shelves may take time, of course, but we shall not let that delay us. The Fourth of July celebration will bring everyone together, and it would be a fine thing to show progress by then.”

“Progress,” Mrs. Hanford added, “is not the same as chaos.”

“No,” Lottie said. “Though sometimes they look alike before breakfast.”

Cornelia laughed. Lottie’s gaze drifted past her shoulder.

Mr. Peterson stood near the side path, speaking with an older logger whose hand had been bandaged. He bent his head toward the man, listening without impatience. When the logger said something, Mr. Peterson gave the barest nod, then reached into his coat with his left hand and produced a small, folded paper.

He did not use his right hand.

The logger took the paper, clapped him carefully on the shoulder, and moved away.

Now, Mr. Peterson was alone.

Lottie looked toward Delly, expecting to find her watchful sister already measuring the distance between Lottie and danger. Delly was not watching her at all. She was looking toward the far edge of the churchyard, where the large camp healer from the dock crouched beside another man’s hand.

Mr. Simms looked up, and Delly’s expression changed. Lottie had read Delly’s face longer than she had read any book, and this expression was new.

“Oh,” Lottie whispered.

Val, who had appeared beside her with the quiet skill of a woman used to arriving when most useful, followed her gaze. “Your sister is formidable.”

“She is.”

“Mr. Simms is not easily startled.”

“He should prepare himself.”

Val’s smile deepened. “Perhaps they both should.”

A very sensible sister would have stayed to discover whether Delly meant to interfere with a healer, a sermon, or the entire institution of marriage. Lottie had never claimed to be the sensible sister.

She slipped away from the little circle and walked toward the side path.

Mr. Peterson saw her coming. For one breath, he looked as if he might flee. Then his gaze moved past her to the watching churchyard, and he stayed. That, Lottie decided, was a start.

“Good morning, Mr. Peterson.”

“Miss Bellamy.”

Still not Lottie.

She accepted it for now because yesterday she had learned there were soft places in a man’s name and one does not step there carelessly.

“It was a wonderful sermon,” she said.

“Aye.”