Page 35 of Charlotte

Cornelia extended a hand for the parcel, then stopped. Her gaze flicked, only briefly, to his hidden right hand before returning to his face. “May I?”

Lottie handed her the package and felt its loss immediately. Why? They were just brackets! She bit her lower lip and looked at the ground.

Cornelia seemed to notice, but she did not comment. “Lottie and I are going to the meeting hall after breakfast to see what can be done before the proper shelves are built. You would be welcome to look over the wall if you have a moment.”

“I have work.”

“Of course.”

Lottie gathered the edge of her courage. “Perhaps this evening?”

He did not answer. Cornelia gave no sign of having heard the invitation, though she stood beside them with the brackets in her hands and ears plainly functioning.

Peterson looked toward the road which led up to camp. “Evenings are not always mine.”

“Then perhaps when one is.”

He looked back at her. The reply had been too soft. Too honest. Lottie knew it by the way his face changed, as if he had not expected her to leave room for the life he had.

“I’ll see,” he said.

Another almost-yes.

She would take it.

After he left, walking toward the camp road with his right hand still tucked away, Lottie stood on the porch a moment longer.

Cornelia waited beside her.

“He brought brackets,” Lottie said.

“He did.”

“For the library.”

“Yes.”

“Not for me.”

Cornelia retreated back in the room and placed the package on a chair. “No?”

Lottie glanced at her. Cornelia’s face was innocent. Far too innocent. Lottie tucked her hands into the folds of her skirt.

“He said they were just brackets.”

“Men say many things when they are frightened.”

“Is he frightened?”

Cornelia looked down the road. “I think Mr. Peterson has spent a long while arranging his life so he would not have to find out.”

“What happened to his hand?” Lottie asked.

Cornelia’s gaze softened. “That is his story.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Because it is true.”