Page 41 of Charlotte

“I know he picked it up carefully.”

“A man may be careful with a thing without wanting it.”

Lottie looked at her sister then.

Delly’s face shifted. She had heard what she said. Perhaps she had heard Mr. Simms somewhere underneath it. Perhaps not.

Cornelia stepped neatly into the space before either sister could bruise the other by accident. “Peterson does read.”

Delly turned. “Well?”

Cornelia’s mouth curved. “That was not a full report, Mrs. Simms. It was merely a fact.”

“Facts should travel with context.”

“Not always. Sometimes a fact is waiting for its proper owner.”

Lottie looked at Cornelia gratefully. Delly looked dissatisfied but did not argue. The door opened, bringing with it the smell of sawdust, lake wind, and warm pine.

Mr. Peterson stood on the threshold.

Lottie’s heart rose so quickly she nearly dropped the book in her hands.

He had come.

Not in Sunday clothes, and not with a brown-paper bundle as he had yesterday. He wore a work shirt with sleeves buttoned at the wrist, his hat low in his left hand, and his right hand tucked close against him. His boots were dusty, and a faint line of sweat darkened his collar from the walk down from camp.

He looked once at the room.

Books covered nearly every available surface.

His mouth tightened.

“Mr. Peterson,” Cornelia said cheerfully, as though he had not already begun reconsidering every choice that had brought him here. “You are just in time.”

“For what?”

“To save civilization.”

He looked toward the door behind him.

Lottie bit the inside of her cheek.

“We need the starter shelf set against that wall,” Cornelia continued, pointing to the north side of the hall. “The one you warned would swell in damp weather. Mr. Stafford sent word the brackets you brought yesterday should hold until the proper work can be finished.”

Peterson looked at the wall, then at the brackets, then at Lottie.

“I only came for the nail box.”

Delly, who had been writing in the ledger, looked up. “The nail box is under the table.”

Peterson’s gaze shifted to her.

Delly blinked once, as if realizing she had accidentally provided information that might have helped him leave.

Lottie stepped forward. “You may take the nails, of course.”

His expression eased a fraction at the permission.