Page 6 of Charlotte

“He did not help with the trunk,” Delly said.

“No.”

“He kept his right hand in his coat.”

“I saw.”

“That is worth noting.”

“You note everything.”

“Yes,” Delly said. “It is a useful practice.”

Lottie looked again toward the place where Peterson had vanished into the crowd. The other men still stared openly at the brides. Several smiled. One waved when she accidentally glanced his way. They were easier men, at least from a distance. Men who would likely laugh, carry a trunk, make conversation, and not retreat after returning a book.

Mr. Peterson had stepped back from her, yes, but he had stepped forward for the book.

That mattered. Lottie was sure it mattered.

A man might be frightened by a bride. He might be embarrassed by a crowd. He might even be uncertain what to do with a trunk full of books and a woman who had crossed half a continent because of his letters.

However, a man who picked up Tennyson from wet boards as if the book deserved gentleness was not indifferent.

Lottie held the volume a little tighter. “Delly,” she said.

“Hm?” Her sister was gathering the last of her belongings.

“I don’t think he wanted to be unkind.”

Delly’s gaze moved over Lottie’s face with a careful attention she knew too well. It was the look Delly wore when she had already seen danger and was deciding whether naming it would make things better or worse.

At last, her sister sighed. “I did not say he was unkind.”

“No. You only sounded as if you were preparing to build a fence around me.”

“A modest one.”

“Delly,” Lottie groaned.

“With a gate.”

Lottie laughed, though her throat still felt tight. “I am not a cow.”

“No. Cows are less determined.”

The dock continued around them. The injured boy was gone. Men had returned to carrying trunks with more caution than before. Her books had arrived, mostly intact. Her sister had survived the first contact with Wild Rose Ridge and had already found someone to argue with over blood and proper medical procedures.

Mr. Peterson had looked at her as though she was a problem he did not know how to solve. Lottie should have been discouraged. She was a little.

Underneath the sting was something else. A little tug urging her forward. It was the same feeling she sometimes had when opening a book to the first page and finding a sentence that did not tell her everything. It only encouraged her to keep reading.

“Where’s the other book?” Delly asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“Wh-what?”

“Moon something or another.”

Lottie kept her eyes on the dock. “Oh, I lent the book to Margot.”