Page 55 of Charlotte

He huffed a quiet laugh.

Lottie smiled before she could stop herself.

He looked back at the Tennyson and ran one finger along the cloth marker. “I wasn’t angry at you.”

“You were hurt.”

His jaw worked once. “Maybe.”

That small admission felt like being trusted with a match in a dry room.

Lottie lowered her voice. “I will be more careful.”

“Don’t make yourself afraid to speak.”

The words surprised her. He seemed surprised too, as if they had come out before he could test them.

Lottie looked at him across the fading light. “I do not want to hurt you.”

“That isn’t always in your keeping.”

“No. Some of it is.”

He considered her for a long moment, then lifted the Tennyson slightly. “There is a line in here.”

Her breath caught. “Is there?”

“Aye.”

He opened the book with his left hand. The motion was awkward with the cloth marker and his hidden right hand, but he managed it. Lottie did not offer help, though every part of her wanted to make it easier. He found the page and held it where he could read.

He did not recite loudly. The words were for the two of them and the trees.

“‘I hold it true, whate’er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; ’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’”

The lines settled between them.

Lottie knew them, of course. She had read them many times. She had never heard them in Peterson’s voice, low and careful, as if each word had to be carried over rough ground before it could reach her.

Her throat tightened.

“You read beautifully,” she said. He closed the book at once. It must have been too much. She saw it and softened her voice. “That is not flattery. Only truth.”

“Truth can be poorly timed.”

“I am discovering that.”

Another quiet huff of amusement. Then he tucked the book beneath his arm.

“The man hurt today,” she said. “Mr. Holt. Will he live?”

“Likely. Simms is good with shattered things.”

Lottie heard what he did not say.

“And you?” she asked. “Are you good with shattered things?”

His eyes found hers. “No.”