Page 66 of Charlotte

Cornelia came to look over her shoulder. “Oh, he did draw them.”

“He said he might.”

“Peterson’s might is worth more than many men’s promise.”

Lottie touched the edge of the raccoon drawing. “He has careful eyes.”

“He does.”

“Peterson notices what things leave behind.”

Cornelia did not answer right away. When Lottie glanced at her, the schoolteacher was looking not at the drawing but at Lottie.

“That is a wise thing to know about a man,” Cornelia said.

Before Lottie could ask what she meant, the door opened. Peterson stood there with his hat in his left hand, Tennyson beneath one arm and the botany volume beneath the other.

The drawings were still in Lottie’s hand.

“Oh,” she said, with all the grace of a person who had forgotten language under pressure.

His gaze dropped to the paper. “The boy brought them?”

“Yes, he did. They are wonderful.”

“They are tracks.”

“Wonderfully drawn tracks.”

His mouth moved, but he subdued the smile before it could become obvious. “You asked for them.”

“You answered with pictures.”

“I was near the cookhouse at dawn. Squirrel tracks were fresh.”

“That makes it even better.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Now I know the first field pages were not invented from memory. They were gathered.”

Peterson shifted the books against his side. “You make things sound finer than they are.”

“No. I make them sound as fine as they are. People are often careless about naming ordinary beauty.”

He looked at her then with attention that made the room feel both brighter and harder to breathe in. Lottie had learned not to look away from him too quickly. If she wanted him to believe she meant her courage, she had to let him see it, even when her own cheeks warmed.

Cornelia picked up the inkpot from the table. “I need to check whether Mrs. Schulte has located the promised paper from the church office.”

Lottie did not look at her. “Do you?”

“I do.”

“Convenient.”

“Very. Good day, Mr. Peterson.” Cornelia left by the side door, though Lottie suspected the church office did not require ink and Mrs. Schulte had found nothing of the sort.

Peterson watched her go, then looked back at Lottie. “Mrs. Montgomery is subtle.”