Page 68 of In These Hills

“Much obliged. And next time, no more than two pieces of pie.”

He took his leave, and Calla shook her head fondly. “That man’s a character. You ever seen him pushing that one-wheeled bicycle of his around town?”

Josephine frowned. “Why only one wheel?”

“’Cause Mr. Prince likes to walk, and folks—friendly as they are around here—kept offering him a ride. He got fed up with it, so he got himself a bicycle. Then one day a wheel came off, but he just keeps pushing it along.”

Josephine laughed, despite no one in town having offered her a ride. Well, except Dodge Coburn. And he hadn’t exactly offered.

Calla sniffed and glanced back at the stove. “You happen to check the clock when you put that gingerbread in?”

“No!” Josephine grabbed a kitchen cloth and lunged for the oven. “Do you think it’s burned?”

“Pull it out and see.”

She did—and sighed in relief. “It doesn’t look too brown.”

“Stick a knife in. If it comes out clean, it’s done.”

The blade came out, clean, and Josephine held it up proudly, like Mr. Prince with his badge.

Calla shook her head. “Only thing you forgot . . . we ain’t made the lemon sauce yet.”

Josephine winced. “Maybe we could just eat it plain this time?”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that! I’m ready for a slice and then to bed.”

They sat at the table, and Josephine cut them each a piece. Hers melted in her mouth. “I can’t believe I made this,” she managed, still chewing. “And it’s edible!”

“It ain’t just edible, honey. It’s good.”

“Because of you!”

Calla winked. “Because of us.”

Josephine lifted her cup of tea in salute then drank.

“No, ma’am! That one’s mine!”

Too late, the lukewarm tea burned her throat like fire all the way down. Josephine choked and coughed, eyes watering, barely managing a breath.

But one look at Calla’s face told her everything.

27

REGRET FILLED CALLA’S EYES until it spilled over. “Oh Josephine . . . I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Josephine looked at the cup, then back at her friend. “Whiskey?”

“I only take a little now and then.” Calla buried her face in her hands. “No, that ain’t true. Lord, forgive me, and help me. This time of year it’s just . . . so hard.” Her voice broke. When she looked up, the sorrow in her eyes made Josephine’s chest ache. “I know I ain’t doing right, and that I oughtn’t be—”

The kitchen door opened.

“What is it you’re cooking in here, Calla? It smells divine, and I—” Miss Mary stopped short, her gaze darting between them. “What’s wrong?”

Josephine rose at once and gathered both teacups. “We were just talking, Miss Mary. I heard you call her Calla Lilly the other day, and Calla shared the touching story behind her name.” She dumped the remainder of both their cups in the wash bucket then turned back. “And believe it or not, she just taught me how to make gingerbread. Why don’t you join us and have a piece.”

Still not looking convinced, Miss Mary pulled up a chair beside Calla. “You sure you’re all right, Calla?”