Smoke River Family

Every morning the entry hall filled up with waiting patients, and every afternoon Sam stepped in to send them all down to the hospital because the doctor had left. After two days without a glimpse of Zane, Winifred knew with certainty that he was avoiding her.

At breakfast the following morning, Sam clucked over her like a mother hen. “Doctor visit lady wife’s grave yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“Then come home drink brandy all night.”

The houseboy closed his lips with finality and sloshed hot coffee into her cup. “Boss sleep late today. Go to hospital in afternoon, then see patients here today.”

One of them, young Noralee Ness, brought a quart jar of fresh-picked blackberries. All afternoon Winifred labored in the kitchen over her piecrust, while Sam offered cryptic comments every now and then. “Not more rolling, missy. Make crust like shoe leather.”

The pie emerged from the oven golden and bubbling purple juice from between the lattice strips. Winifred inhaled the fruity scent and smiled. It would be a peace offering for Zane.

By suppertime, Zane still had not returned from the hospital. Winifred ate a quiet, solitary supper with Rosemarie sleeping in her basket on the chair next to her. Disappointment gnawed at her.

She fed and rocked the baby, cut a huge slab of her pie and left it on a plate in the doctor’s office, along with a fork and a napkin. Then she dragged herself up to bed with legs that felt like wooden fence posts. She had made an enemy of Cissy’s husband and Rosemarie’s father. She crawled into bed and pulled the bassinet close.

She closed her eyes but couldn’t sleep. Was Zane so put out with her he wouldn’t let her visit again?

In the morning, the bassinet was gone. Winifred sat bolt upright in bed and stared at her closed bedroom door. Zane must have come in while she slept and rolled the bassinet back to his bedroom. At least that meant he was home. She prayed he wasn’t angry with her for moving the baby to her room. And for once she could do what she’d waited days to accomplish, make an apology.

She dressed in a light blue dimity wrapper, hurriedly braided her hair and pinned the coils at her nape and sped down the stairs to breakfast.

Zane rose as she entered the dining room. A telltale smear of purple juice on his lower lip hinted that he’d sampled her pie this morning. Something inside her began to sing.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. One of your patients brought some blackberries yesterday, so I—”

His dark eyebrows rose. “Are you saying you made the pie?”

“Yes, I... Sam showed me how and—”

His sudden smile startled her into silence. “I’m surprised,” he said. “And impressed.”

Winifred knew she was blushing. The distinctly odd expression in Zane’s gray eyes confirmed it. Instantly she found it hard to breathe. He looked and looked at her without speaking until the flesh on her bare forearms formed tiny goose bumps.

“Winifred?”

“Y-yes?”

Zane watched her eyes widen. They were like Celeste’s, yes, but a shade darker. And at this moment they looked...apprehensive.

“I owe you an apology.”

The morning air was already stifling, and the sun had scarcely cleared the mountains to the east. Perhaps that was why her cheeks were so pink. He loosened his shirt collar in the oppressive heat.

She looked down at the tablecloth, at the door leading to the kitchen, everywhere but at him. He held his breath until she spoke.

“I rather thought I owed you the apology. I had no right to...” She swallowed and looked up at him, her eyes shiny. “Perhaps a child’s place really is with her father.”

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