Between Two Worlds by Stacey Coverstone Page A

she yawned.
    Another rap sounded and the voice called out again, “Miss Marshall?”
    “Yes. Coming.” She dangled her legs over the side and slid off the
bed and padded over to the door. Mrs. Quinn’s face stared back at her when she
opened it. She yawned again. “Am I late for dinner? I’m sorry. I guess I was
more tired than I thought.”
    “Dinner is over,” Charlotte answered.
    “Oh.” Delaney’s stomach rumbled as if on cue. 
    “You slept through the night. Breakfast is in thirty minutes. I
thought you’d want to freshen up before you come down, since Dr. Whitman said
he’d be joining us.”
    “I slept through the night?” Delaney’s mouth fell open. “I don’t
remember the last time that happened. I usually toss and turn all night long.”
    “I pride myself on my comfortable beds. It’s not unusual for
guests to sleep heavily after traveling a long distance,” Charlotte said.
    If only she knew just how long a distance I traveled . “Thank you, Mrs. Quinn. I’ll wash up and be down soon.”
    A gentle smile tugged at Charlotte’s thin lips. “Feel free to call
me by my Christian name. Everyone does. I’ve been a widow more years than I was
married.”
    “All right. Thank you, Charlotte.” Delaney watched her glide
regally down the staircase, and then she scurried to the end of the hall to the
bathroom. Just as she reached for the doorknob, another bedroom door banged
open and a blond boy skidded into the hallway. His and Delaney’s eyes
connected.
    “It’s you!” she cried, recognizing the child. His gaze immediately
dropped to the floor. “No need for you to act shy. I’m happy to see you.” She knelt
and stuck out her hand. “My name is Miss Marshall, but you can call me Delaney.
We didn’t get to meet properly yesterday.”
    “Hello,” he said, gripping her hand in a man-like shake. “My
name’s Fletcher.”
    “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. What a coincidence this is.”
    He looked up and flashed his toothless grin.
    “Did you get your hand checked out by Dr. Whitman? Let me see.”
    Fletcher shook his head and opened his palm. “It just got scraped
a little. It’s okay. My ma put some salve on it.”
    “Fletch! Come back in here… Oh! Hello. I didn’t know anyone was
out here.” A petite young woman with long hair the color of wheat stepped out
of the bedroom door wearing a robe. She pulled it closer to her body, and two
pink suns rose in her cheeks.
    Delaney stood up. “Hi. I’m Delaney Marshall, a new border. I’m
staying in the corner room.” She pointed down the hall.
    “I’m pleased to meet you.” The young woman had a sweet southern
accent. “My name is Georgia Brent and this is my son, Fletcher, but I guess you
two have already met.”
    Delaney smiled down at the boy. “Yes. For the second time.” When
she could see Georgia didn’t understand, she said, “I sort of saved your son
from getting hit by the runaway freight wagon yesterday morning.”
    A combination of surprise, relief and gratitude spread across the
young mother’s face. She threw her arms around Delaney and hugged her tight and
then backed up and said, “I don’t know how I can ever repay you, Miss Marshall.
You saved my little boy’s life. I’d planned on going to town this morning to
find out who it was that rescued him, so I could thank her—you—properly. I’ll
be forever in your debt.” Her eyes began to mist over. “I don’t know what I
would have done if I’d lost Fletch. It’s just him and me.”
    Delaney touched her arm. “You don’t owe me a thing. I’m glad I was
there and could help. Where are you and Fletcher from? You have a pretty
accent.”
    “We’re originally from Virginia. My husband and I came out west
two years ago.” She placed her hand on top of her son’s head and twirled a
finger through his shiny hair. “Alan was killed when a horse bucked him, about
three months after we arrived.”
    “How awful. I’m so sorry.”
    “Thank you. I