Hidden in a Whisper by Tracie Peterson

knowing that the woman spoke the truth. Until the Santa Fe had agreed to purchase her land for Casa Grande resort, she could easily say that the saloon was probably the most productive business in her town.
    â€œSpeaking of saloons,” Lettie said, leaning forward, “did you hear that Mrs. Mills’husband was locked up again?” She didn’t wait for Esmeralda to respond. “He shot a hole in the floor of the Mad House Saloon and threatened the bartender when he refused to pour Mr. Mills another drink. The poor woman was beside herself when she learned the news. It practically broke her heart. You know they have five children and barely make ends meet with his profits from the mercantile. Not only that, she’s going to have another baby, and I figure it was this that sent Mr. Mills to the saloon.”
    â€œAnother child is far from what they need,” Esmeralda admitted.
    â€œWell, they aren’t the only ones making additions to the town,” Lettie replied. “We have at least three women in the congregation who will give birth next year. Of course, I can’t mention them by name, but one of them just married two weeks ago. I’d imagine we’ll see that baby arriving just a little sooner than the date on their marriage license would indicate proper.”
    Esmeralda nodded and listened as the woman continued to chatter about the matters of the townsfolk. One child had a broken arm, another had nearly drowned in the river but was saved by a kindly passerby. The town marshal believed he would seek out a deputy, and the butcher was to have fresh lamb available on the day after tomorrow.
    Eventually the conversation lagged, and as it did, Esmeralda followed routine and glanced up at the ornate mantel clock. “My, but the afternoon is getting away from us.”
    â€œOh, indeed,” Lettie replied, wiping her mouth with her linen napkin. “I still have several calls to make so I mustn’t tarry here. I do wish you would reconsider the sewing circle. We would be pleased to have you join us.” She brushed off her crumbs, mindless of where they fell, and placed her teacup on the serving cart. “It’s always so nice to chat with you.”
    Esmeralda walked her to the door, ignoring the way Lettie gaped at the furnishings of the house.
    â€œYou simply must take me on a tour of the house when I have more time,” Lettie said.
    This, too, was a part of the routine. Lettie always pushed for an invitation to see beyond the front parlor, and Esmeralda always managed to put her off with a simple, “We shall see.” Lettie never seemed to understand that she had once again overstepped the bounds of propriety. Nor did she worry overmuch about what Esmeralda thought.
    She seemed quite happy just to make her rounds and visit—sharing tidbits of information Esmeralda might otherwise never hear. Lettie Johnson was better than any town newspaper.
    â€œGive my regards to the pastor,” Esmeralda told the woman as she pulled on her bonnet.
    â€œI will do that. See you Sunday,” Lettie replied, taking herself down the stone steps. “Oh, and don’t forget there’s to be a potluck dinner after church. I sure hope you’ll come.”
    â€œI seriously doubt that I will,” Esmeralda replied. She offered neither explanation nor excuse, and Lettie didn’t press for one.
    Esmeralda sighed in relief after the woman had gone, but even as she closed the door, she realized the sensation of emptiness that flooded the house. It was bad enough that Ivy had chosen to stay on at the resort. She had thought to bring the girl home and still allow her to maintain her ludicrous idea of waiting tables for the Harvey House, but that failed to work out.
    She remembered their fierce argument when Ivy had learned of Esmeralda’s decision to remain in Morita. It hadn’t been a pretty sight because Ivy had felt certain they would return to