The Way of Women by Lauraine Snelling Page A

him
. The voice refused to shut up.
    “How could I do that?”
    How could you not?
The calmer, more rational side of her brain kickedin. All these years she’d lived by the creed that David was the head of the household, and therefore he had the final say on things. If they disagreed and were not able to come to an agreement, she believed he should lead. That’s what Scripture said. That’s what she’d heard preached.
    But now!
    I’m worrying needlessly. And I know that worry is a sin, an elevator going down and taking me with it
. She drew in a deep breath. “Father, forgive my worrying. Please free me now so I can … can what? Thank you for knowing me better than I know myself, and please keep those men of mine safe up there. Let them have a wonderful weekend and come home refreshed with wild stories of their adventures. Thanks for listening. And loving us all.”
    She wandered around the now sparkling house. All the windows were divested of their spotted winter look, and the rich cherry wood dining room set sent burnished reflections back to the cheery sun now able to penetrate the windows. She stopped at the French doors from the family room to the deck. Two tubs of Red Emperor tulips nodded in the slight breeze. The daffodils needed to be replaced, she saw. Their yellow trumpets had gone to seed heads. The air tasted like spring with freshly turned earth, hyacinths, sprouting grass, and budding leaves all blended into one heady fragrance as she bent to snap off the seed pods.
Perhaps snapdragons would be a showy change
, she thought, pulling out a couple of weeds at the same time.
    Back in the kitchen, she turned on the teapot. She hadn’t felt much like eating, but the clock on the stove reminded her that lunchtime had come and gone. When the cranberry herb tea and peanut butter toast were ready, she took them into her office.
    You have absolutely no more excuses
, she scolded herself. The house wasimmaculate, the errands run, the ingredients on hand for the chocolate-chip cookies she would bake for her returning campers, and her weekly letter sealed and stamped for her mother. She finished her lunch, brushed auburn strands of hair back from her face, and drew the disk for her third young adult novel from its protective sleeve. She slipped it into the computer, brought up chapter four, and immersed herself in the peccadilloes of thirteen-year-old Brandy Evans. Three hours later she was still tapping away at the keyboard.
    Dusk shrouded the yard when she stretched her arms above her head. She massaged the muscles in the back of her neck and looked around the room, amazed that tortoise-time had escalated to hare. On her way to the kitchen for a refill on the tea, she thought of her campers, most likely cooking dinner at their campfire.
I can’t believe it
. Eight already. She switched on the burner. David and Brian were most likely already in the sack. The thought of her husband’s sore muscles made her conscious of her own.
    A gentle “woof” at the door reminded her that Lucky wanted in. In fact, the German short-hair Lab had probably been begging for admittance for who knew how long. “I’m sorry, Lucky. I lost track of time.”
And everything else
. She gave the liver-red dog an extra pat to make up for the lack of attention. Lucky sat and offered one paw, as if she were the one who had been remiss. Katheryn knelt down, shook the proffered paw, and rubbed the dog’s broad head. Her strong fingers found Lucky’s favorite place behind her soft ears and stroked. The dog’s eyes closed in ecstasy.
    Katheryn smiled. “Ah, if only it were this easy to keep everyone as happy.” She rose from her kneeling position, her right knee cracking in the process. “Age. Don’t ever get old, you hear.”
    She poured the hot water over the tea bag in her ceramic mug and,while it steeped, explored the contents of the fridge, the freezer, and finally the cupboard. “Those two guys of ours probably had fresh trout