WidowsWickedWish by Lynne Barron Page A

Jack’s
for a moment before she trained it once more upon her tired, recalcitrant
daughter.
    “As usual, you are quite right,” Olivia said as serenely as
if she were discussing bonnets and bustles. “It’s terribly annoying, your
talent for correctly hitting upon the heart of the matter.”
    “I’m precocious,” Fanny replied by way of explanation.
    “Fanny’s precocious,” Charlie repeated for anyone at the
table who might have missed the girl’s statement. “And awfully grumpy.”
    “No, Charlie,” his sister replied around a wide yawn. “I’m
quite finished being grumpy.”
    “Thank the Lord,” Mary Morgan murmured.
    “If you will excuse me?” Fanny descended into a wobbly
curtsy, her tired eyes drooping, her legs nearly giving out on the ascent.
    Olivia reached out a steadying hand, held it just over her
daughter’s arm, and waited until her daughter regained her footing, before
laying it on the top of her dark head. “I will also excuse myself. Good night.”
    As she turned her daughter from the room, Olivia caught
Jack’s eyes, her gaze full of promise.
    It was that promise that had Jack pacing the parlor,
impatiently waiting as the cottage’s inhabitants made their way to bed, one
after another.
    Molly Jenkins was the first to disappear above stairs,
calling out a cheerful good night to all before admonishing her husband to keep
away from the whiskey and hurry through his chores.
    Twenty minutes later, Mary stifled a yawn behind her hand
and put aside the book she’d been reading to Charlie. Jack followed her into
the entrance hall and watched her ascend the stairs, her hand wrapped around
Charlie’s as he lurched along beside her, his left foot dragging on each step.
    The boy stopped about halfway up and gave an impressive
bounce. “Aunt Bea’s step,” he told the elegant woman beside him over the
unmistakable creak of a step in need of repair. “Aunt Bea’s your little girl,
Aunt Mary.”
    “Yes, she is,” Mary answered as they continued on their way.
    “One time Aunt Bea…she said she would let me hold baby
Willie…and you know what?” the boy asked before rushing on without waiting for
a reply. “She did let me hold Willie…and I didn’t drop him, not once. And you
know what else? He didn’t cry, not even a little bit. When the new baby comes,
I’m to hold her, too.”
    Whatever reply his grandfather’s long-time mistress made was
lost in a gust of wind that whipped through the foyer. Jack turned to find Tom
Jenkins standing in the open doorway.
    “I’m off to see to the horses ’fore I find my bed,” the
older man said in his cheerful, Cornish way.
    “I’ll help,” Jack offered, pulling his coat from a blue peg
upon the wall.
    “I won’t turn away the offer,” Tom replied. “Two hands
lessen the load by half.”
    The air outside was bitterly cold, the wind icy wet.
    “Will we have more snow?” Jack fell into step beside Tom who
leaned into the arctic wind with his head bent low.
    “In a day or two, mayhap. Leastwise not tonight.”
    “That’s good,” Jack replied thinking just the opposite.
Without more snow, the roads would be clear enough for travel, would in fact be
just frozen enough to make the journey a relatively easy one.
    “You’d be wise to go while the going’s good,” Tom told him,
pulling the stable doors open and ducking inside. “Rain’s more likely than snow
in the coming days and Lord above what a sorry state the roads be then.”
    Inside the stables the air was almost warm, and blessedly
wind-free. Jack and Tom fell into a companionable silence as they shuffled hay
and poured oats for the dozen horses housed within the warm confines. Jack
checked on Pacer, his tall gray gelding, and Posy, Justine’s steady sorrel
mare.
    “Always liked the stables of a night,” Tom said. “Beasties
be sweet when they’re tuckered out.” As if to prove his point, a big shaggy
draft horse nudged the man, his immense head gently bumping his