The Bride of Willow Creek(83)

“Lucy, you were wrong in what you said and did, and you owe Angie an apology.” He drew a breath and held out the bribe. “If you want ice cream, you’ll have to apologize.”

The apology was sullen and sounded a long way from sincere, but Lucy offered and Angie stiffly accepted.

No one said much during the walk to Stetson’s Ice Cream Shoppe. Lucy was red-eyed and angry. Daisy didn’t have anything to say. And Angie seemed mad at the world. Certainly she was mad at him. Two wash days had come and gone, and she’d let Sam’s laundry pile up in his tent.

He was beginning to understand that the state of his underwear was a barometer of his wife’s moods. At the moment most of his underwear was at Su Yung’s Laundry, which meant that she was mad and ignoring him.

“Well,” he said brightly when they were seated at a ridiculously small table glumly inspecting dishes of melting ice cream. “What have my favorite girls been doing since I saw you all at breakfast?” His favorite girls gave him venomous glances.

As he might have predicted, it was Daisy who finally answered. “We did the morning dishes, then helped clean up the mess from the icebox. Then we shelled some peas. And I started a sampler. Angie’s showing me how to sew different stitches.”

Usually Angie wore her summer straw hat slightly tilted at a stylish angle. Today her hat sat squarely on top of her head giving her a severe look. She also seemed tired. Maybe she wasn’t sleeping any better than he was.

“Why did you come home in the middle of a workday, Sam?” she asked quietly.

“I’m putting in a lot of hours now that the days are long, and I miss all of you. It occurred to me that you three haven’t really been anywhere since the Fourth of July parade. So I thought we all deserved a nice family outing.”

Lucy pushed her empty dish forward. “Can we go now?”

Sam’s small fantasy crumbled. He had imagined passersby glancing in the shop’s window and admiring his fine-looking family. The admirers would see his beautiful daughters smartly turned out in their little hats and gloves, and his beautiful wife with bright dark eyes and smiling dimples. And there he would be with his hair slicked down and tied back, beaming proudly.

“You may go,” Angie said. “Don’t forget. You promised to help Mrs. Molly weed her kitchen garden.”

The girls slid off their tall chairs and ran out of the shop, leaving Sam alone with Angie. He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar.

“I guess I owe you an apology, too.”

“Yes, you do.”

Angie had her gracious moments, he’d be the first to say so. But this wasn’t one of them. The look in her eye reminded him of the day she’d arrived, right before she hit him. She had that fizzy look, like she was spoiling for a fight.

“The thing is, De Groot sticks in my craw. What kind of man courts another man’s wife?” Talking about it made him feel fizzy himself. “How could the bastard talk to you about marriage when you’re wearing my ring? That isn’t decent.”

Her gaze was frosty. “Is this your idea of an apology?”

She had a point. “Well, surely you can see why I wouldn’t want him writing to you, can’t you? And what do you say when you write to him?” It drove him crazy wondering what they said to each other. Did De Groot call her darling? Did she call him dearest? Did they long for each other on paper?

“I’m going home.”

He caught her arm. “Angie, wait. I’m sorry, all right?” She stared at him with those bottomless dark eyes, and he wished he were an eloquent man. Since he wasn’t, he longed to kiss her and let his mouth and hands speak for him. “When I said I didn’t care who you wrote to, that wasn’t true. You’ll say this isn’t fair and you’ll be right, but I hate it that De Groot is out there waiting for you. I hate it that you think about him and write to him. Call it pride, call it pettiness, call it selfishness. But I can’t stand to think of you with another man, especially after . . .”

She looked around hastily, then lowered her gaze and blushed bright red.

“You know what I’m saying.” And he was saying it badly. “Anyway. I apologize for . . .” Frowning, he tried to think of the right words.

“For trying to deny me my own postal box.”

“Did I do that?” He recalled asking why they had two boxes. He didn’t remember telling her that she couldn’t have her own postal box.

“And for attempting to control and ruin my future.”

“I just think you should wait until we’re divorced before you get engaged to someone else.” No matter what she said, he didn’t think that was an unreasonable point of view.