She couldn’t recall what she used to worry about, but now most of her concerns dealt with the children. Where were they? What were they doing? Were their good dresses ready for Sunday school? Had they cleaned their plates, done their chores? How old should they be before they stopped playing kickball? And how did they manage to create that tender ache in the chest at the end of the day when they knelt in their nightgowns, their faces scrubbed, their hair shining in the lamplight, and bowed their heads over small hands tented in prayer?
Her eyes lifted to Sam’s tanned face and she frowned at her conflicted emotions. No one in Willow Creek thought of her as “the Bertolis’ poor abandoned daughter.” When she attended church or a grand opening or a farewell party or a backyard gathering of neighbors, she had an escort, a husband of her own. A man who opened doors for her, who saw her safely across a street, who went home with her at the end of the evening. A man whose tie she had tied, whose shirt she had washed and ironed. A man she fed and cursed and cheered, argued with and longed for.
Tonight she would sit with neighborhood friends and talk about ordinary things while scanning the crowd, looking for a tall, dark-haired man and keeping an eye peeled for two bright heads among the children. The Carr Street ladies wouldn’t discuss elevating topics or current events. They would talk about quick recipes for wash day and how to bring down a fever and what brand of bluing worked best and where to buy the cheapest cuts of meat.
“Angie, are you crying? Your eyes are wet.” Lucy came to her with a worried expression and clasped her hand. Daisy followed, peering up anxiously.
“What are you thinking about?” Sam asked curiously.
“I’m thinking there’s no place I’d rather be tonight than right here. With the three of you.” Turning her head, she scanned the kitchen-parlor area with the canvas ceiling, thickly painted walls, and pieces of mismatched furniture.
One man’s shack was another man’s castle. She had no idea where the phrase came from or why it suddenly popped into her mind. But she lived in a castle. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight,” she whispered, blinking hard.
“You feel bad because Mrs. Molly and Mr. Johnson are leaving, and we don’t want them to,” Lucy said promptly. She tugged Angie toward the front door.
“We don’t like people to leave,” Daisy added, taking Angie’s other hand.
“We used to want people to leave,” Lucy said, giving Angie a meaningful look, “but we don’t anymore.”
“That’s right. We don’t want you to leave,” Daisy said.
And there it was, a problem in the making, one Angie had not considered. Already she knew it would hurt like a knife in her chest to say good-bye to Lucy and Daisy, but it hadn’t occurred that her departure might hurt them, too.
Feeling Sam’s stare, she lifted her head. They hadn’t talked about divorce in weeks. Did he still want her to leave? Maybe he felt as confused as she did.
Sam picked up his fiddle case and opened the front door. And the moment passed. He cleared his throat. “Looks like we’re among the last to join the party.”
Lucy and Daisy pulled her forward and out the door. The sun hadn’t yet dipped below the peaks, but the western sky blossomed in rusty pinks and oranges and golds. Torches had been lined up along both sides of the block, awaiting twilight and the touch of a match. Already people crowded the long food tables, and a group of men talked and laughed around the beer kegs. Boys who had thrown off their jackets darted through front yards and over fences playing tag. Older girls chased along behind the boys while small girls ignored them.
“You have to see Mrs. Molly,” Lucy said, excitement returning to her bright eyes.
“We made her a surprise.”
Since Molly couldn’t be kept away, Abby Mueller had positioned her at the table beside Hugo Mueller’s splendid roast pig. Molly served slices of steaming pork as fast as Hugo could carve.
A calico apron protected Molly’s best Sunday dress and she wore all her new diamonds. Diamonds flashed at her ears, throat, wrists, fingers. One sparkling brooch was pinned to her apron front and another had been attached to a tiara made out of colored ribbons twisted around wire shaped to resemble a crown.
“We made the crown,” Daisy explained, clapping her hands in delight.
“Mrs. Molly hung the diamonds on it!”
Molly grinned and blew Lucy and Daisy a kiss across the table. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? Can forgot to buy me a tiara. I would have been plum embarrassed to show my face tonight if it hadn’t been for your girls.” Lucy and Daisy smiled proudly and looked around to see who else had heard Molly’s praise. Molly leaned across the table to Angie. “You and Sam come by the house after the party, will you? Me and Can have something we want to talk to you about.”