Fred shoved back his chair and headed for the door. “Dang varmint. Dad-blasted squirrel.” He muttered imprecations as he grabbed the broom handle and brandished it.

The squirrel was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m not sure who has the most fun, Fred or the squirrel.”

“The squirrel by a long shot. He was thumbing his nose when I saw him. Acknowledged by a squirrel. Fred is some privileged.” Amalia raised her glass in salute.

“We could take our iced tea outside and watch the birds. Let Fred dish up the ice cream; he made it last night. Still have a few of Addy’s cookies too. I hid a couple of containers in the freezer.”

Amalia groaned. “You should have warned me. Let me clear the table first.”

“Fred’s turn.”

“So I can give Fred a break.”

“You know him, he likes the dishes just so in the dishwasher. He wants to take care of dishes, I let him.” She slid the glass door open. “Oh look, the grosbeaks are here.”

Amalia paused to watch the striking bird with the scarlet chest and his mate take over the feeder, managing to scatter seeds down for the ground-feeding birds. Another pang of homesickness hit her. Must be the day for it. Tears did not come easy for her, but she could feel them burning at the back of her throat.

“Are you all right?” Ginny asked softly.

“Yeah, or I will be.” She looked around for her iced tea and nodded when Ginny raised it from the small table between the two recliners. Instead of sitting down, Amalia leaned on the wooden railing around the deck. A large basket of fern on one side of her and trailing arbutus on the other. Crossing her arms, she heaved a sigh. “Your hostas are growing well.”

“Once they came up. I was beginning to be concerned. Fred pulled the winter mulch off them after the frost left the ground, but we didn’t see any green until the hens started scratching in the beds.”

Feeling more under control again, Amalia settled into the bright floral cushions and picked up her glass. Spook flopped down between them with a sigh. The song of a purple finch came from one of the maple trees leafing out behind the house. She picked up her ball of yarn from the basket beside her and studied the lap robe to see where she was to knit or purl and set the needles to clicking.

“Do you ever just sit and enjoy?”

Amalia shrugged. “Probably not. I don’t miss out on the enjoyment by knitting. My hands do that all on their own. And then I don’t feel guilty for sitting down.”

“What are you going to bring to the meeting on Monday night?”

“Oh, a piece of cross-stitching. I put it away and just found it again. I thought of that rug I have on the coffee table, you know the hooked one? But it’s too big to haul around. Besides, the cross-stitching is a true UFO. I think I started it on the farm.”