“It was a long time ago.” His tone made it clear that the discussion was at an end, whether the words he’d said matched that particular meaning or not. He nodded toward the table, where the pretty box still sat. “Miss June-bug sent along some of her cocoa candy. That’s a high compliment, since she won’t even make the stuff for Jacob except at Christmas.”

Evangeline was grateful for a change of subject, and for a gesture of friendship from a woman she liked so much. “You said there was a letter?”

He nodded. “It’s in my coat pocket.”

She stood. “May I?”

He nodded again, and resumed watching the fire. Evangeline wondered what he saw there that fascinated him so much—memories, perhaps. Promises he’d made to other people at other times, and must still keep.

When she’d found the packet of folded paper, smelling faintly of leather and of June-bug’s delicate floral perfume, she turned to see Scully taking a book down off the shelf next to the fireplace. He helped himself to one of the lamps, muttered an expressionless good night, and vanished into the lean-to.

Evangeline felt as bereft as if she would have if he’d saddled the Appaloosa and ridden out again, headed for Springwater or some point beyond. He was in the next room and she missed him, heaven help her, as sorely as if he were miles away.

He might as well have been, she concluded, blinking against a sudden sting in her eyes. Holding June-bug’s letter, she sat down near the fire again, and began to read, devouring the cheerful words. It didn’t matter that they had little to say to each other as yet, she and the mistress of Springwater station, being virtual strangers; receiving a letter was cause for celebration, the sort of rare event that could sustain a person for a long while.

When she’d read every page, she started over, relishing each bit of news, however innocuous. Then she folded the missive and tucked it away in the trunk, with her other belongings.

* * *

The delectable scent of frying fish teased Evangeline awake the following morning; she opened her eyes to hear Scully and Abigail talking cheerfully at the other end of the house, near the stove. The air had a special quality of brightness, almost spring-like.

Abigail appeared beside the bed, dumping Hortense onto her mother’s chest. “You’d better get up, Mama. We might eat all the fish, me and Scully. Hortense gets some, too.”

“Scully and I,” Evangeline corrected, out of habit. Hortense peered at her with those peculiar mismatched eyes, then nuzzled her face with a tiny, wet nose. She smiled, despite the fact that she was in an awkward situation. In the first place, she couldn’t very well arise in full view of Scully, wearing only a nightgown as she was. In the second, she needed to use the chamber pot. Desperately.

As though reading her mind, Scully spoke from his post near the cookstove. “I’ll turn my back for as long as necessary,” he said. His voice was slightly raised, for her benefit, of course, and there was laughter hidden in it.