Natalie pressed her lips tightly together and swallowed a lump of guilt. She and Milt had done nothing to mark the occasion. Trust Connie to turn up bearing gifts. Milt’s only sibling was married to a farmer and they lived just over an hour away to the south, and to Natalie’s knowledge this was probably only the third visit she’d made to her mother since she’d moved in to the unit.

“We went out for lunch at the hotel.”

“Today?” Natalie couldn’t help the sharpness of her response.

“It was good of her to spend time with me when she’s so busy. We had a lovely afternoon.”

“Sorry I missed her.” Natalie gritted her teeth. Why hadn’t Connie done the damn shopping?

“She had to get back by four,” Olive said as if reading her thoughts. “They’ve got something happening on the property next week, some kind of farm day out, and their place is on the list. She was in the middle of cooking for it.” Olive looked Natalie up and down as if for the first time. “You’re looking tired. Perhaps it’s time you gave up the teaching.”

Natalie sucked her lips tightly over her teeth. How often had she heard that over the years? Olive had not been happy that Natalie had kept teaching after she’d married Milt nor when she’d returned to it once Laura had started school. Of course, Connie hadn’t worked outside the property. She’d had three sons and was on hand to help on the farm at all times.

“I’m fine.” Apart from some kind of breast anomaly, but Olive was the last person she’d tell about that. Natalie’s head hurt from trying to contain the whirl of thoughts going round and round. Perhaps it would spin right off her shoulders. Then Olive would have a definite reason to tell her to stop teaching.

Olive studied her closely. “You haven’t forgotten the church trading table on Friday morning? I told them you’d make a couple of your orange cakes.”

Natalie pressed her fingers to the side of her head. Who knew where she’d be on Friday or what would be happening? Would they start treatment on her straight away?

“When did I agree to that?”

Olive’s head jerked back, her forehead creasing in a frown. “You always make cake for the trading table. The families come in a couple of weeks. Surely you haven’t forgotten.”

“I’m sure it’s in my diary,” Natalie squeaked. Their church raised money each year to give several city families who were doing it tough a country holiday. “But it’s not till the holidays, is it?”