Читать книгу: «Mother's Day Miracle and Blessed Baby», страница 2

He whirled around faster than she expected, bumping into her. One tanned hand grabbed her arm, waited until she was steady, then fell away as if it had been burned.

“No, you wait. Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough. I’m not interested in whatever you’re offering. My family is doing just fine. I don’t need your interference.” His snapping black eyes told her just how little she interested him. When Clarissa didn’t back off, he smiled darkly.

“I don’t go for blondes, and even if I did, I’d pick someone strong enough to handle four kids, not a woman who looks like she’d blow away in the first storm that came along.” His eyes glinted black as ebony. “You want to mother someone, Miss Cartwright? Find your own kids.”

Clarissa cringed away from him, but she refused to allow him to get away with saying such things to her. Whatever was behind his glowering countenance, it couldn’t cover this deplorable lack of good manners.

“Believe me, Mr. Featherhawk, I wouldn’t bother to give you the time of day! But I feel sorry for those children. If you’re this cranky all the time, they must really bask in your company. A veritable joy to live with!”

Clarissa had never been so furious in her life. She stomped up the stairs, picked up Pierce’s empty glass and plate, and stormed into the house, slamming the door behind her. As usual, the door immediately flopped open, and waved back and forth on its hinges with the annoying creak it always made when ill-treated.

A burst of laughter from outside made her flush even hotter. She slapped the dishes down and whirled back to the door to face his supercilious look.

“While you’re looking for someone to share your life with, I’d make sure he knows how to build. This mausoleum is going to fall down around your ears if you don’t do something soon, Miss Cartwright. Not that I’m volunteering.” He frowned, took a step backward and shook his head. “No way! I’m not into masochism. Good night.”

Clarissa seethed with indignation. Of all the arrogant, rude, obnoxious men, Wade Featherhawk had to take the cake. She closed the door firmly on his snide words and then wondered if he’d been referring only to the house.

The phone pealed a summons and Clarissa picked it up reluctantly. Please Lord, not another busybody.

“Hi, Prissy! How was Hawaii?” Her college buddy, Blair Delayney’s bright voice echoed from the far reaches of the Rocky Mountains. “Meet any gorgeous men?”

“Nope, not a one. I’m still part of the group. How about you and Briony?” She wouldn’t say a thing about the one who’d just left her front yard.

It was an old joke. In college, all three women had planned to be married and then lost their grooms one way or another before the ceremony. Down but not out, they’d banded together, calling themselves the Three Spinsters, vowing never to go looking for love again.

The only problem was, none of them could seem to accept in their hearts that love wouldn’t find them. Someday.

“Oh, we’re both still old maids. How was the wedding?” Blair always demanded details.

“It was lovely. On the beach, at sunset. That exclusive club was something else, though I felt out of place. I didn’t know anyone except Great-Aunt Martha and she’s deaf.” Clarissa described the elegant dresses of the guests as best she could.

“I told you to take along a friend. Hawaii’s a hard place to be alone.” Blair’s voice softened in commiseration.

“Tell me about it.” Clarissa rested her cheek against the coolness of the wall. “Everywhere I went there were couples. Old ones, young ones, but always couples. Even some with kids.”

“I’m sorry, Priss.” Blair and Bri were the only two who knew how much she wanted to be a mother.

The old nickname came from her college days when she was constantly chiding them about cleaning up the apartment. It was somehow comforting to Clarissa. “Don’t be. I managed all right once the aunt left and I got to look around on my own. There’s this museum, Blair. You wouldn’t believe the stuff!”

She launched into a description of the Bishop Museum that left little time for her to recount the lonely evenings spent walking along the silver-lined sand by herself, longing for someone to share all that beauty with. By the time Blair rang off, she was hooting with laughter. Which was exactly what Clarissa wanted. No one feeling sorry for her.

She rinsed off the dishes and stacked them in the cavernous dishwasher, empty except for her dinner plate and cutlery. She considered Wade’s stinging assessment as she worked. Her lips pinched tight in anger as she remembered Pierce’s yearning look at the pie she’d made for Mr. Harper.

“We’ll see who has the last laugh, Mr. Wade Featherhawk. We’ll just see. I wouldn’t offer to help you if you begged me on bended knee!”

The mental picture this brought to mind made her burst out laughing. Wade Featherhawk, on his knees, to her?

“In your dreams, woman.” She giggled out loud. She’d often dreamed of being proposed to, but it wasn’t going to happen this time either, prayer notwithstanding. “Just forget about him.”

If only it was that easy.

Chapter Two

Two weeks later Wade glanced around the old-fashioned church and grimaced as he caught sight of Clarissa Cartwright’s willowy figure two pews ahead. Her dainty blue-and-white-flowered dress accentuated her gorgeous blond hair and the narrowness of her waist, along with other assets he forbade himself to notice. She was tiny. As he studied her clear profile and smooth white skin, his body tensed, his hands clenched and his jaw tightened. Wade told himself it was anger.

Everywhere he went these days, she seemed to be there, waiting in the wings, a silent reminder that he wasn’t a very good father, that he didn’t know diddly about parenting. That duty and obligation were no substitute for the mother’s love that the kids needed.

She never said a word, of course, but he knew she was inaudibly pointing out the fact that he didn’t have a clue as to what he was doing when it came to raising kids, especially girls.

Just his luck that Tildy and Lacey had Clarissa for a Sunday school teacher, Jared drew her as his special pal in Boys’ Club, and Pierce couldn’t stop singing the praises of her dim, moldy old library. Some luck, Wade decided grimly.

No sooner was Wade’s back turned than Clarissa invited one or the other of them over to that mausoleum. For a snack, to plan an outing, to practice a new recipe. Blah, blah, blah.

Wade was fed up to the teeth hearing about Miss Clarissa Cartwright and her wonderful life! All it did was make him look incompetent and lacking. Which he was! But he didn’t need it rubbed in.

“Good to see you here.” A man whose name Wade couldn’t remember pumped his hand up and down, his face beaming. “Glad to have you in Waseka.”

“Uh, thanks.” Wade felt vaguely ashamed of his churlish behavior. Not everyone was all bad.

“You ever bowl? We’re one short on our team and I sure wouldn’t mind getting someone who can roll a few strikes. Call me up if you’re interested. Ed Mason’s the name.”

“Thanks. I don’t have a lot of free time, but I’ll think about it.” Wade watched the other man saunter away, then turned to gather his brood. Instead, he found himself virtually alone inside the building. Now what?

He sauntered down the aisle and out the door. They were there on the lawn, all four of them, clustered around her, laughing and giggling. Probably at some remark she’d made about him. Wade felt his jaw tighten in annoyance and struggled to suppress it. Why did she get under his skin like this?

“Really? A picnic? What would we have?” That was Jared, consumed with the condition of his perpetually empty stomach.

“Mm, fried chicken, maybe? With potato salad. And watermelon scones.” Clarissa brushed a hand over Tildy’s riot of inexpertly permed curls. “Maybe some chocolate layer cake for dessert. Or strawberry shortcake. How does that sound?”

“Like I died and went to heaven.” Jared groaned, patting his ribs. “When can we go?”

“You can’t.” Wade walked up behind them, frowning in reproof at Clarissa. “Miss Cartwright has other things to do. And we can manage meals perfectly well on our own.”

“But Clarissa was going to teach me how to make fried chicken for my home ec class,” Tildy protested. “And Lacey wants to get some help with that biology paper.”

“I’ll help her. And we can buy fried chicken in town. Or make it at home. Let’s go.” He herded them toward the sidewalk. “Tildy, you, Lacey and the boys go ahead and get lunch started. I just have to stop and talk to someone for a minute. I’ll be right there.”

“Yes, Uncle Wade.” Tildy didn’t even look at him, but he could tell from the pout on her pretty face that she wasn’t happy with his edict. Her heels hit the pavement with hard, knee-jarring thumps.

Wade winced at the girl’s anger while his own temper inched up another degree. It was all her fault! All this meddling from their nosy neighbor had made the kids rebellious. He turned back toward the church with vengeance fogging his brain.

“Miss Cartwright, I asked you to leave us alone. Why can’t you respect my wishes?”

She stared at him, her eyes big pools of innocence in her long thin face.

“I didn’t encourage them. Really! It was just that Pierce mentioned it was a lovely day for bird-watching. Then Jared suggested a picnic, and I joined in his game of pretend. I wasn’t hinting anything.”

Her face, open and oh, so innocent, peered back at him.

“Yeah, right.” He led her out of the way of the crowd and off to one side. Then he stood in front of her, daring her to try to wiggle out of this one. “I’m asking you for the last time to leave my kids alone. We don’t need your help. It was nice of you to do what you’ve done, and I do appreciate it, but we’re settled in now and we’re doing just fine by ourselves.”

She looked a little surprised and confused by his words. That blank, credulous look made him say something he shouldn’t have.

“Please, lady, just leave us alone. I know you want to help but you can’t. No one can. I’ve got to do this on my own, no matter how much I might want somebody there to share the load. We’ve got to learn how to be a family together. Alone.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you,” she whispered, her face ashen. The twinkle of happiness he’d glimpsed earlier disappeared. “I just thought I could help out. I didn’t think you’d find out about the jeans or the ironing.”

Wade felt his face freeze. He allowed his gaze to slip just a little lower, to the pressed cotton of his shirt. He should have known Lacey hadn’t done it!

“They’re so busy doing chores all day, they don’t have time to play. Everything is so serious for them. I was just trying to lend a hand.” Her earnest voice pleaded with him to understand, dropped almost to a whisper. “I know what it’s like to feel as if you have to earn your keep.”

Wade felt the pain in those softly spoken words and wondered what had caused it. Clarissa Cartwright hardly looked like a little Cinderella. In spite of that, he couldn’t stem the tide of chagrin that rose in a wave of gall. How dare she go to his house, check out his family and how he provided for them? How dare she snoop through his home on the pretext of mending their worn clothes? He knew they weren’t the best, but at least they were clean and paid for. Well, most of the time they were clean.

“Look, maybe we don’t live the kind of dream life you want. I know the kids have to pitch in. But it won’t hurt them. They’ll learn accountability. Raising them is up to me, not you.” He felt a tide of red rise in his cheeks as he noticed the tiny mending stitches on the knee of his jeans.

Even in the best of all possible worlds, his nieces couldn’t sew like that, and he should have known it, would have known it if he’d paid more attention to them.

“I love those kids as if they were my very own. They’re not going to get mixed up in drugs or booze or any of that stuff as long as I’m around.” He took a deep breath and continued. “But they’re not going to have a mother, either. Not even a pretend one. And they have to face that.” He took a deep breath and went on the attack.

“So I wish you’d stop trying to weasel your way into our lives just so you can prove to everyone how much better off you’d treat them. In two words, Miss Cartwright—butt out!”

Wade turned and found several pairs of eyes on him. He knew then that the congregation had heard every word he’d said. Before the noon siren screamed across the town, they’d spread it far and wide. A surge of remorse washed over him, but he thrust it away, his mind boiling with frustration.

Maybe now these people would stop shoving Clarissa Cartwright’s single status in his face!

Wade made himself spend time talking with Pastor Mike, chatting to Jerry about the walk-in cedar closet he wanted in his house. By the time he strode down the sidewalk, hands clenched inside his pockets, most of the folks had dispersed. And that included Clarissa. He’d known the exact moment she’d scurried away, head downcast, shoulders slumped.

He forced his mind away off her and took a detour on the way home in order to concentrate on the list of jobs he’d garnered around town. With a little luck, maybe he could make enough to put some money in the bank for that rainy day that kept happening when work ran out. He was going to need a little extra cash. Especially now, with the country club project delayed.

It wasn’t five minutes before he got caught up in studying the Victorian architecture of the row of houses on Primrose Lane. He kept walking, trying to remember the details he’d planted deep in his brain last year in order to gain acceptance to the college of architecture.

As he studied gables and turrets, Wade let his mind turn over the problem of life in Waseka. He’d tried to keep to himself, tried to avoid the inevitable matchmaking. He’d been through it enough times. And every time the kids got their hopes up, he had to dash them because the woman in question always wanted something he couldn’t give. She sure wasn’t looking to take on a ready-made family that belonged to someone else. At least, that’s what he told himself. The truth was, he didn’t want the responsibility of yet another person cluttering up his life.

Wade trudged down the street with the sun beating on his head, lost in his thoughts of providing a future for four needy children who were totally dependent on him. His shoulders bowed under all that being their parent demanded, the knowledge that he was no good at responsibility nagging in the back of his brain.

He flinched in surprise when small, sharp-nailed fingers closed around his arm, pinching tight in their effort to penetrate and thus slow him down. Wade flung the hand away, then whirled around to see who was attacking him.

She stood there, sea foam eyes turbulent with temper. Clarissa might have to look up to meet his gaze, but she certainly didn’t seem intimidated. She looked more like a wasp about to sting.

“How dare you embarrass me like that? I didn’t help them out because of you! I wouldn’t do anything for you. You’re too stubborn and far too arrogant to want to help, Mr. Featherhawk.” Her words were so sharp, they could have torn a strip off him.

He waited, mentally flinching at the fury in her face, but keeping his own countenance impassive.

“Did I mention self-absorbed?” She crossed both arms across her chest and glared. “Or conceited? I did it for them, you know. Because they deserve some decent food, some time to play, a clean house and a shoulder to cry on once in a while. They’ve had to grow up awfully fast since their parents’ deaths. Can’t you let them be children for even one afternoon without lording it over them and forcing them to wallow in the drudgery?”

Oh, brother! Over the past two weeks they must have poured out the whole ugly story. As if he wanted to deprive them of anything when they’d already lost both parents. Wade sighed, his whole body sagging with tiredness as she continued her diatribe. As he waited, she slapped her hands on her hips and laughed, a harsh discordant sound that didn’t match her delicate looks.

“You’re so worried about getting trapped—who would want to marry you anyway?” She sniffed, her snubbed nose tipped upward in haughty reproof. “It’s not as if you’re the least bit pleasant to be around. I feel sorry for those kids, living with a bear like you, Wade Featherhawk. You carry a chip big enough for the whole Cree nation.”

Clarissa gave him one last huff, then turned and stomped away, her heels tap-tapping on the sidewalk. Openmouthed, Wade watched her until she closed her white picket gate, climbed the steps to her rickety old house and firmly closed the door on him. He shook his head to clear it, wondering why he’d chosen this street anyway.

Then he turned the corner toward home, his shoulders hunching forward as he thought over what she’d said.

“Way to go, bud! You’ve already got so many friends in this place, you can really afford to slap down the one person who was willing to help out, no questions asked. Smart, very smart.”

He shut his mind on that mocking inner voice and kept walking toward the park. He needed to think….

Wade wasn’t sure how much time passed before he wandered out of the park and down the street. He scanned the sky, but that didn’t help. Heritage or not, he couldn’t tell time by the sun. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the plume of smoke coming from down the street. From his house! Wade broke into a sprint that carried him through the front door and into the kitchen in less than a minute.

“Tildy? Something’s burning.” He grabbed a pot mitt and lifted the smoke-belching pan from the stove, searching for a place to set it down.

Since the counter was covered with dirty dishes and the table still held the remains of breakfast, he carried the pot outside and across the backyard to dump its charred remains into the garbage barrel.

Clarissa Cartwright stood across the alley, in her own yard, fork poised over a barbeque. She raised one eyebrow quizzically.

“Problem?” she enquired softly, glancing down at the pot.

“Not at all,” he lied.

“Oh, good. Well, if the children want to accept my invitation, I have extra steaks in the fridge and lots of potatoes right here, ready to roast. There’s apple pie for dessert and I made fresh lemonade. They’re more than welcome.”

Meaning he wasn’t? Wade sighed. No question about it. He’d burned his bridges there. She’d probably cross the street to avoid him from now on. But that was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

She turned the item on her barbeque and Wade felt his mouth water, his tongue prickle, his stomach rumble. A T-bone steak! What he wouldn’t give for a nice juicy steak on the rare side with a fluffy baked potato heaping with sour cream. And a slice of apple pie.

He closed his eyes and gulped, swallowing the gall that rose in his throat as he humbly ate crow. You didn’t take someone up on an invitation like that after you’d embarrassed them in front of half the town.

“Th-thanks anyway. But we’ve got our dinner ready.” He wished he could chuck the pot into the garbage can, too. It would take forever to clean.

“Yes, I can see that.” She gave him one last questioning look, then turned her back and lifted a sizzling steak from the grill, watching as the juices dripped onto the coals. “A little too rare, I think.” She laid it back down.

Wade swallowed again, scraped what he could out of his pot and returned to his messy, smoke-filled home with legs like cement.

As he gathered the kids around the table to munch on tasteless, white buttered bread spread with gobs of oily peanut butter, he faced the condemning looks in their eyes.

“To think we could have been eating real food. Steak,” Jared grumbled, glaring at the sandwich. “And pie. I heard her from my window. Pie!”

“Know what my Sunday school lesson was about today, Uncle Wade?” Lacey’s pretty face darkened like a thundercloud about to dump its contents all over him.

“I can’t imagine.” He chewed slowly, almost gagging when he tried to swallow the sticky concoction.

“Pride,” Lacey informed him sagely. “Silly, stupid pride. It always comes before a fall.”

“Oh. That’s nice, dear.”

A resounding silence greeted his words. Then, one by one, the kids left the table, their sandwiches torn apart, but mostly uneaten.

Wade took a gulp of water, then folded his napkin over the rest of his sandwich. He couldn’t eat another bite either.

Grimly he wondered how much damage it would do to his image to admit defeat and take them all out to the fast-food place for supper. He’d almost decided to do it when he saw Pierce sneak across the backyard and vault over her fence.

Not two minutes later the boy was sprawled on the grass, happily munching on something, his freckled face the picture of bliss as he gazed lovingly at Wade’s nemesis.

As he worked on cleaning up the kitchen, Wade had lots of time to notice that it wasn’t long before Jared, followed by Tildy and Lacey, decided to go for a walk. And when Clarissa and Pierce disappeared from her backyard, he knew exactly where all three had gone.

“Bribing them,” he muttered, viciously scraping last night’s burnt hamburger out of the frying pan. “That’s all she’s doing.”

His stomach rumbled agreement, and he threw down the pot scrubber in defeat.

“Sally’s Café is open this afternoon. I believe I’ll stop by for coffee with the boys.”

Wade pulled open the door, his toe thudding against the box that sat leaning against the closet door. Why had he hung on to his drafting table anyway? It wasn’t as if he’d ever realize that ambition. It was better to get rid of all the evidence of his aspirations to become an architect. Supporting four kids took every dime he made and more moments than he had in a day. Finding time to study would be impossible.

Wade picked up the box, opened the closet and stuffed it against the back wall, standing the rolls of vellum filled with his carefully sketched ideas behind the winter coats. He had only himself to blame—his sister, Kendra, would be living somewhere with her children if he hadn’t insisted she give her husband another chance, try to make their marriage work. That’s what had killed her and ended his dream, his insistence on avoiding his duty to her.

Wouldn’t it have been better to let Kendra move out on Roy, come and live with him, instead of asking her to work things out? He’d laid it on heavy, reminded her how much the boys needed their dad. Not because he thought Roy was any role model, but because Wade didn’t want the responsibility, didn’t want to put his own plans on hold. That had always been his problem—trying to get out of what other people expected of him.

Well, it was far too late to change it all now. All he could do was fulfill her last wish and care for them the best he knew how.

Wade sighed, closed the front door and strolled down the street toward the local café. When a light breeze ruffled the apple blossoms overhead and fluttered their petals to the ground, Wade thought he heard sweet, joyful laughter from the librarian’s house across the back alley. He ignored it and kept walking. If he didn’t get something to eat soon, his stomach was going to devour his backbone. Too bad it wouldn’t be steak.

Three weeks later Clarissa picked up the basket holding a pot pie made from her grandmother’s famous recipe. In the other hand she snuggled a basket of homemade biscuits and the carrier that protected her triple chocolate fudge cake—the one that had won a blue ribbon at the state fair.

“I don’t care what he says,” she told herself firmly as she forced open the back gate. “I promised those kids a decent meal tonight, and I am going to deliver. He can rant and rave for another two weeks if he wants. It’s no skin off my nose.”

But she hated the acrimony. She knew how hard it was for him to manage everything. The kids had told her enough for Clarissa to get the picture. Wade Featherhawk had not had an easy life and by the sounds of it, he wasn’t scheduled for a reprieve anytime soon.

Apparently life on the reservation he’d grown up on, had not been a picnic. According to the kids, there was little work and lots of bad memories. Once he’d packed the kids up and left, he’d had to fight for every opportunity to prove he did quality work. Not that he deserved a second chance, her brain piped up. He’s too cranky. But she wouldn’t dream of slighting someone’s work ethic just because he was in a bad humor.

Clarissa had heard the talk in town, of course. Awful bigoted talk about his heritage. There had even been rumors. Not that she paid them any heed. She encouraged those who had hired him to speak openly about Wade’s good solid work ethic, and the able way he completed the jobs he contracted to do. She’d asked to keep one of the extremely good sketches he’d drawn for a renovation, and showed it to several ladies she knew wanted work done on their homes.

Gradually, people in Waseka were coming to accept the little family as a permanent fixture. Or they would do if they could only stop talking about how needy the children always looked. As a hint on her behalf, Clarissa felt it was blatantly overdone.

She’d done what she could, of course. But it wasn’t easy with Wade’s orders to stay away ringing in her ears. Last night Pierce’s grumble had torn a sympathetic hole in her heart, and she was determined to repair it one way or another.

Clarissa stepped out her back door and peered across the lane, checking to make sure he wasn’t around. It was too early for him, of course. And he couldn’t know that she always took Wednesday afternoons off, or that his kids’ sitter, Mrs. Anders, had to cancel out for this afternoon.

Feeling like a burglar, she crept across her backyard, managed to yank the gate open and carry her booty across the way without dropping a thing. Jared let her into his yard with a wide smile, his lanky height towering over her.

“Hey, something smells excellent, Clarissa.”

“Why, thank you!” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I hope you enjoy it.” She watched him peering in the bushes. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find my football. I have practice tonight, and I need it.”

“Oh.” Clarissa nodded at the basket. “If you’ll carry these inside, I’ll help you look.”

Ten minutes later, her shoes muddy from traipsing through the garden, Clarissa found the missing ball behind the shed.

“Wow, thanks, Clarissa!” As he took the ball, Jared glanced up and frowned, his eyes on the kitchen window. “Uh-oh. Tildy’s in the kitchen again.”

“That’s because I said I’d help her with her home ec project. Jared, do you think you could mow the grass? It’s awfully long.” Clarissa wasn’t sure grass this long could be mowed, but it was either try to cut it now or declare the yard a part of the rain forest.

“It’s bad, I know.” Jared’s thin cheeks went a faint pink. “I’m supposed to do it every week, but our mower is broken. Uncle Wade just hasn’t had time to fix it.”

“Go across the alley and get mine, then. Okay?” She waited for his nod, then went inside, confident that he knew what he was doing. After all, she’d been paying him to do her yard work for two weeks now.

Tildy stood in the kitchen, peering into the oven.

“What are you doing, honey?”

“It’s not getting brown,” the young girl told her. “Our home ec teacher said the crust should be golden brown.”

Clarissa smiled as she closed the oven door. “The crust will get brown, just give it time. It’s supposed to bake for at least an hour at a low temperature. Now, what’s the project for tonight?”

“Coleslaw. I got the cabbage, but I don’t know what else to do with it.”

She looked so forlorn Clarissa couldn’t help but smile.

“Okay, coleslaw it is. But we’ll need some room. Let’s do a little cleaning first.” Tildy frowned, but Clarissa wasn’t giving up. Opportunity didn’t knock that often. “If you load the cutlery into the sink, it can soak for a few minutes while we wipe down the counter. Put the glasses in, too.”

She showed the young girl how to organize everything efficiently so that a minimum amount of time was needed to clean.

“See, it doesn’t take that long,” she murmured, half an hour later, surveying the sparkling room with satisfaction. “Just don’t let it get so far next time. Remember the first rule?”

Tildy nodded. “Clean up as you go,” she repeated.

“Good. Now, where’s the cabbage?”

Clarissa managed to show Tildy how to mix the dressing and got her started on slicing the cabbage into tiny strips before Lacey burst into the room, her face a mass of frustration.

“I’ll never ace this dumb old biology,” she muttered. “I don’t even know where to get a frog.”

“By the creek. There are always lots of them in the spring.” Clarissa offered to help her catch one later that evening. “Hi, Pierce,” she greeted as the young boy looked in through the screen door. “What’s the matter?”

“There’s a bird out here that I can’t name. And I have to. It’s important for my collection.”

“Okay, well I’ve got a book—”

The doorbell cut across her response.

“Isn’t anyone going to answer that?”

“I can’t stop now. I’m just getting good at this.” Tildy chewed her bottom lip as she concentrated on the thin strips of cabbage.

“Fine, I’ll get it.” Clarissa walked through the living room and opened the door. She almost groaned aloud. “Rita,” she greeted, calmly enough. “Can I help you?”

“I doubt it. I’m here in response to the petition to adopt these children. I have to check out their home conditions.” Social worker Rita Rotheby surged inside with all the pomp and ceremony of a battleship bound for duty as she tried to sidestep Clarissa. “Excuse me.”