The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(92)

“Use it well,” she told him. “And you can call me Bern—suits me better.” She licked the tip of her finger with a hiss: “Tsssss.”

Olin laughed.

“Where you from, honey?” Jessie asked, still wearing her scarlet glove. “Your people from around here?”

“Nope. Cuba. Not the island—the town north of here.” She took a bite of cherry stuffing and moaned. “This is delicious. Did you make this, Jessie? Good God. For this, you deserve a little red hat to match those gloves. Think I’m kidding? Just wait—next time I come through.”

Color sprang to Jessie’s cheeks. “Have some more—there’s plenty.”

“My family has a sheep ranch outside Cuba,” Bernadette continued, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “I grew up on boiled mutton, mutton stew, lamb stew. I lived with sheep, played with sheep, wore sheepskin and slept under it. Hell, till I was five, I thought I had a fleecy tail.”

Laurel giggled.

“I got outta there when I was fourteen,” Bernadette said. “A wild child—not that you can tell.” She winked at Olin. “As for my people, they go back to the conquistadors, the Towering House Clan and the Irish Potato Famine. A real pedigree, huh?”

“Towering House?” Simon asked. “Our friends the Begays are part of that clan. One of them is getting married day after tomorrow.”

“Mazel tov,” said Bernadette.

“I mean, I’m sure they’d like to have you. Unless you have somewhere to be.”

Bernadette set her fork down, frowning in thought. “Well, I was planning on a bike trip . . . Whoa there!” She leaned back in her chair, lifting the tablecloth and peering underneath. “Hello,” she said.

I’d forgotten Tinkerbell and Pal were still under the table, eager for scraps.

Bernadette looked at Olin. “You have dogs?”

“A couple.”

“Good. No cause for alarm, then.” She took two pieces of turkey from her plate and tossed them under the table. “Here ya go.”

Simon rose from his chair and gave a low whistle. Pal darted out, Tinkerbell close behind. He gestured to a blanket by the fireplace, and the two dogs settled onto it, licking their lips.

“Sorry about that,” Simon said as he took his seat again.

“No harm done,” Bernadette said.

“Well, if your trip can wait a bit,” I said, “why not come to the wedding? It’s only two days. At the hotel in town.”

“The big red one? I’m staying there tonight.”

“Stay a couple more nights, then.”

“Well,” she said slowly, tapping her lips with a black-lacquered nail. “I guess there could be diversions.” She glanced at Olin. “How’s that saloon I saw on my way through? And the pub? Either of them disreputable?”

“No, no,” he said reassuringly.

“Well,” Bernadette drawled, shaking her hair back till her earrings tinkled like bells. “They will be when I get done with ’em.”


*

Bernadette didn’t stay long after supper—night fell early, and she wanted to make it back to the Wild Rose before then. We made plans to meet at the pub the next evening—there was so much I had to ask her, to tell her.

In the living room by the fire, Laurel settled on the couch between Jessie and Olin to read Charlotte’s Web to them. Simon and I were in the kitchen washing the dinner dishes, the radio on the counter playing Christmas music. Sometimes we sang along, making up the lyrics we couldn’t remember.

Before long, we’d saddle the horses and ride back to the farmhouse. Tomorrow, I’d help Bree finish up the hotel ballroom for the wedding. Simon would open the café early, and Jessie would help out for a few hours. The schoolhouse was on winter break, so Laurel would tag along with Olin at the farm.

In my mind’s eye, I could see the day play out. And the day after that, and the weeks, the years after that—stretching like an unbroken winding road toward a chosen horizon.

I swished my hands in the warm water, staring down at the suds. Simon was at my shoulder, drying plates with a dish towel. I could feel his eyes on me.

“What do you see?” he asked.

I turned to him, blinking to clear my head. “Hmm?”

“You’re staring so hard, like at a crystal ball.”

“I don’t believe in fortune-telling.”