to be out and about for a spell.’’
When Emma tried to shift her position to catch more of the morning sun that was pouring through the windows, she put too much pressure on her head and gritted her teeth. ‘‘As a point of fact, I was looking forward to being out and about myself. I don’t often get a full day to spend as I please, especially not a day as glorious as this one. The sun is bright and warm, there’s a bit of a breeze, and yet here I sit with a lump on my head and my day ruined, all because I was in such a rush.’’
Reverend Glenn moved his hand up to massage his weakened forearm. ‘‘It’s not easy for any of us to accept disappointments or troubles of any kind, even little ones, regardless of how strong or how weak our faith might be.’’
Her cheeks flushed. Whining about a minor fall to a man who had lost both his pulpit and his independence to a stroke was truly insensitive. The notion he might be struggling to accept his infirmity and his reduced circumstances was completely foreign to her perceptions of him. ‘‘I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’ve ever told you how much it means to me—to all of us—to have you here at Hill House. I never realized how difficult it might be for you, though.’’
‘‘There are days when I wonder why I’ve been given such a heavy cross to carry,’’ he admitted as he leaned down and patted the sleeping Butter on the head. ‘‘Other days I’m content enough to set my disappointments aside and enjoy the blessings I do have. Like you,’’ he said. ‘‘For all the days and months I’ve been living here, I can’t remember the last time we had the chance to spend time with each other without distractions.’’
A loud crash overhead told her Ditty had apparently knocked something over or dropped something while cleaning, and she sighed. ‘‘Obviously, we’re not without any distractions today. Not with Ditty around,’’ she teased.
Chuckling, he pulled on his chin. ‘‘Even so, I can’t say I’d be happier to live alone again. After Mrs. Glenn died, the parsonage was very . . . quiet.’’
‘‘We don’t find quiet here at Hill House very often, at least not during canal season, do we?’’
‘‘Indeed we don’t. We do have a lot of good conversation, companionship, and laughter. Great blessings all,’’ he murmured. ‘‘I’m a bit curious, though. You don’t make much mention of the General Store. After operating it all those years, I assume you must miss it—at least occasionally.’’
She cocked her head. ‘‘I think I do. Sometimes. But the older I got, the more I realized that I wouldn’t be able to operate the store forever.’’ She chuckled. ‘‘My grandmother and my mother warned me I would feel that way one day. Working six days a week from dawn to candlelighting can wear a body down. I tried to explain that to Ralph Iverson when he bought the General Store. I only hope he fared better after he sold the store to Wayne Atkins.’’
She looked around the parlor and smiled. ‘‘Here at Hill House, my life has a different cadence. During the season, I’m still working as long and as hard as I always did at the General Store, even though I have a lot more help here. But come November, I can look forward to a good five or six months of slowing down a bit. I’m not sure how many days Mother Garrett has left on this earth, but I like the idea she doesn’t have to work as hard as she’s had to, working alongside me all these years.’’
He began to massage the weakened muscles in his left thigh. ‘‘Slowing down is a challenge for me. I suppose it might be for her, too. Widow Leonard doesn’t lack the energy of a woman twenty years younger, either.’’
‘‘Which is precisely why I’m worried about what sort of trouble the two of them might stir up in town,’’ Emma admitted.
‘‘I doubt either James or Andrew would be about during the week at this time of year. They’re too busy
When Emma tried to shift her position to catch more of the morning sun that was pouring through the windows, she put too much pressure on her head and gritted her teeth. ‘‘As a point of fact, I was looking forward to being out and about myself. I don’t often get a full day to spend as I please, especially not a day as glorious as this one. The sun is bright and warm, there’s a bit of a breeze, and yet here I sit with a lump on my head and my day ruined, all because I was in such a rush.’’
Reverend Glenn moved his hand up to massage his weakened forearm. ‘‘It’s not easy for any of us to accept disappointments or troubles of any kind, even little ones, regardless of how strong or how weak our faith might be.’’
Her cheeks flushed. Whining about a minor fall to a man who had lost both his pulpit and his independence to a stroke was truly insensitive. The notion he might be struggling to accept his infirmity and his reduced circumstances was completely foreign to her perceptions of him. ‘‘I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’ve ever told you how much it means to me—to all of us—to have you here at Hill House. I never realized how difficult it might be for you, though.’’
‘‘There are days when I wonder why I’ve been given such a heavy cross to carry,’’ he admitted as he leaned down and patted the sleeping Butter on the head. ‘‘Other days I’m content enough to set my disappointments aside and enjoy the blessings I do have. Like you,’’ he said. ‘‘For all the days and months I’ve been living here, I can’t remember the last time we had the chance to spend time with each other without distractions.’’
A loud crash overhead told her Ditty had apparently knocked something over or dropped something while cleaning, and she sighed. ‘‘Obviously, we’re not without any distractions today. Not with Ditty around,’’ she teased.
Chuckling, he pulled on his chin. ‘‘Even so, I can’t say I’d be happier to live alone again. After Mrs. Glenn died, the parsonage was very . . . quiet.’’
‘‘We don’t find quiet here at Hill House very often, at least not during canal season, do we?’’
‘‘Indeed we don’t. We do have a lot of good conversation, companionship, and laughter. Great blessings all,’’ he murmured. ‘‘I’m a bit curious, though. You don’t make much mention of the General Store. After operating it all those years, I assume you must miss it—at least occasionally.’’
She cocked her head. ‘‘I think I do. Sometimes. But the older I got, the more I realized that I wouldn’t be able to operate the store forever.’’ She chuckled. ‘‘My grandmother and my mother warned me I would feel that way one day. Working six days a week from dawn to candlelighting can wear a body down. I tried to explain that to Ralph Iverson when he bought the General Store. I only hope he fared better after he sold the store to Wayne Atkins.’’
She looked around the parlor and smiled. ‘‘Here at Hill House, my life has a different cadence. During the season, I’m still working as long and as hard as I always did at the General Store, even though I have a lot more help here. But come November, I can look forward to a good five or six months of slowing down a bit. I’m not sure how many days Mother Garrett has left on this earth, but I like the idea she doesn’t have to work as hard as she’s had to, working alongside me all these years.’’
He began to massage the weakened muscles in his left thigh. ‘‘Slowing down is a challenge for me. I suppose it might be for her, too. Widow Leonard doesn’t lack the energy of a woman twenty years younger, either.’’
‘‘Which is precisely why I’m worried about what sort of trouble the two of them might stir up in town,’’ Emma admitted.
‘‘I doubt either James or Andrew would be about during the week at this time of year. They’re too busy
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