Read Online Harmony by Stef Ann Holm - Free Book Online

herself, guilty as she might feel. In any case, what was done was done. Mr. Trussel said he would begin constructing the wall tomorrow.
    As the leaves sifted quietly to the ground, Edwina painted the exterior wall around the window. Careful not to drip the yellow, she made sure the brush dipped sparingly into the bucket on the ladder shelf. Standing several rungs up, she could see Tom Wolcott coming down the road from the livery. He carried the front half of a black bear mounted on a wall plaque. The two forelegs had been stuffed to give the appearance that the bear had been shot midattack; both limbs were raised high and had claws spread. Teeth were bared in the muzzle, the mouth open and tongue curled.
    He saw her, and rather than go around his corner of the building, he strode across the back through the oak grove. To her displeasure, vanity bested her. The old duster she wore to keep the paint from damaging her shirtwaist and skirt was worn thin and transparent at theelbows. An unadorned straw hat covered her hair, which she had plaited in two heavy braids down her back. She hadn’t wanted to be bothered by the multitude of pins required to keep her pompadour in place—not to mention that the mass of hair piled high on her crown more often than not gave her a headache.
    Stilling the brush in her hand, she bit back saying something cheeky about the dead bear in Mr. Wolcott’s arms. After she and Marvel-Anne had brought Mr. Trussel the spiced plums in the cover of darkness following last night’s supper, she vowed from that moment on to be an amiable business neighbor because she had fairness—by the measure of one foot—on her side.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mr. Wolcott.”
    â€œMiss Huntington.” His gaze lifted to hers, the bear shifting in his arms so that the bulk of it rested on his shoulder.
    â€œI see you’re moving in.”
    â€œThe trophy wall is.”
    â€œHow nice,” she replied, though she really thought a trophy wall nonsensical and bigheaded.
    â€œYou nail up the stretch of string down the back of the building?”
    â€œNo, Mr. Trussel did that for me. I didn’t want to accidentally paint over the line on your side. He’s strung a length down the front of the building as well.” She dabbed a little of the yellow beneath the eaves, incorporating a spider’s threads in the paint. “You wouldn’t be thinking about painting your side, too, would you, Mr. Wolcott?”
    â€œHaven’t given it any thought.”
    â€œIn case you do, this yellow is a lovely shade. It brightens up the entire area, don’t you think?” He made no comment, so she proceeded in what she hoped was an inviting tone. “Mr. Kennison sells this color at the hardware store. Number two-oh-six.” Viewing the look of disinterest on his face, she hastily added, “It’s reasonably priced.”
    â€œI’ll think about it.”
    She wished he would think hard about the paint. Although the clapboards in their weathered state weren’t altogether unappealing, with the ray of sunshine on her side and his still drab as a wet newspaper, the building took on a nonuniform appearance.
    â€œLooks like you’re doing a pretty good job. Painting sheets and everything.”
    â€œYou’ll find, Mr. Wolcott, that I’m meticulously neat and organized.”
    â€œI expect I may have to be subjected to that.”
    She didn’t like the dry tone in his reply, as if her tidiness were an offense rather than an admirable quality.
    Since he wouldn’t commit himself to purchasing the paint, she saw no reason to dally in conversation with him. Sinking the brush halfway into the bucket, then gingerly ridding the excess paint against the rim with a half-dozen neat passes, she proceeded with her task. He took the hint and went on his way.
    Crouching slightly, she snagged a glimpse of him through the window as he entered the warehouse.