Free A Hopeful Heart by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

about makin’ the change.”
    Tressa hung her head. “No. No, that’s fine, Sallie.” She swallowed. “Unless . . . Would you rather room with Luella?”
    Sallie shrugged and pulled the covers to her chin. “Oh now, Luella’s a laughy sort. A mite daft sometimes, too, but even that makes me laugh. But . . .” She yawned, wriggling farther down into the mattress. “I’ll be stayin’ here instead. Movin’ is too much fuss an’ feathers.”
    Tressa blew out the lamp that sat on the little table beside the bed, plunging them into darkness, and then slid between the sheets. Lying perfectly still, she listened to Sallie’s steady breathing give way to soft snoring. She willed herself to succumb to sleep, too. But her mind resisted. Tossing the covers aside, she rose and crossed to the window. Perhaps some stargazing would cheer her and help her sleep.
    But a hazy band stretched across the sky, hiding the stars. Frowning, Tressa dropped the curtain into place. Did the clouds cover the entire sky, or only this view? Determined to get a glimpse of the flickering lights that gave her heart a lift, she snatched her tattered robe from the corner of the bed and tiptoed out the door.
    She crept down the stairs, cringing as her foot hit the creaky fourth riser. Pausing, she listened intently. Had anyone been disturbed? No sounds carried from any of the bedrooms, convincing her the others slept on. She hurried down the remaining stairs and crossed to the front door. To her surprise, the door stood open, allowing in the night air. Did Mrs. Wyatt leave the house completely open during the night? Her heart pattered at the thought. Then she assured herself she was no longer in the city—locked doors probably weren’t necessary here in the country.
    The heavily scented night breeze stirred the tails of her robe as she stepped out onto the porch. She padded to the railing, the pine boards cool and smooth against the soles of her bare feet, and rested her fingertips on the top rail. Leaning her hips against the sturdy railing, she turned her gaze to the sky, her eyes eager to feast upon a host of sparkling stars. But disappointment sagged her shoulders. Clouds shrouded this view, as well.
    Sighing, she turned to go back into the house, but a flicker of light from the far end of the porch caught her attention. The flicker became an undulating glow accompanied by a thin ribbon of aromatic smoke. She froze, a chill attacking her frame. And then a chuckle rumbled.
    “Well, Tressa, don’t stand there with your mouth hangin’ open. Come on over here an’ join me an’ Izzy-B since you’re up.”
    She wilted with relief when Mrs. Wyatt’s familiar voice reached her ears. Her eyes adjusted enough to make her way to the edge of the porch, where Mrs. Wyatt sat in one of two rickety straight-back chairs. Tressa sank into the second chair, smiling when Isabella stretched out her paw and meowed in greeting.
    She wrinkled her nose, however, at the object Mrs. Wyatt held in her hand. A pipe, out of which a thin band of smoke continued to rise, flavoring the air.
    Mrs. Wyatt’s low-toned chuckle came again. “You don’t hide much with those big eyes o’ yours, girlie.” She bounced the pipe in Tressa’s direction. “You find this thing objectionable?”
    Honestly, the cherry-scented smoke wasn’t unpleasant. Tressa shook her head. “No, ma’am. I’m just . . .” Never had Tressa imagined a woman smoking a pipe. She found the practice unseemly at best. Fearful of insulting her hostess, she fell silent.
    But Mrs. Wyatt completed the thought. “Shocked that a lady would smoke?”
    Heat flooded her face, but Tressa offered a quick nod.
    “It’s a nasty habit, I’m sure.” Mrs. Wyatt took a draw on the pipe, creating a soft glow in the bowl, and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. She examined the pipe and a soft smile curved her lips. “My husband, Jed, smoked of an evening. Sometimes when I get to missin’ him too much, I come