Free Belonging by Robin Lee Hatcher

situation with the Kristoffersens.
    I don’t mean to be ungrateful. Truly, I don’t.
    She wiped away the tears with a handkerchief, then took up the brush a second time, using it to sweep her hair onto the top of her head, where she secured it in place with hairpins. Satisfied with herreflection, she rose from the stool and went to the wardrobe, where she withdrew a pale blue and white percale shirtwaist and a solid blue wool skirt. She’d ordered them both from the Sears, Roebuck & Company catalogue soon after she’d begun seeking a position as a schoolteacher, spending just over two dollars for the new outfit. This would be her first opportunity to wear them.
    Hopefully, no one in Frenchman’s Bluff would judge her for the abrupt change from black to lighter colors. Forgoing gray in between wasn’t considered proper mourning etiquette, but for women of limited means, etiquette often took a backseat to practicality. Besides, Felicia looked ghastly in gray.
    Pushing away the somber direction of her thoughts, she quickly donned the new outfit, placed a simple straw bonnet on her head and, with her Bible held in the crook of one arm, headed out the door of her cottage.
    The Frenchman’s Bluff community church was located on the south side of town, but even if she hadn’t known the location already, it would have been easy to guess from the number of people walking in that direction on this Sunday morning—including Colin Murphy and his daughter, who happened to reach the corner of Main and Idaho at the same time Felicia did.
    “Hi, Miss Kristoffersen,” Charity said with her usual exuberance.
    “Good morning, Charity.” She looked up. “Mr. Murphy.”
    Colin nodded. “Miss Kristoffersen.”
    They fell into step together, Charity walking between them. For a time, no one spoke, which suited Felicia. But at least her time with Colin yesterday afternoon had eased her fear that he disliked her. By the time they’d returned to town from Mrs. Ashton’s farm, Felicia had begun to feel almost comfortable with him.
    Well, comfortable might not be the right word.
    “How’d you like your trout?” Charity asked, intruding on her thoughts. “Did you eat it Friday night like you said you were gonna?”
    “Of course. And I liked it very much. What about yours?”
    The girl licked her lips. “Mmm, mmm.”
    Felicia laughed softly.
    “Papa fried potatoes and onions to go with it, and for dessert, we had some cookies that I helped bake over at the Summervilles’ house the day we cleaned the school. They had frosting on ‘em.”
    “Oh my. That does sound good.”
    “It was. Wasn’t it, Papa?”
    “It was very good,” he answered.
    “I like your dress, Miss Kristoffersen. It’s really pretty.”
    “Why, thank you, Charity. It’s kind of you to say so.”
    “I think blue’s my favorite color instead of yellow.”
    Felicia smiled at the child. “Mine too.”
    “Doesn’t Miss Kristoffersen look pretty in her blue dress, Papa?”
    Several seconds passed before he said, “Yes, she does.”
    The reply caused an odd sensation to swirl inside Felicia. He thought her pretty? She wasn’t sure she wanted that. But perhaps he was merely being polite. He hadn’t spoken with great feeling, and what else could he answer to his daughter’s question when Felicia was walking right beside them?
    “Papa, there’s Phoebe and Suzanne. Can I go on ahead?”
    “Okay,” he said. “But try not to get your clothes dirty.”
    “See you inside, Miss Kristoffersen.” Charity raced off to join her friends.
    Felicia tried to think of something to say once they were alone: Charity’s a bundle of energy … She’s a delightful girl … You must be so proud of her … You’ve done a good job raising her …
    But she said nothing.

    His daughter was right. Felicia Kristoffersen did look pretty in that blue dress. So much more flattering than the bleak mourning attire she’d worn her first few days in Frenchman’s Bluff. And the