Free Starlight by Carrie Lofty Page B

punishment than Justine deserved.
    Wives and mothers prepared the tables, which stretched before the altar. Huge piles of sausages, fresh bread, boiled cabbage, and soups made from every root vegetable known to Britain were laid out in an array that spoke more of cooperation than bounty.
    Her stomach rumbling and her mouth watering, Polly helped where she could. However, she was constantly interrupted by Calton citizens eager for news. Some asked for union assistance regarding illnesses, hardships, and scrapes, and she addressed each person with a hopeful heart. At events such as this, she truly believed they could make something better of their downtrodden little community.
    “I’ll do what I can, Mrs. Hounslow.” She patted the old woman’s hand, which was gnarled by work and countless years. “Many are out of their winter stores of coal, but surely someone can spare a few until the warmer weather returns.”
    “God bless you, my wee lassie.”
    Polly hugged her before asking, “Is that a new shawl? It’s lovely.”
    “Since Christmas last. My niece, Elaine, made it for me.” Mrs. Hounslow’s expression sobered. “Such a dear girl, with her little ones.”
    She knew why the old woman hadn’t mention Elaine’s husband, John—a nasty, hard-fisted man. That Elaine wasn’t at church came as no surprise. Polly would need to send Doc Hutson around to their place while John was on the factory floor. The pattern was always the same, but it always weighed on her heart.
    Ma had been lucky, because Da was just aboutthe gentlest man in Glasgow. While healthy, he had worked tirelessly and always brought his pay packet home on Friday night. Other women stood outside the factory doors, hands outstretched, just to rescue the precious funds before their menfolk took to the pub. For saving their babes from starvation, such women were labeled nags and crones, their fears derided.
    Polly wanted nothing of marriage if it looked like that.
    Others came and went until she was finally able to gather a bit of the luncheon for herself.
    “What looks good?”
    So shocked by that unexpected accent, she nearly dropped her china and silver. Holding a plate and fork, Alex Christie stood beside her at the head of the banquet table.
    Sunlight through a nearby stained-glass window pelted his face with dots of color. He was attired simply in a dark blue suit that complimented his sandy-blond hair and pleasant tan. But the suit strained to accommodate his height and baffling brawn. Had she known no better, she would’ve assumed him just another Scottish laborer dressed in his Sunday best. He was so roughly, undeniably male.
    “Rising to my challenge, eh?”
    “That’s right,” he said. “I go where you go until we both get what we want. If you wish to argue again, we certainly can. Surely, your church is the best place to make a scene.” His expression revealed exactly what she had expected to find: a quiet threat. “You’ll recover from that spectacle in no time.”
    “I hate that you know you’re so clever.”
    The radiant gold in his hazel eyes could melt glaciers. “Don’t expect me to find anything objectionable about that.”
    The men Polly knew led with their fists. Although Alex Christie seemed capable of such, he led with those beautiful eyes. Every corner needed to be examined. Every face cataloged. She could almost see his mind working as he assessed what must be a wholly unfamiliar scene. She felt herself drawn deeper into his influence. He turned the ordinary new. All of a sudden, she had something that no one else in Glasgow could claim.
    She had Alex Christie’s complete attention.
    Alex. She was losing her mind over this man.
    “Everything’s good,” she said at last. “Calton women can make a feast out of three potatoes and a piece of smoked ham.” She leaned in. A deep breath filled her nose with his freshly shaved scent—a bit like pine, a bit smoky. “Just avoid Mrs. McDonough’s pie.”
    Alex’s