coming to Better Tomorrow.
The relief that buoyed her was short lived.
Was Jeremiah innocent? Henny couldn’t be sure. She would have taken his word on faith. Perhaps he’d spun a tale, convinced her to help him hide. If that were true, the boat might not return to the island.
Annie stood with her hands clenched, her shoulders hunched. Faintly, she heard the rumble of the motor. She swallowed hard. Would Henny be in the captain’s seat? Or would the boat curve toward the mainland with a killer at the wheel? Dear Henny, her stalwart friend, generous, thoughtful, smart, capable, acerbic, a woman who faced life with grace and courage, one of the famed women in their flying machines, a pilot in the WASPs who flew during World War II. Her husband died in a bombing raid over Berlin. She spent a lifetime as a teacher, retired to the island, found a late love that was lost because of a good man’s honor.
The old boat chugged from the channel, turned east to head toward the bank and the pier.
Annie felt a wave of relief when she saw Henny’s red-and-black plaid jacket. She was alone in the boat.
When the boat slid next to the pier, Henny climbed the ladder, tied the line, walked swiftly on the pier.
Annie almost stepped from the shadow of the live oak, then stopped. If she confronted Henny, told her what she had seen, that she knew Jeremiah was encamped on the hammock free from discovery, both she and Henny would have to face the consequences.
Either Annie would have to join Henny in protecting Jeremiah or she would have to inform Billy Cameron.
Annie felt a rush of understanding. Henny sent her away because she did not want to draw Annie into a criminal conspiracy.
Why take the horrendous chance of hiding a fugitive? If Henny had decided that Jeremiah was innocent, she should have persuaded him to turn himself in, assured him that Billy Cameron would listen and act fairly, offered to contact a first-rate lawyer.
There had to be a compelling reason that Henny had chosen instead to provide sanctuary.
Henny strode swiftly toward her house, her face etched in grim lines.
Annie drew back into deeper shadow. She had no right to be here. If she hadn’t parked and walked up the road, she would have no knowledge of the boat’s departure and return.
Henny clattered up the stairs, was inside the house and out again in scarcely a minute, her purse over her shoulder. She slammed into her car. The old motor roared.
Annie waited until the Dodge was out of sight. As she walked to the logging trail, she knew she, too, had made a fateful choice.
A s Annie poured a cappuccino, she looked into the golden eyes of her elegant bookstore cat. “What would you do?”
Agatha lifted a paw, daintily licked, smoothed her fur.
“Whatever made you feel good, right?” Annie knew her cat.
What would it be like to be a cat, self-absorbed yet attuned to environment with a thoughtful gaze, superior hearing, and clear grasp of cause and effect? “You don’t have to make moral judgments.”
Agatha’s ears flattened. Clearly she’d heard the sound of remonstrance in Annie’s voice.
Quickly Annie spoke softly, sweetly. “Gorgeous, that’s what you are. Gorgeous and perfect.”
Agatha’s expression became benign.
Annie smiled as she turned away. Anyone who described cats as inscrutable never lived with a cat. Cats made their hopes, desires, intentions, irritations, judgments, and appraisals unmistakably clear.
Annie settled at a table, sipped the frothy coffee. “Moral judgments.” She spoke aloud. Given the circumstances, the words sounded ominous. Black, white. Either, or. Legal, illegal.
Annie drew a deep breath. She had made a choice. She’d chosen to remain silent. Henny was not to know what Annie had seen. But that didn’t absolve Annie of responsibility.
Annie popped up, retrieved a yellow legal pad and a pen, returned to
The relief that buoyed her was short lived.
Was Jeremiah innocent? Henny couldn’t be sure. She would have taken his word on faith. Perhaps he’d spun a tale, convinced her to help him hide. If that were true, the boat might not return to the island.
Annie stood with her hands clenched, her shoulders hunched. Faintly, she heard the rumble of the motor. She swallowed hard. Would Henny be in the captain’s seat? Or would the boat curve toward the mainland with a killer at the wheel? Dear Henny, her stalwart friend, generous, thoughtful, smart, capable, acerbic, a woman who faced life with grace and courage, one of the famed women in their flying machines, a pilot in the WASPs who flew during World War II. Her husband died in a bombing raid over Berlin. She spent a lifetime as a teacher, retired to the island, found a late love that was lost because of a good man’s honor.
The old boat chugged from the channel, turned east to head toward the bank and the pier.
Annie felt a wave of relief when she saw Henny’s red-and-black plaid jacket. She was alone in the boat.
When the boat slid next to the pier, Henny climbed the ladder, tied the line, walked swiftly on the pier.
Annie almost stepped from the shadow of the live oak, then stopped. If she confronted Henny, told her what she had seen, that she knew Jeremiah was encamped on the hammock free from discovery, both she and Henny would have to face the consequences.
Either Annie would have to join Henny in protecting Jeremiah or she would have to inform Billy Cameron.
Annie felt a rush of understanding. Henny sent her away because she did not want to draw Annie into a criminal conspiracy.
Why take the horrendous chance of hiding a fugitive? If Henny had decided that Jeremiah was innocent, she should have persuaded him to turn himself in, assured him that Billy Cameron would listen and act fairly, offered to contact a first-rate lawyer.
There had to be a compelling reason that Henny had chosen instead to provide sanctuary.
Henny strode swiftly toward her house, her face etched in grim lines.
Annie drew back into deeper shadow. She had no right to be here. If she hadn’t parked and walked up the road, she would have no knowledge of the boat’s departure and return.
Henny clattered up the stairs, was inside the house and out again in scarcely a minute, her purse over her shoulder. She slammed into her car. The old motor roared.
Annie waited until the Dodge was out of sight. As she walked to the logging trail, she knew she, too, had made a fateful choice.
A s Annie poured a cappuccino, she looked into the golden eyes of her elegant bookstore cat. “What would you do?”
Agatha lifted a paw, daintily licked, smoothed her fur.
“Whatever made you feel good, right?” Annie knew her cat.
What would it be like to be a cat, self-absorbed yet attuned to environment with a thoughtful gaze, superior hearing, and clear grasp of cause and effect? “You don’t have to make moral judgments.”
Agatha’s ears flattened. Clearly she’d heard the sound of remonstrance in Annie’s voice.
Quickly Annie spoke softly, sweetly. “Gorgeous, that’s what you are. Gorgeous and perfect.”
Agatha’s expression became benign.
Annie smiled as she turned away. Anyone who described cats as inscrutable never lived with a cat. Cats made their hopes, desires, intentions, irritations, judgments, and appraisals unmistakably clear.
Annie settled at a table, sipped the frothy coffee. “Moral judgments.” She spoke aloud. Given the circumstances, the words sounded ominous. Black, white. Either, or. Legal, illegal.
Annie drew a deep breath. She had made a choice. She’d chosen to remain silent. Henny was not to know what Annie had seen. But that didn’t absolve Annie of responsibility.
Annie popped up, retrieved a yellow legal pad and a pen, returned to
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