Free Home by Nightfall by Alexis Harrington Page A

who hung around Tilly’s had said they’d heard Bauer’s teeth clack together with the force of it. Gannon had a special place in her heart, that was obvious. It crossed Tanner’s mind that her existence was a lonely one.
    “He’s a good friend and he…he respects me. He understands why I do this”—she waved a hand in the general direction of her old iron bed, neatly made—”even though he’s never done anything more than visit.”
    “It sounds like he thinks more of you than that.” Tanner gestured at the bed too. “If I was him, I’d get you away from this,” he said, tracing a finger along a crack in the oilcloth. “You deserve better.”
    She withdrew, suddenly cool, and the illusion of youth disappeared. “Maybe I don’t. Anyway, it’s nobody’s business but mine.” Rising from her chair she said, “I’ve got the kids’ money for you.” She went to the kitchen area and pulled up a loose floorboard. “I have ten dollars this month.”
    He knew he’d stumbled onto a touchy subject without meaning to. “Em, you know you don’t have to—”
    “Just because they think their ma is as good as dead doesn’t mean I won’t provide for them.” She gave him a thin roll of one-dollar bills wrapped with a rubber band. “No one knows I’m their mother, right?”
    She asked him that almost every time she saw him. “No one.”
    “All right. That’s the—I—it has to stay that way.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat.
    “What about Whit?” he asked.
    “You two are the only ones. Promise me that won’t change. I don’t want the kids or anyone else ever to know.”
    “I promise, Em.” He felt like a bum, and worse for taking money from her for the boys. He could easily support them, but she had always insisted on contributing. And he knew she’d feel even worse than he did if he refused her money. This was her last connection to them, and so he accepted it.
    He pushed back his chair and stood, putting the tight roll of money in his front jeans pocket. “I guess I’d better be going. Look, you know I didn’t mean anything when I said—”
    She put up a hand and shook her head. “I know you didn’t. We both have more than our share of worries. I didn’t mean to get snappy, either.”
    Movement outside at the edge of her property caught her attention. “Oh, God, here comes Orville Forster.”
    Tanner saw the balding, potbellied barber getting out of his automobile and he put on his hat. “I’d better get out of the way, then. I have to go into town and get ice for Susannah anyway.”
    “He’s not a bad man. Since his wife up and left him, he just pays me to listen to his troubles and then he cries in my lap. I only wish he’d chosen a different day to come. I either feel blue or relieved when he’s finally gone. Most times, it’s both.”
    Tanner smiled and pinched her chin. “I envy him. Now and then these days I wish I had someone to talk to.”
    She gave him a closer look, then shook her head. “No, you don’t. Not really. But if you ever get the notion, you talk to your wife.”
    He winced. “Yeah. Well, I’ll be seeing you.” It was easier talking to Em. He wasn’t in love with her. Susannah, she was a different story.
    He edged out the door and lifted a hand in farewell, then took the long way around her cabin so he and Orville wouldn’t cross paths. He’d tied up his horse in tall grass under a stand of birch trees in back. Their graceful green leaves had yielded their summer color to a time-yellowed hue and blended well with the dry grass. He didn’t need anyone to see him here and assume all kinds of wrong things.
    Tanner didn’t know what Orville Forster’s troubles were, but Tanner would bet good money that his own were worse.
    • • •
    From a small chest of drawers Véronique had received from the Society of Friends, she withdrew a plain wooden box with a hinged lid. Inside, there reposed a bottle of ink, a dip pen, and some pale-blue