Free Hearts at Home by Lori Copeland Page A

o’clock. When she heard his tread creak the front porch steps, she set her cross-stitch aside and stood to greet him. Her heart sank at the sight of weariness in his eyes. Usually a persistently happy man, today her husband looked drained.
    She gave him a hug, then stepped back to look up at him. “How is Annie holding up?”
    â€œFine, I suppose.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Do we have anything to eat? I feel like I’m about to fall over.”
    â€œDidn’t you eat anything at Frenchman’s Folly? Caleb had food everywhere.”
    â€œI had no appetite.”
    â€œFollow me, then.” She led the way into the kitchen, then opened the refrigerator and brought out the egg salad sandwiches she’d prepared before church. “I’ve spent the last hour trying on clothes. I can’t find a thing to wear to the funeral.”
    He sat down, massaging the back of his neck. “You have a closet full of dresses.”
    â€œAll too tight.” She set a plate before him, then paused to gently knead the tight knots along his shoulder blades. He bowed his head for a moment of silent prayer, then picked up a sandwich.
    Leaving him to eat in peace, Edith returned to the counter and eyed the remaining two sandwiches. She wasn’t hungry; she had eaten her fill at Olympia’s house. But, just to keep Winslow company, she could eat again. She could eat a sandwich, garnished with a helping of potato chips . . . or she could eat lettuce and do something practical about her poundage problem.
    Pulling a handful of lettuce from a plastic container, she tore the leaves into pieces, then dropped them into a bowl. A moment later she had found a half-empty bottle of low-fat dressing wedged in the back of the refrigerator. Uncapping the bottle, she smelled the contents, then drizzled a little over the shredded lettuce.
    After taking her place at the table, she picked up her fork and picked out the pieces of lettuce with the most dressing. Salad had never been her favorite food. Roughage put her colon in an uproar.
    Winslow stopped chewing long enough to speak. “Annie wants Olympia’s viewing tomorrow.”
    â€œSo soon?”
    Winslow nodded. “The service will be Tuesday. Annie wants to keep it small since most of Olympia’s friends are here on the island. She made a few calls to family on the mainland, though.”
    Edith tilted her head. “What’s going to happen to the house?”
    Winslow chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then swallowed. “Annie’s inherited the estate, and it’s too soon for her to be making important decisions. I’ve counseled her to move slowly, take her time, and be sure of what she wants.”
    Edith frowned at her tasteless lunch. “Would you like cookies for dessert?”
    â€œDo we have Oreos?”
    Dark chocolate, creamy middle, just the right amount of crunch. . . .
    Edith stuck a forkful of green into her mouth, then spoke around it. “I think so.”
    She knew so; she’d eaten three with a glass of milk twenty minutes before he got home and she was still hungry enough to eat the legs off the table.
    Emotional stress gave her the munchies, but the next few hours wouldn’t be any easier than the last. Tomorrow she’d have to cope with the stress of attending Olympia’s viewing.

Chapter Three
    T he old grandfather clock was chiming ten on Monday morning when Edith heard Bea’s golf cart rattling over the graveled road. Eager to catch the postmistress, Edith hurried through the living room, her head bent as she tightened the back of a loose earring.
    She opened the front door just as the bell rang. Bea stood there, her eyes narrow and watery, a stack of mail in her hand. Edith opened the storm door to accept delivery, then smiled at the woebegone woman.
    â€œYou look like you could use a hot cup of coffee.”
    Bea’s face crumpled. “I know the mail must go out,