Lena stared.
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“After ten.”
“I’ll come at ten.”
“You don’t have to.”
He turned toward her again.
“I know.”
Then he walked away.
Lena remained outside until cold began creeping through the soles of her shoes.
Behind her, a woman laughed quietly.
Lena knew that laugh.
She turned.
Two customers stood just inside the bakery.
One was the town postmaster’s wife.
The other was a seamstress who had never once bought anything from Lena but somehow appeared whenever there was gossip to collect.
The postmaster’s wife smiled too sweetly.
“Well.”
Lena stepped back inside.
“Well what?”
“He certainly has taken an interest in your bread.”
“My bread is good.”
“I’m sure.”
Lena stared at her.
The woman adjusted her gloves.
“I only mean Mr. Mercer could buy bread anywhere.”
“He can.”
“And yet he keeps coming here.”
“Yes.”
The seamstress smiled.
“Maybe he feels sorry for you.”
Lena had known the sentence was coming.
Knowing did not make it lighter.
She returned to the counter.
“I have dough rising.”
The postmaster’s wife did not take the hint.
“People say he’s been having a difficult time since his wife died.”
Lena stopped.
She knew that part.
Most of Cedar Hollow knew.
Reid Mercer’s wife had died of pneumonia the previous winter, leaving him with a six-year-old daughter and a ranch eight miles beyond town.
Lena had seen the child only once.
Small.
Brown-haired.
Holding her father’s hand outside the mercantile.
She remembered the girl because she had not smiled when another child offered her candy.
“He’s lonely,” the seamstress continued.
The postmaster’s wife lowered her voice.
“Lonely men sometimes do strange things.”
Lena placed both palms against the counter.
“Are either of you buying bread?”
Silence.
“No?”
She smiled.
“Then have a good afternoon.”
The women left.
The bell over the door stopped rattling.
Lena remained motionless.
Then she looked toward the window.
Reid was gone.
She hated herself for wondering whether they were right.
Not that he was interested in her.
That part was ridiculous.
But pity?
That was believable.
Too believable.
She had encountered enough of it.
Pity disguised as kindness.
Pity disguised as generosity.
Pity disguised as opportunity.
Her uncle once offered her a room in exchange for “light housekeeping,” then expected her to raise four children and cook for eight adults without wages.
A church woman in Missouri offered Lena a place in her sewing circle, then seated her apart because the regular chairs might break.
A bakery owner in Helena hired her after tasting her bread, then kept her in the rear kitchen because, in his words, “customers like an appetizing picture out front.”