Page 126 of In These Hills

She paused by the top step.

“Is it someone at the boarding house? Who you referred to before?”

It took her a moment to realize what he was asking. “Dodge, I really can’t say who it is. It would reveal a confidence that’s not—”

“Yours to share, I understand. But I’d like to help, and think I can. Especially if it’s someone I know.”

“I appreciate that, and I’m sure they would too, but—”

“Is it Calla?”

She faltered for an instant.

“Because if it is,” he continued, “I hope you’ll tell me. She’s mighty special to us, Bethie and me. And was to Kathleen, too.”

Josephine struggled for what to say that wouldn’t break a promise but that also wouldn’t be another lie. “While I haven’t been here long, Dodge, I actually have gotten to know many people, and not all of them are associated with the boarding house. Besides, we both know how Miss Mary feels about drinking, and Calla is the last person in the world who would ever want to go against Miss Mary’s wishes. So please, can we just—”

He held up a hand. “All right, I get it. I’ll leave it alone.”

Relaxing again, she took the porch steps to the street, grateful he’d accepted her response. “Be careful on your trip. Especially if you come back late tonight.”

“I know these hills as well in the dark as I do in the day.”

“I know, but still. Do you need help with Bethie?”

He shook his head. “I’ll ask George Green if she can stay with them for the night. Bethie and his daughter Moriah are fast friends.”

They walked to the corner where he gave her a parting salute.

“Dodge?”

He glanced back, and Jessie did too, the cattle dog panting in the afternoon heat.

“Thank you again for your understanding today. It wasn’t deserved, from either of you, and I know it.”

His smile came slowly. “I’ve always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.”

“That’s an easy one. Abraham Lincoln. But I’m impressed. This from a man who barely knows how to read.”

His laughter followed her as she turned and walked back in the direction of the boarding house. The upheaval of emotions from the last couple of days gradually caught up with her and, on a whim, she stopped into Velma’s Candy for a long-desired purchase. She chose three chocolate-covered caramels and three pralines—with Calla and Miss Mary in mind—and ate her two on the way home. Delicious didn’t come close, the chocolate silky on her tongue, the pecans rich and buttery.

As she turned onto Miss Mary’s street, the late afternoon sun spilled across the blue-green hills, bathing them in a hush of golden light. Thick stands of hardwood forest—hickory, oak, maple, and walnut—boasted hues too numerous to count and, even now, hovering above the highest rise, a shimmer of pink danced against the flawless blue sky. A trick of the heat or humidity perhaps, but still so beautiful, and her vision blurred with unshed tears.

She couldn’t deny the beauty of this place or the surprising depth of community she’d found here, and in so short a time. While grateful, she felt unmoored and displaced, another world away from who she was, or had once been. So far from Atlanta, Sarah, her students. Did they even think of her anymore? Sarah did, she knew. But her students . . .

She’d seen enough teachers come and go to know how quickly most students acclimated and moved on. Which was what something inside her told her she needed to do. To move on. But to where? If she knew that, she would have already done it.

As she hurried up the walkway to the boarding house, an idea came as to how she might get the letter she’d written to Sarah delivered, along with the money, while still keeping her whereabouts hidden. Eager to speak with Calla, she reached to open the front door when it opened with force.

Miss Mary, a satchel in each hand and her expression fierce, marched across the porch and down the walkway. “When I say no liquor in my house, I mean no liquor in my house!”

Josephine froze. Calla! Somehow Miss Mary had found out. Thoughts colliding, she fought for what to say in Calla’s defense. Something—anything—that would change Miss Mary’s mind.

Then Mr. Morgan, a traveling salesman who’d checked into the boarding house two nights earlier, came running out. “Please, Miss Mary, I won’t do it again. I-I must’ve forgotten the bottle was in my bag!”

“Well, maybe this will help you remember.” With impressive strength, Miss Mary hefted the satchels and tossed them into the street. One of the bags, apparently not latched, came open, and clothes went flying, along with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s that landed with a thud in the hard-packed dirt. “And don’t bother asking to stay here again.”

“What if I pour it out right now? Would that change your mind?” Mr. Morgan looked from the street back to Miss Mary. “And even if I can’t stay, can I still take my meals here?”