Page 18 of In These Hills

“Chattanooga,” Josephine answered quickly, working to form a story that would hold water.

“I thought I heard some city in your voice. You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” Miss Mary’s gaze moved over Josephine’s face, pained empathy softening her features. “Just so we’re both tugging on the same end of the rope . . . I don’t kin to a man raising his hand to a woman. Ever. But neither can I abide you bringing trouble to my doorstep. To my tenants, and into my home. So don’t think me unfeeling for asking, but . . . are you running from your man?”

Taken aback by so direct a question, Josephine simply nodded.

“Any reason of thinking he knows you’re here? In Lynchburg?” Miss Mary continued. “And that he’ll come banging on my door in the dark of night?”

Josephine shook her head, keenly aware of everyone’s attention, especially Dodge Coburn’s. “No, ma’am. He doesn’t know where I am. I promise.”

Miss Mary eyed her. “Dodge says he picked you up in Tullahoma. You got people there?”

“I’ve got no people. Not anymore. It—” Her voice broke. “It’s just me now.”

Miss Mary held her gaze, then eventually looked back at Calla. “Fetch Mrs. Dunham some supper, please, Calla. Then get some quilts. We’ll make her a pallet here in the kitchen by the stove. I’m sorry, Mrs. Dunham, but all my rooms are let.”

“She can stay with me in my room, ma’am,” Calla offered softly.

“All right then. That’s done. Go on and rest yourself before your legs give way beneath you.” Miss Mary gestured to a small table in the corner of the kitchen. “And take off that damp coat or you’ll catch your death for sure.”

Josephine obeyed, her knees ready to buckle.

Not a minute later, Calla placed a large dinner plate piled high with fried chicken, mashed potatoes smothered with gravy, fried okra, cooked apples, and a crusty biscuit slathered in melted butter before her. “Here you go, young missus. And I’m sorry about that ring,” she whispered.

Eyes filling with emotion, Josephine looked up and mouthed the words Thank you. But no sound came. It occurred to her then that a wedding ring from an abusive husband wouldn’t be near so tender a loss, so she downplayed the grief, rather than let it show.

“Drink a swallow or two of this milk first.” Calla set a glass by the plate. “Then start in slow with the taters. The candied apples with cinnamon should sit well too. The rest’ll be there when you’re ready.”

Calla gently touched her shoulder and moved away, and Josephine stared at her own empty left hand, wondering if somehow God had played a role in her losing her mother’s ring. Maybe this was his way of punishing her for lying about her current situation. Or for killing Clay Darden. Or maybe for not thinking as highly of him as she once did. But how did you think highly of someone who had the power to change your circumstances for the better, and yet didn’t?

She took a long swig of milk, the cool working its way down inside her. It tasted better than anything she could remember, despite the tenderness of her swollen lip. She sipped slowly, waiting, not wanting a reprisal of what had happened with the jerky.

“Well,” Dodge said behind her. “Think I’ll go find Bethie.”

Josephine perked up at the name. Bethie? Was the man married? Was that his wife, or did he have a daughter? She would’ve pegged him as a loner.

“Not before you have supper, you don’t.” Miss Mary’s tone brooked no argument. “Now sit on down. We’ve got plenty, as usual.”

“Thank you, Miss Mary. I won’t decline your hospitality, but I need to get going. See my load secured for the night, and Bethie home and to bed. I hope she didn’t put y’all out much.”

“No way that girl could put us out,” Miss Mary responded. “Ever.”

“Though, land sakes . . .” Calla chuckled. “She totes a poke full of questions ’round with her. Pulls them out almost faster than I can give answer.”

Dodge laughed and the sound was so genuine, so inviting, Josephine had to look back, mashed potatoes and gravy melting in her mouth. The difference in the man was striking. She’d experienced his surprising decency firsthand. But his smile hinted at a layer of kindheartedness that, on first impression, she would’ve doubted existed.

Miss Mary gave his shoulder a motherly pat. “Sweet Bethie takes after her mama in that way, for sure. A generous dose of sweetness cut through with some downright ornery—and a mouth that never stops.” Her smile softened. “But you’re doing good, Dodge. Never doubt that. You both are.”

Tenderness swept Dodge Coburn’s expression, and while Josephine knew it wasn’t polite to stare—especially at another woman’s husband—she couldn’t not. Despite his formerly gritty demeanor and rough exterior, those blue eyes and the emotion in them tugged at something inside her. He fingered the Stetson in his hands as though uncomfortable beneath the praise, which made him considerably more attractive than Josephine cared to acknowledge.

He chose that moment to glance her way, and she busied herself with smoothing the cloth napkin in her lap, embarrassed at having been caught staring, while also painfully aware of how rough she must look right now.

“Here you go, son,” she heard Calla say, then watched the woman push a cloth-covered tin into his grip. “I’d say there’s enough for two meals, but I done seen you eat too many times. And don’t you worry about feeding Bethie. She ate with us earlier.”

He looked down at the tin. “Thank you kindly, both of you ladies, for helping me like you do. I’m much obliged.”

Miss Mary waved off the comment. “Go on now. You’ll find Bethie in the library. Sound familiar?”

“Yes, ma’am, it does,” he answered.