Page 61 of In These Hills

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JOSEPHINE HAD THOUGHT OF BETHIE countless times since that horribly embarrassing moment in the distillery office. While she’d dreaded their paths crossing again, she was grateful for the chance to finally apologize. Watching the girl scan the shelves with such focus, as though searching for something specific, Josephine wondered if this might be her opportunity to make amends.

“Hello there,” she whispered, not wishing to startle her.

Bethie jumped and turned, her eyes widening before narrowing to slits—whether from the dim lighting or due to present company, Josephine couldn’t be sure.

“What are you doing here?” Bethie asked, the question settling it.

“I was reading.” She rose and held up the novel. “It’s one of my favorites. Are you looking for a particular book?”

Bethie’s gaze moved to the volume in Josephine’s hand, lingered there a bit too long, then slid away, and Josephine knew she’d come for this very title.

She held it out. “Please, take it, if this is what you came for. I’ve read it many times.”

“I don’t want that one.” Bethie lifted her chin. “I’m looking for something else.”

Believing otherwise, Josephine returned the book to its place. “My name is Josephine Dunham.”

“I know who you are . . . ma’am.”

The accusation beneath the words stung. “And you’re Bethie.” Josephine forged on. “Mr. Coburn’s niece. It’s nice to formally meet you.”

Bethie’s unwavering stare conveyed confidence beyond her years, her eyes so very like her uncle’s.

“I’m grateful we’ve met again, Bethie. Because I owe you an apology. If I had known the story behind that skirt and blouse—how special they are—I never would have worn them. Miss Mary meant it as a kindness, but the hurt it caused you was never my intention.”

Bethie’s expression hardened. “She’s fetching them for me right now. I’m taking them home!”

“As well you should,” Josephine said gently. “Things that belonged to your mother ought to be treasured. And one day, when you wear them, I hope they will help you feel close to her.” She glanced down at her empty left hand, regret digging deep. “They should never have been worn by a stranger. I’m truly sorry. And I’m deeply sorry about your mother.”

Nothing but that unwavering stare.

Unwilling to end there, Josephine searched for safer ground. “Calla mentioned this morning that you and your uncle are leaving for Wyoming soon. You must be so excited. It sounds like a grand adventure, and one you’ll enjoy.” Never mind that she preferred civilization and culture over the vast, empty prairie.

Emotions flickered across Bethie’s face, too many and too quick to name, and Josephine regretted having mentioned the loss of the girl’s mother.

“Well . . .” she said quickly, eager to ease the moment, “I’ll bid you good night and leave you to make your choice.”

“You do know what people around town are saying about you, don’t you?”

Josephine stilled and turned back, the anger in the girl’s tone palpable. “No . . . I-I don’t. What are they saying?”

Bethie’s mouth curved. “That you’re a liar. And a fake. That you’re not really—”

“Bethie girl, you in here? Miss Mary gave me your mama’s—”

Dodge Coburn stopped in the doorway, the familiar skirt and blouse in hand. “Oh, Mrs. Dunham, I didn’t realize you were . . .” His gaze moved between them. “Everything all right in here?”

Josephine could barely breathe. Bethie, however, recovered swiftly.

“Everything’s fine, Uncle Dodge. Mrs. Dunham and me were just talking.”

“Mrs. Dunham and I,” he corrected, then frowned. “You feeling all right, Mrs. Dunham? You look a little pale.”

Josephine forced a quick nod. “I’m fine. Bethie and I were just . . . talking.”

The clip-clop of horses passing by out front filled the awkward silence.