Page 66 of In These Hills

“Yes, please.”

Josephine added the butter and stirred, her arm already tired. The long day at the distillery—and Sheriff Rigby’s visit—still weighed on her. Authority had a way of doing that, reminding her too much of the corrupt police department in Atlanta. Not that Sheriff Rigby was crooked. Biased? Without doubt. Opinionated? Absolutely. And chauvinistic? Through and through. In her experience, some men, when faced with the suffrage movement, felt compelled to reassert their masculinity. If they could only understand—suffragists weren’t seeking to strip them of their rights. They simply wanted those same rights for themselves.

“Now add the boiling water. Mix it good so it cools, then drop in that egg. But not while it’s hot, else it’ll curdle right up. Keep stirring.”

Josephine followed instructions.

Calla set her cup of tea on the table. “I put some mint in yours, too.”

“Thank you. Does this look like it should?”

Calla peered into the bowl. “Sure does. We gonna make a cook out of you yet. Think I’ll sit down and watch you for a bit. My back’s about to give out.”

Feeling confident, Josephine cracked the egg on the side of the bowl—too hard—and the shell shattered into the mixture.

Soft laughter sounded behind her. “You ever cracked an egg before, my friend?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

Josephine averted her gaze. “A few.”

“How many?” Calla asked again.

“Maybe . . . a dozen. Or less.”

They laughed together as Josephine fished out the shell fragments. For reasons she didn’t examine too closely, Dodge Coburn came to mind—and what he would say if he could see her now. She’d expected he might visit the office today, but he hadn’t. She felt certain their exchange in the library had laid his suspicions about her to rest.

“Make sure and get all that shell out. Miss Mary ain’t fond of crunchy gingerbread.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

Minutes later, Josephine slid the pan into the oven then sat and took a sip of tea. “Mmmm . . . I love the mint you put in this.”

“Makes it good, don’t it?”

Josephine rubbed her lower back.

“Your back bothering you?”

“Not really. I just stood a lot today. I reorganized the boxes in the back storeroom. Still trying to clean up a little.”

Calla sipped her tea, seeming more relaxed, and no tremor in her hands. “How’s the job? What’s it like working for Uncle Jack?”

“Not as awful as I thought it would be.” Josephine smiled. “He’s very generous with his employees. And it feels good getting things organized.” She sighed. “But I miss my students. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Calla stirred her tea. “Miss Mary told me you were a teacher. So your husband, he don’t mind you teaching? Most men won’t stand for that after they’re married. They want their woman home, taking care of them.”

Josephine thought quickly. “It was definitely an issue. Among other things.” She sneaked a look at Calla over the rim of her cup, hoping that answer would suffice.

Calla was quiet for a moment. “You and me don’t know each other overwell yet . . . And I ain’t asking to pry. Just to help . . .”

Calla wouldn’t meet her gaze, and Josephine’s unease ticked up a notch.

“I was just wondering, Josephine—” She finally looked up. “If you’re with child.”

Josephine breathed again.