At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [62]
Penny gave her an indulgent look. “You are just the sweetest thing. I don’t know what we’re going to do around here without you.”
Marilee braced herself against the seat of the chair and pushed herself up. She really wasn’t all that big yet—in fact, she had worked up until three weeks ago and her employer hadn’t even known she was expecting—but she still found her increased girth awkward and hard to get used to. She brushed down the hem of her flower-print maternity jacket as she crossed the room to tuck the stationery atop her open suitcase.
“Well,” she said, snapping the locks on the suitcase, “I guess that’s it.”
“Oh, honey! You’re not forgetting this, are you?”
Penny picked up the quilt that was folded neatly at the foot of Marilee’s bed, and Marilee laughed as she hugged it to her. “Grandma’s quilt? Not a chance. I just didn’t have room for it in my suitcase. I’ll have to carry it on the bus. Did I ever tell you the story behind this quilt?”
“Only about a dozen times,” Penny assured her affectionately, and slipped her arm through Marilee’s. “Earl Crowder is going to be here any minute to drive you to the station. Let’s get your things downstairs. Maybe we’ll have time for a glass of lemonade.”
Marilee looked around the room with something close to regret. “I’m glad everyone else went on to church today. I don’t think I could stand saying good-bye again. I sure am going to miss this place.”
Penny squeezed her arm. “And we’re going to miss you, too. Now, let’s get you out of here before we both start bawling again.”
They both turned toward the window at the sound of tires crunching on the hard-packed dirt below. “That’s probably Earl now.” Holding the quilt over one arm, Marilee turned to get her suitcase.
“Honey, don’t try to carry that heavy thing. I’ll holler down for Earl to come up and get it.”
Penny went to the open window and leaned out, but she did not call down. She didn’t do anything. In fact, for a long moment, she didn’t even move.
Then she straightened up slowly and turned around. The flesh at the corners of her eyes seemed tight, and her bright red-painted lips a garish contrast to a face that had suddenly gone very white. “It’s not Earl,” she said. “It’s Mitch. He’s got a telegram.”
Marilee felt the baby inside her belly turn over once, slowly, and then was very still. Instinctively she drew her arm over her abdomen, shielding the little one inside with the quilt she still held. She could feel her heart beating.
They listened to the knock on the door, the clop-clop-clop of Mrs. Blackwell’s sturdy black heels as they crossed the polished pine floors. The door opening. A murmur of voices.
“The girls are at church,” Marilee said on an exhaled breath, for of course it had to be for one of them. As much as she loved them, it had to be for one of them. It couldn’t be for Penny, her dearest friend, who had stayed behind today to see her off; not Penny, please God, not Penny.
Penny’s hand slipped into hers. It felt hot, feverish, even. “It doesn’t have to mean . . .” Her voice sounded as though it was filled with dust, cracking and strained. “It could be something else. Telegrams come all the time. It could be something else.”
The door closed. Steps crossed the floor again. Make him go away, it’s no one here, please make him go away.
And then the steps started up the stairs.
Marilee looked at Penny, stricken. She felt small fingers tighten on hers. Penny’s blue eyes had turned dark, and she seemed to shrink within her skin.
Heavy black heels on the landing. Fingernails dug into Marilee’s palm. And then Mrs. Blackwell was at the door to their room; her stern, reserved features unrevealing, her shoulders straight in black broadcloth, her eyes still.
“Mrs. Hodge,” she said gently, “will you come with me, please? There is a telegram for you.”
The quilt slipped from Marilee’s clutches and pooled around her feet. She heard Penny stifle a sob at her side. Her hand left Penny’s and somehow found its way into the cool, dry grip of Emily Blackwell’s.
Marilee walked down the