Weeping Angel
Page 38
Pap and Frank had continued on with their friendship as if there never had been a glitch in it. This morning, with rifles in hand, they’d gone traipsing off into the woods with a burlap sack filled with the lead-weight fruitcakes the town’s women had brought on by the Moon Rock. Amelia thought it a waste they were going to shoot up perfectly good cakes, but Frank said it was either that or use them for paperweights because he wasn’t a fruitcake-eating man.
There wouldn’t have been any fruitcakes if Altana Applegate hadn’t abandoned the Thursday Afternoon Fine Ladies Society and apologized to Amelia for her behavior. Soon after, the other ladies reflected on their conduct as well. This happened one Sunday when Reverend Thorpe had sermonized the loss of a true friend is the greatest loss of all. Amelia knew Dorothea, Luella, Viola, and Esther would continue to find fault in many things, but they seemed to regret their actions since the four girls had proven to be assets to the community.
Facing forward, Amelia vaguely heard Cincinatus as he persevered in his recitation. Baby Dodge’s fussing had calmed down.
“ . . . for the support of this Declaration,” Cincinatus went on, his fist raised for emphasis, “with a firm reliance on the Protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.”
The church had gone deathly quiet, and when he looked into his audience to cherish his moment of triumph, having recited the entire declaration from start to finish, their sleeping faces were reflected in his eyes. Even baby Cincinatus had been lulled to slumber in his mother’s arms.
“Ah, Reverend . . . ?” The mayor went over to the preacher and nudged him. “You can have the congregation back now.”
Frank squeezed Amelia’s gloved hand. “Dodge finally got his wish. Too bad we all had to sit through it. Or, rather, snore through it.”
“Frank,” she chastised with a smile. “Be nice.”
“How can I be nice when I know there’s a box under the Christmas tree with my name on it? It doesn’t feel like there’s anything inside. Give me one hint.”
“Not yet.”
“But I gave you your present already.”
“Hmm.” She lifted her hand to her collar and fingered the frog brooch that was embedded with tiny emeralds. “Yes, you did.”
“So, you can give me one hint.”
“No. I want you to experience a family Christmas morning, Frank, with the gifts Santa Claus brings and all the trimmings,” she whispered. “So you’re going to have to wait until tomorrow until you can open it.”
Only he wasn’t going to be able to see his present until July . . . right around the Fourth as far as she could tell.
Books by Stef Ann Holm
Harmony
Forget Me Not
Portraits
Crossings
Weeping Angel
Snowbird
King of the Pirates
Liberty Rose
Seasons of Gold
Published by POCKET BOOKS
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
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Copyright © 1995 by Stef Ann Holm
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ISBN: 978-1-4516-1412-1
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First Pocket Books paperback printing June 1995
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