Christmas at Carnton (Carnton 0.5)(4)
“What are you doing outside, honey?” She hugged him tight, his little ears like ice. “And without your coat and scarf?”
“It’s okay. I’m not cold. Me and Seth, we’re playin’ outside while his mother visits with the bank man.”
Aletta frowned, aware of Seth watching them from the front yard. MaryNell Goodall knew how susceptible Andrew was to illness and that he needed to bundle up in this bitter weather. Born three weeks early, he’d always been on the smaller side. And despite having a healthy appetite—the boy would eat all day if she could afford to let him—he’d never caught up in size to boys his own age.
What was going to happen to him now that she’d lost her job? How would she provide for him? And, in scarcely two months, the baby?
It occurred to her then that her lack of employment would also affect MaryNell. When MaryNell lost her own job a few months earlier, she’d offered to watch Andrew—and teach him at home like she was already teaching Seth. MaryNell claimed that keeping two boys was easier than keeping one, and Aletta knew there was some truth to that statement. And since dear Mrs. Crawford, the woman who had kept Andrew up until then, had moved to North Carolina to live with one of her children, MaryNell’s offer had been a perfectly timed blessing. Only four streets away from theirs, too, and with Seth and Andrew already such good friends.
Aletta insisted on paying MaryNell a small wage each week. Still, she didn’t know how the woman made ends meet, having no job and being behind on her mortgage as well. Not to mention not having heard from her husband, Richard, in over three months. His silence didn’t bode well. But there was still hope. And MaryNell, as soft-spoken as she was and uncommonly pretty, had never once complained.
Despite the worry settling in her chest, Aletta glimpsed the excitement in Andrew’s eyes and attempted a lightness to her voice. “Let’s collect your coat so we can go home and start celebrating your birthday!”
“You’re still gonna make my favorite pie?”
“Of course I am.” She’d saved for weeks to buy the ingredients for the chocolate cream pie—sugar, vanilla, and cocoa being so expensive and hard to come by. Now all she could think about was how much further she could’ve stretched that money. But it was Andrew’s birthday, and she was determined to make it special. She climbed the steps to the porch and knocked on the door.
MaryNell answered a moment later, her expression revealing surprise. “Aletta! You’re early. But . . . good for you. I’m always saying you work far too hard as it is.” Hesitating briefly, she finally stepped to one side. “Come in. I let the boys go outside to play for a bit.”
“Yes, I saw them,” Aletta said softly, then spotted a man seated on the settee.
He stood as she entered and looked between her and MaryNell, and Aletta got the feeling she’d interrupted something.
“Mr. Cornwall,” MaryNell finally said, her voice tight. “Allow me to introduce Mrs. Warren Prescott. Aletta, this is Mr. Cornwall. He’s . . . an acquaintance. From Franklin Bank.”
Tall and barrel chested, Cornwall was heavy around his middle and a good deal older. He had a commanding air about him, but not one that inspired. And although MaryNell had called him an acquaintance, Aletta found it odd that her friend couldn’t seem to look the man in the eye. And since when did acquaintances from the bank make house calls?
“Mrs. Prescott.” He glanced at her. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m sure.”
Aletta nodded, but he’d already looked away. “Likewise, sir.”
He turned then, and, whether by intention or not, he angled himself in MaryNell’s direction, making it impossible for Aletta to see his face.
“Mrs. Goodall, I appreciate the opportunity to speak with you this afternoon, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.”
MaryNell’s gaze flitted to his. “Yes. I’ll . . . be in touch.”
He strode out the door and closed it behind him.
Aletta watched him through the window as he continued past the boys, who were playing cowboys and Indians. As her gaze followed him down the street, a sickening suspicion brewed inside her that she didn’t want to imagine, much less acknowledge. But when she looked back at MaryNell and glimpsed the dread and guilt in her friend’s expression, she was all but certain her suspicions were true.
CHAPTER 2
“Well”—MaryNell quickly turned away—“let me fetch Andrew’s coat for you. I know you must be eager to get home. Today being his birthday and all.”
“MaryNell . . .” Aletta attempted to gain her attention, but to no avail. How did she even begin to broach such a subject? And what if her suspicions proved wrong? It could mean the end of their friendship. On the other hand . . . if Mr. Cornwall’s visit was of a sordid nature as Aletta suspected—he hailing from the bank and MaryNell being behind on her mortgage—how could she stand by and say nothing?
MaryNell handed her Andrew’s coat and scarf, avoiding her gaze. “Here you go. I hope you two have a pleasant evening.”
“MaryNell . . . I realize you may think this is none of my business and you may well be right, but I—”
“Andrew tells me you’re making your famous chocolate cream pie tonight. He’s only mentioned it six or seven times today.”