More Than Words Volume 4 by Linda Lael Miller

Author:Linda Lael Miller [Miller, Linda Lael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: C429, Extratorrents, Kat
Amazon: B0015Z7WMS
Publisher: Harlequin Single Title
Published: 2008-04-02T07:00:00+00:00

“IT’S TIME FOR ME TO OPEN the produce stand for the evenin’ traffic. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator…just make yourself at home. I’ll be back up about six-thirty.”

I tossed all that over my shoulder as I went out the door, pretty much fleeing the house and their presence. My last glimpse of Laura Jean’s face told me she picked up on this.

As I grabbed a basket off the porch, Henry’s voice in my head said, “You’ve gone and done it now.”

Oh, shut up!

I strode around to the fig trees on the far side of the house. There were a few freshly ripe fruits. As I picked them, I could still hear Henry’s voice in my head: “Don’t get carried away, Ellie.”

He had so often said that to me. Henry had always seemed to be possessed of the opinion that I was going to do something that was too much—mostly spend too much money, but also maybe choose a wall color that was too bright, dress in something too daring, decorate too elaborately, make a trip too long.

I can’t for the life of me figure out the why of his attitude, because I never did any of those things. I have always been conservative. I am not certain that this has been my true nature, though, and perhaps Henry had sensed this. My shy and retiring nature hid a very active inner life, where I have dreamed great dreams. I never could seem to dare to bring them out, though. As unfair as it sounds, I partly blamed Henry for stomping on them before they could be too much.

All that is to say that it was exceedingly doubtful that I would have helped Laura Jean in much of any way had Henry been there. I would not have risked his disapproval; I had been a feather in the wind of Henry’s disapproval.

Let me just say that six hundred dollars for a stranger’s car repair and bringing a stranger, with two children, one of whom appeared to not talk and be afraid of certain noises, into our home to stay for a few days would definitely have incurred Henry’s disapproval. It would have fallen into the category of too much. He would have, well, died at the thought.

Feeling instantly disloyal, I stopped picking figs and looked over at the outbuildings and on to the house and then down to the produce stand. Henry had built it all, much of it with his own two hands. There it stood, so comfortable, well kept, affluent. All because of Henry being so very careful and hardworking. A responsible man. I had to admit that fact, and it was good for me to do so.

Yet, the largest realization was that I had been by his side the entire time. I had built it, too, and was now, as the term goes, a woman of substance. Furthermore, while everyone took my withdrawal as lengthy grieving, what it was in actuality was my acclimating to life on my own.

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