Chapter 2
Pastor Ames looked up when I rested my hand on the doorknob. His apology had arrived after the work was gone, which made it very tidy.
"Just this wedding?" I asked.
Royce glanced at the copies under Delphine's hand. The pastor rubbed his thumb over a pale groove in the chair.
"Nell," Royce began.
"Please. I asked a small question."
Pastor Ames gave me the rest in pieces: every church wedding through September, the harvest blessing, and both anniversary services. The sanctuary flowers would go with them. The committee had wanted one person handling everything, and Royce had already assured them Delphine could manage.
My fingers stayed around the brass knob. I had decorated that sanctuary for twenty-nine summers, including the August when the cooling failed and I slept beside forty buckets. Royce had brought coffee at dawn and told everyone his wife had saved the Beckett wedding.
Now he reached for my coat as though we were leaving a dull supper.
"You need a break."
"How thoughtful."
"You're exhausted, Nell."
He meant it. That was the part my anger could not find a clean edge against. He wasn't stealing my work in his own mind; he was lifting a heavy basket from my hands and setting it in Delphine's.
Delphine kept her palm on the order copies. A thorn had opened a bright line beside her thumbnail, but she did not wipe it on my apron.
"I didn't ask him to do this," she said.
"No. You only accepted. Thank you for clarifying."
Her mouth tightened. She needed those orders, and need had never promised good manners to the person left hungry.
Royce shook out my coat and held it open. For years, he had done that when my wrists ached after wiring garlands. I had leaned back into the sleeves without looking, trusting the hands behind me.
I did not move.
"What else did you arrange?"
His eyes traveled toward my desk. Beside the telephone lay my cream schedule sheet, each church date marked in green and each delivery hour in blue.
"Only what was necessary."
I crossed the room before he could. The paper listed mornings I had risen before him, Sundays I had missed breakfast, and Fridays when he had carried the last boxes to my van. His handwriting appeared beside three dates. Pick up ribbon. Bring stands. Remind Nell to eat.
My hand reached the desk a moment late.
Royce laid his palm over the schedule. His expression softened with the patience he used when I worked past midnight.
"Let me take care of you."
Behind him, Delphine looked down at the roses. Pastor Ames studied his clasped hands, waiting for kindness to make the decision less cruel.
"Please leave my schedule," I said.
Royce folded the sheet once, then again, and slipped it into his coat pocket.