"I've often wondered what kind of woman you'd become," Amabel said. "Looks to me like you've become a fine one. This mess-and that's what it is-it will pass. Everything will be resolved, you'll see." She was silent a moment, remembering the affection she'd felt for the little girl, that bone-deep desire to keep her close, to hug her until she squeaked. It surprised her that it was still there. She didn't like it, nor did she want it.

"Careful of leaning on that end of the table, Sally. Purn Davies wanted to fix it for me, but I wouldn't let him." She knew Sally wasn't hearing her, but it didn't matter, Amabel was just making noise until Sally got some of that brandy in her belly.

"This tea's something else, Amabel. Strange, but good." She took another drink, then another. She felt warmth pooling in her stomach. She realized she hadn't felt this warm in more than five days.

“You might as well tell me now, Sally. You came here so you could protect your mama, didn't you, baby?"

Sally took another big drink of the tea. What could she say? She said nothing.

"Did your mama kill your papa?" Sally set down her cup and stared into it, wishing she knew the truth of things, but that night was as murky in her mind as the tea in the bottom of her cup. "I don't know," she said finally. "I just don't know, but they think I do. They think I'm either protecting Noelle or running because I did it. They're trying to find me. I didn't want to take a chance, so that's why I'm here." Was she lying? Amabel didn't say anything. She merely smiled at her niece, who looked exhausted, her face white and pinched, her lovely blue eyes as faded and worn as an old dress. She was too thin; her sweater and slacks hung on her. In that moment her niece looked very old, as if she had seen too much of the wicked side of life. Well, it was too bad, but there was more wickedness in the world than anyone cared to admit.

She said quietly as she stared down into her teacup, "If your mama did kill her husband, I'll bet the bastard deserved it."