your life?”
“In this house. My father built it soon after he and my mother married. Several years later, he added on the rooms that Solly and I now share. Except for that addition, the modernized bathrooms and updated kitchen, it’s just as it was the day I was born.”
“Your parents are dead?”
“Yes.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
“I had twin brothers born three years after me. Both died in infancy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I can’t really remember them.” She looked off in the direction of the barking dog, which kept her face averted from him. “Mother and Father never talked about them.”
It had been a sorrow that was obviously unbearable to her parents. Neither recovered from it. Overnight, it seemed, her mother had turned into a bitter and cold woman. She no longer smiled, no longer found joy in her healthy daughter, who from then on she kept at arm’s length. Ella’s father, losing his wife’s affection and attention as well as his twin sons, had found his only consolation in whiskey. He’d died of cirrhosis at age forty-five.
Upon his death, her mother had been forced to take in boarders. When she finally succumbed to her sadness—with a great deal of relief, it seemed to Ella—Ella had taken over management of the house. She’d been eighteen. Despite her youth, as prideful as it sounded, she was much better at running the household than her mother had been.
“Murdy told me you’re a widow.”
She turned and looked at Mr. Rainwater sharply, then almost immediately dropped her gaze. “That’s right.”
“Unfortunate for you.”
She nodded.
“You were left with sole responsibility for Solly.”
She raised her head. “He’s not a responsibility, Mr. Rainwater. He’s a child. My child. A gift.”
He retracted his long legs and leaned toward her. “Of course he is. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I’d better go inside.” She stood up quickly.
He did likewise.
“Please stop doing that.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Stop popping up whenever I stand or enter a room.”
“I—”
“I don’t expect it. That kind of consideration isn’t necessary. I’m your landlady, not your … not a ….” She couldn’t think of what she wasn’t to him, only what she was. And what she was didn’t warrant his vigilant politeness. “You don’t have to stand for me.”
“I was taught to stand up for ladies.”
“I’m sure you were, but—”
“Habits die hard. But I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known it would make you angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
But her sharp tone indicated otherwise. His eyes penetrated the darkness between them, touched hers, and in fact seemed to see straight through them, making her feel ungracious, uncomfortable, and, somehow, vulnerable.
“Good night, Mr. Rainwater.” She turned her back on him and walked to the door, but when she reached for the handle of the screened door, his hand was there first, reaching around her to pull it open. Rather than raise another ruckus about his manners, she went inside. He followed her in, then stood there watching as she went up on tiptoe to latch the door.
“Isn’t that hook placed inconveniently high for you?”
“Yes, it’s very inconvenient.” She hooked the latch, turned to face him. “But it has to be where Solly can’t reach it. He wandered off once and was missing for hours before we found him walking on the railroad tracks.”
He expelled a long breath, looking regretful. “This is my first night in your house. I’ve failed to make a good impression.”
“You shouldn’t be concerned about impressing me, Mr. Rainwater.”
“I want you to think well of me.”
“I thought well enough of you to rent you the room. Beyond that—”
“You have no opinion of me,” he said, finishing for her and further fomenting her irritation with him and the entire conversation.
“That’s right, Mr. Rainwater. I don’t think too much about you or about any of my boarders, because, in
“In this house. My father built it soon after he and my mother married. Several years later, he added on the rooms that Solly and I now share. Except for that addition, the modernized bathrooms and updated kitchen, it’s just as it was the day I was born.”
“Your parents are dead?”
“Yes.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
“I had twin brothers born three years after me. Both died in infancy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I can’t really remember them.” She looked off in the direction of the barking dog, which kept her face averted from him. “Mother and Father never talked about them.”
It had been a sorrow that was obviously unbearable to her parents. Neither recovered from it. Overnight, it seemed, her mother had turned into a bitter and cold woman. She no longer smiled, no longer found joy in her healthy daughter, who from then on she kept at arm’s length. Ella’s father, losing his wife’s affection and attention as well as his twin sons, had found his only consolation in whiskey. He’d died of cirrhosis at age forty-five.
Upon his death, her mother had been forced to take in boarders. When she finally succumbed to her sadness—with a great deal of relief, it seemed to Ella—Ella had taken over management of the house. She’d been eighteen. Despite her youth, as prideful as it sounded, she was much better at running the household than her mother had been.
“Murdy told me you’re a widow.”
She turned and looked at Mr. Rainwater sharply, then almost immediately dropped her gaze. “That’s right.”
“Unfortunate for you.”
She nodded.
“You were left with sole responsibility for Solly.”
She raised her head. “He’s not a responsibility, Mr. Rainwater. He’s a child. My child. A gift.”
He retracted his long legs and leaned toward her. “Of course he is. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I’d better go inside.” She stood up quickly.
He did likewise.
“Please stop doing that.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Stop popping up whenever I stand or enter a room.”
“I—”
“I don’t expect it. That kind of consideration isn’t necessary. I’m your landlady, not your … not a ….” She couldn’t think of what she wasn’t to him, only what she was. And what she was didn’t warrant his vigilant politeness. “You don’t have to stand for me.”
“I was taught to stand up for ladies.”
“I’m sure you were, but—”
“Habits die hard. But I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known it would make you angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
But her sharp tone indicated otherwise. His eyes penetrated the darkness between them, touched hers, and in fact seemed to see straight through them, making her feel ungracious, uncomfortable, and, somehow, vulnerable.
“Good night, Mr. Rainwater.” She turned her back on him and walked to the door, but when she reached for the handle of the screened door, his hand was there first, reaching around her to pull it open. Rather than raise another ruckus about his manners, she went inside. He followed her in, then stood there watching as she went up on tiptoe to latch the door.
“Isn’t that hook placed inconveniently high for you?”
“Yes, it’s very inconvenient.” She hooked the latch, turned to face him. “But it has to be where Solly can’t reach it. He wandered off once and was missing for hours before we found him walking on the railroad tracks.”
He expelled a long breath, looking regretful. “This is my first night in your house. I’ve failed to make a good impression.”
“You shouldn’t be concerned about impressing me, Mr. Rainwater.”
“I want you to think well of me.”
“I thought well enough of you to rent you the room. Beyond that—”
“You have no opinion of me,” he said, finishing for her and further fomenting her irritation with him and the entire conversation.
“That’s right, Mr. Rainwater. I don’t think too much about you or about any of my boarders, because, in
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