Black Locust Letters
“Her heart stilled and while her head placed the whistle, her hands misplaced the next stitch. Irritated, Betty tugged on the string, only to have it bind itself into a tight little knot. The frustrations with her father and the nearness of Christmas made her anxious and crabby, particularly as the neighbours had brought home a small tree not long ago.
The whistle would pass by, she told herself firmly and tried to pass by this one stitch, thinking that one mistake wouldn't be noticed amid the other rows. She could hide it.
Then the whistler came nearer, and she heard her gate squeal. She froze, her nerves quivering. Slowly, she put her work down on the coffee table. A shadow fell over her window, then came a light, brisk rap at her door. Betty took her time finding the keys and unlocking the door, half-hoping he would go away.
Then she opened the door, and there Clarkin stood, a slight smile on his lips, snow on his shoulders and on the fedora he held in the same hand as a bushy wreat...h speckled with holly berries.MoreLess
The whistle would pass by, she told herself firmly and tried to pass by this one stitch, thinking that one mistake wouldn't be noticed amid the other rows. She could hide it.
Then the whistler came nearer, and she heard her gate squeal. She froze, her nerves quivering. Slowly, she put her work down on the coffee table. A shadow fell over her window, then came a light, brisk rap at her door. Betty took her time finding the keys and unlocking the door, half-hoping he would go away.
Then she opened the door, and there Clarkin stood, a slight smile on his lips, snow on his shoulders and on the fedora he held in the same hand as a bushy wreat...h speckled with holly berries.MoreLess
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