““That must be Mrs. Bigelow,” Susan said as Todd ran to let in a ruddy-faced little woman. “Lord, it’s cold,” she said, shedding her coat and scarf. “From the way it’s clouding up, we’re bound to have snow tonight.” Turning to me with a smile, she introduced herself. “You must be Cynda. My friend Gina told me she met you last night at the diner.” She gave my hand a friendly squeeze and turned back to Susan. “I’d best be about my work. I don’t want Will fetching me after dark. If I’m right about ...the snow, the roads will be bad.” After Mrs. Bigelow scurried upstairs to clean, I lingered at the table, sipping tea. I’d had little to say during lunch, but nobody noticed because Todd entertained us with endless knock-knock jokes, most of which he’d invented himself and made no sense to anyone but him. Susan and Dad laughed anyway which inspired him to even greater heights of silliness. Long before I finished my tea, Susan excused herself and went to her sewing room.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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