Around noon, she ventured down the hall and knocked upon Adam’s door. “Do you want luncheon?” she asked him through the wood.
“Come on in, Jo.”
“I can’t, there’s no chaperone. Do you want something to eat or not?”
For a moment there was silence, then she heard, “Yes, I do.”
“I’ll be back then,” she told him. She turned away from the door and headed downstairs. Take that, she declared inwardly.
Adam was amused but not surprised by her attitude; Jo had always given as good as she got. He’d hurt her, and now she was punishing him. He had no recourse but to take his comeuppance like a man.
Jo made Adam a large sandwich out of some leftover roast beef and slices of Belle’s rye bread. She added a hearty wedge of last night’s apple pie, and a cup of coffee to round out the fare.
When she reached his room the door was open. He was seated outside on the porch. She called out, “I’m leaving your tray here on the dresser. If you need anything more, just yell. I’ll be downstairs.”
By the time Adam grabbed his crutches and hobbled in, she’d already gone.
Belle came home late that afternoon. Jo was in the kitchen putting the last touches on dinner. In reality, she’d done nothing but reheat last night’s leftovers, but leftovers were what her mama had instructed her to prepare, so that’s what Jo did. She gave Belle a smile of welcome. “Did Mama and Mrs. Firestone make the train?”
Belle took off her hat. “Yes, they did. How’s Adam?”
Jo snarled.
“That well, huh?”
Jo then explained how Adam had ruined George’s visit.
Belle couldn’t control her chuckle. “He actually sat on the porch with you two?”
“It wasn’t funny, Belle.”
Belle was instantly contrite. “Of course it wasn’t. I’m sorry, Jo.”
“He could have stayed upstairs. Nothing was going to happen. George is a gentleman.”
“He certainly appears to be. Adam was just being over-protective.”
“He was being nosy, that’s all.” Jo didn’t tell Belle about the flower-picking part of the conversation; she wasn’t ready to reveal that yet. “Nosy and meddlesome.”
“Well, how about I take over the care of the nosy and meddlesome Mr. Morgan for the rest of the day?”
Jo smiled happily. “The smartest thing my brother ever did was marry you.”
Belle said, “I love you, too.”
Jo said, “I’m going over to the shop to make sure I’m ready for business when I open up tomorrow.”
“All right. I’ll keep your dinner warm.”
Jo left with a wave.
Jo didn’t really have anything to do at the shop; she was always very organized. Her supplies were up to snuff, her irons and combs were clean and a stack of towels was waiting at the ready. She’d come over here to think more than anything else, so she took a seat on one of the stools. In a perfect world, everything and everyone would be just that—perfect. Trudy wouldn’t be contemplating breaking off her engagement, Jo and George would be getting to know each other better without outside interference, her menfolk wouldn’t be off at war and Adam Morgan would be gone wherever flower-pickers go. But the world was an imperfect one, one filled with war, and uncertainty, and a young woman’s inability to control anything in it. Being melancholy was uncharacteristic for Jo; she could usually ride out whatever life threw her way, but she didn’t feel like riding anything right now.
She supposed it had to do with Adam’s confession and how it made her feel. She didn’t deny she’d been hurt by it, but she should have known better. Girls like her had no business even contemplating someone like Adam; she had neither the experience nor the dash necessary not to be left flat as yesterday’s flapjacks when he moved on to another flower. She was going to have to buck up, though; there was no telling how long he would be staying with them, and if she spent the whole time moping, her mother would want an explanation. Jo was no
“Come on in, Jo.”
“I can’t, there’s no chaperone. Do you want something to eat or not?”
For a moment there was silence, then she heard, “Yes, I do.”
“I’ll be back then,” she told him. She turned away from the door and headed downstairs. Take that, she declared inwardly.
Adam was amused but not surprised by her attitude; Jo had always given as good as she got. He’d hurt her, and now she was punishing him. He had no recourse but to take his comeuppance like a man.
Jo made Adam a large sandwich out of some leftover roast beef and slices of Belle’s rye bread. She added a hearty wedge of last night’s apple pie, and a cup of coffee to round out the fare.
When she reached his room the door was open. He was seated outside on the porch. She called out, “I’m leaving your tray here on the dresser. If you need anything more, just yell. I’ll be downstairs.”
By the time Adam grabbed his crutches and hobbled in, she’d already gone.
Belle came home late that afternoon. Jo was in the kitchen putting the last touches on dinner. In reality, she’d done nothing but reheat last night’s leftovers, but leftovers were what her mama had instructed her to prepare, so that’s what Jo did. She gave Belle a smile of welcome. “Did Mama and Mrs. Firestone make the train?”
Belle took off her hat. “Yes, they did. How’s Adam?”
Jo snarled.
“That well, huh?”
Jo then explained how Adam had ruined George’s visit.
Belle couldn’t control her chuckle. “He actually sat on the porch with you two?”
“It wasn’t funny, Belle.”
Belle was instantly contrite. “Of course it wasn’t. I’m sorry, Jo.”
“He could have stayed upstairs. Nothing was going to happen. George is a gentleman.”
“He certainly appears to be. Adam was just being over-protective.”
“He was being nosy, that’s all.” Jo didn’t tell Belle about the flower-picking part of the conversation; she wasn’t ready to reveal that yet. “Nosy and meddlesome.”
“Well, how about I take over the care of the nosy and meddlesome Mr. Morgan for the rest of the day?”
Jo smiled happily. “The smartest thing my brother ever did was marry you.”
Belle said, “I love you, too.”
Jo said, “I’m going over to the shop to make sure I’m ready for business when I open up tomorrow.”
“All right. I’ll keep your dinner warm.”
Jo left with a wave.
Jo didn’t really have anything to do at the shop; she was always very organized. Her supplies were up to snuff, her irons and combs were clean and a stack of towels was waiting at the ready. She’d come over here to think more than anything else, so she took a seat on one of the stools. In a perfect world, everything and everyone would be just that—perfect. Trudy wouldn’t be contemplating breaking off her engagement, Jo and George would be getting to know each other better without outside interference, her menfolk wouldn’t be off at war and Adam Morgan would be gone wherever flower-pickers go. But the world was an imperfect one, one filled with war, and uncertainty, and a young woman’s inability to control anything in it. Being melancholy was uncharacteristic for Jo; she could usually ride out whatever life threw her way, but she didn’t feel like riding anything right now.
She supposed it had to do with Adam’s confession and how it made her feel. She didn’t deny she’d been hurt by it, but she should have known better. Girls like her had no business even contemplating someone like Adam; she had neither the experience nor the dash necessary not to be left flat as yesterday’s flapjacks when he moved on to another flower. She was going to have to buck up, though; there was no telling how long he would be staying with them, and if she spent the whole time moping, her mother would want an explanation. Jo was no
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