“Let me show you my room.”

Mack followed them down the hall, and the three entered the second bedroom.

Molly switched on the light. “This is my room,” she said. Her back pack fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Harley could see it was a slightly more feminine room. The headboard was an old European piece from the 1800s. Harley imagined the tall, austere headboard had come over with a German or Scandinavian immigrant family. The linens were pale and a deep red velvet tapestry blanket was folded across the foot of the bed. An antique oval mirror hung on one wall. A small framed quilt hung on another wall.

“Very pretty,” Harley said, heart falling a little more, because the rooms were comfortable and the furniture was solid and the linens were attractive. But the bedrooms lacked life and warmth. They needed photos and knick knacks and posters to make the space personal. The twins were pre-teens. Shouldn’t their bedrooms reflect their style?

She turned to look at the kids. They were drooping with cold and exhaustion. She hadn’t planned on children being here, but now that they were here, she couldn’t ignore them. Not when they looked so pitiful. She drew a quick breath, mustered a smile. “Why don’t you two shower and change and get warm, and I’ll go make you something to eat?”

Mack nodded eagerly. “Yes, please. I’m starving.”

“Haven’t had dinner,” Molly said.

“Or lunch,” Mack added.

The kids exchanged quick glances.

“Or much of anything since we left the school yesterday,” Molly said wrinkling her nose.

Harley felt her insides tighten, churn. These kids had been through a lot and it troubled her but right now the most important thing was getting them warm and fed. “Grilled cheese sound all right?” she asked.

Both kids nodded.

“Good. I’ll bring dinner trays up to your rooms, okay?”

“Okay,” Molly said.

Mack shook his head. “We can’t.” He looked at Molly, and shook his head again. “You know we can’t eat in our rooms. It’s one of Dad’s rules.” He glanced to Harley, his expression apologetic. “We’re only allowed to eat at the dining room table.”

“Not in the kitchen at the counter?’ Harley asked, trying to figure out the rules, because there seemed to be quite a few of them.

“No.” Mack shrugged. “But it’s okay. Some people never eat at the dining room table together. We’re lucky we do.”

For a moment Harley didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Her lips eventually curved into a reluctant smile. “You’re right. I’ll see you downstairs.”

 

 

It was close to one when Harley heard heavy footsteps on the back porch. She’d curled up in the rocking chair next to the kitchen fire and had dozed while waiting for Brock’s return.

The stomp of his feet outside the kitchen door woke her. She was on her feet in a flash, opening the door to greet him.

“You’re back,” she said low, indignantly. She couldn’t help it. It’s been a long, worrying night. And it was all his fault.

He knocked the snow off his hat and looked at her where she stood in the doorway. “Yes.” His lips curved grimly. “Disappointed?”

She wrapped her arms around her to stay warm, her breath clouding in little white puffs. “No.