““Mornin’, Captain Winston!” Tempy grinned. “Oh, Andrew. Look at your hair! So handsome!” Andrew smiled and ducked his head. “Mama did it.” “Well, maybe your sweet mama could get ahold of the Captain’s hair too.” Jake curbed his smile. “I beg your pardon?” Tempy eyed him as Andrew shot out the door. “You cut off that hairy old beard, but you ain’t done nothin’ yet with that hair.” She set the pail of milk on a table. “We got that auction comin’ up and you bein’ the only soldier and all . . . You might wanna tidy up a bit. Sit on down on that stool and let Missus Prescott fix you up.” Accustomed to Tempy’s teasing, Jake looked over at Aletta to get her take on the conversation. But her eyes held the same reservation from moments before. Only this time, the pain—no, the dread—in them gave him an uneasy feeling. Especially when she looked away. “You know, Tempy, I think you’re right.” He sat down on the stool, beginning to feel as though the older woman was giving him a little help. “I could probably stand some tidying up. If you don’t mind . . . Mrs. Prescott,” he said softly. Aletta looked at him as though she suspected his primary reason for being on that stool was to be close to her. And if that’s what she was thinking, she would’ve been right.””
