A Warmth in Winter Read Online Free PDF Page A

Vernie; you had a bloom in your cheeks. Don’t you want that again?”
    Vernie leaned closer and lifted a brow, then frowned.
    Cleta dropped her spoon to the saucer. “What are you doing?”
    â€œLooking for the bloom.”
    â€œI said your cheeks, Vernie, not mine.” Snorting, Cleta took a sip of tea.
    Vernie leaned back and relaxed. “I’m perfectly content with my life and I have no intentions of changing it, Cleta. Once Stanley walked out on me, that was it. No more problems of the male persuasion. Elezar’s around during the day, and when I close the mercantile, he goes to the carriage house and shuts the door.” She took a tentative sip from her cup. “That’s the way to keep a man around the house. The only way.”
    â€œI still say you’re missing a good opportunity to find happiness with Eugene. Why, he may look a little worn, but he’s only a few years older than you. Besides, I hear he’s made some real money on Wal-Mart stock.”
    â€œIt would take more than Wal-Mart stock to interest me.”
    Sighing, Cleta lifted her cup. “You always were hardheaded. No wonder Stanley—”
    â€œI’ll thank you to keep your observations to yourself, Cleta Lansdown.”
    Rolling her eyes, Cleta took a sip, then grinned. “You may change your mind.”
    â€œI won’t.”
    â€œBetter to change it now than later . . . when Eugene Fleming’s no longer around.”
    â€œCleta, unless you want me to tell your husband you’ve picked up a new frying pan, you should drop the subject.”
    And with that, the conversation shifted to holiday worries— how big a turkey should they bake, and how many mincemeat pies?
    Vernie was relieved to talk about such trivial things. She’d willingly talk about ’most anything. Except Stanley.

Chapter Four
    S alt shifted his shopping bag from one gloved hand to the other as he walked up the lighthouse path. He’d picked up bread and cookies from Birdie’s Bakery, then bought milk, cereal, eggs, and a block of cheese from Elezar at the mercantile. He needed a few other things, too—new toothbrushes for the kids, toothpaste, soap, and laundry detergent— but he’d get those things in Ogunquit when he felt more energetic. The wind seemed to sap his strength today, and he’d begun to perspire under his flannel shirt.
    He paused at the row of sand dunes that stood like a barrier between the city and the desolate marsh that covered the northern half of Heavenly Daze. The kids needed clothes, new underwear and sturdy snowsuits. They’d been wearing thrift store castoffs when he brought them home, but he didn’t dare buy children’s clothing where anyone from Heavenly Daze might see him.
    No one could know about the kids. He’d had no choice but to take them, yet the government do-gooders and social workers wouldn’t see it that way. They’d say he was seventy and too old to be caring for children, then they’d take Bobby and Brittany and put them in a foster home where perfect strangers would care for his own flesh and blood. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Not as long as Salt had breath. Being a Gribbon meant doing what should be done, and a Gribbon man was supposed to provide for his family. Salt had provided for his wife and son by spending weeks away at sea, and now he would provide for his grandchildren by keeping them close . . . no matter what anybody else said.
    He turned his face into the wind and closed his eyes against the icy sting. Ayuh, winter was gathering her strength, no doubt preparin’ for a real blast. If his aching bones could be trusted, ’twould be a cold one this year.
    Spurred by determination and an undeniable sense of guilt, he pulled his collar to his throat and walked on. He hadn’t taken the kids from spite. God above knew he hadn’t done that. He’d wished Patrick well;