An Honest Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

rooms, but he eventually caught them and lifted them over the wall of woven wool into their makeshift coop. A bowl of water and a pan of bread mashed with the carrots and parsnips he’d overcooked and not eaten with his dinner followed, calming the new residents.
    “What shall I call you?” Neal leaned over, resting his arms across the high back of one of the chairs. The white one looked up from the water bowl, head cocked as if waiting his judgment. “You’ll be . . . Matilda. And you”—he motioned toward the gray-brown one that ignored him—“you’ll be Sheila.”
    Matilda and Sheila explored the confines of their new, albeit temporary, home, then both flapped their way up onto the seats of two of the chairs to roost.
    If only he could feel at home as easily as they seemed to be able to do. Yawning, he stumbled up to the top floor and dropped into bed. Despite the early morning sunlight streaming through the bare windows, he fell asleep almost instantly.
    More banging at his door brought him upright in the bed, shaking off sleep as if he’d had plenty—though the angle of the dusty golden beams across his floor indicated he’d been home less than an hour.
    He tossed a glance at the chickens—undisturbed by the banging, their heads forward and slightly down in sleep—then opened the door.
    In the hallway, fist raised to bang again, stood a petite woman of indeterminate middle age.
    “Please, are you the doctor?” The woman wrapped her hands anxiously in her apron, and her white frilly cap lay askew on haphazardly pinned braids.
    “Let me get my bag.”

    Pushing herself up to sit on the edge of her bed, Caddy rolled her head from side to side. When Lady Carmichael paid her for the two ball gowns on Friday, she needed to invest in a higher quality down with which to make a new pillow. She tossed her long brown braid over her shoulder and tightened the belt of her dressing gown before padding downstairs. The smell of brewing coffee meant Mother must be awake already and had sent her nurse, Mary, down to make it for her.
    Her slippers, made from scrap-bag pieces, created no sound, and she made certain to step on the squeaky third stair to announce her presence so she wouldn’t startle Mother if she were in the kitchen with her nurse.
    The kitchen was empty. Frowning, but happy to have a few moments of peace before the day started, Caddy poured her coffee. It was one expense that she indulged in, because she preferred coffee to tea in the mornings, as did Mother. She clamped two thick slices of hearty rye in the toaster and set it on its rack on the hearth where the bread got the benefit of the heat of the open fire but wasn’t scorched from touching the flames.
    While her bread warmed and her coffee cooled, Caddy made her way down one more flight of stairs to the ground level and let herself through the shop to get the newssheet she paid the newsie to deliver to her front door each day.
    Before she could grasp the knob, it rattled, then the door swung open. Caddy gasped and stumbled several steps back.
    Mary rushed in—with Dr. Stradbroke on her heels.
    “Mary? What’s wrong? Is it—?” Caddy pressed her hands to her mouth.
    Sympathetic concern filled the doctor’s eyes. “Mary said she could not awaken your mother this morning, so she came to fetch me.”
    Breath stuck in her throat, Caddy whirled and dashed for the stairs, unconcerned for propriety or hospitality. Once before, they had been unable to rouse Mother . . . and Caddy did not want to think about the fear-filled days that followed. At least Father had still been with them then. Now—
    Winded from running up two flights of narrow, steep stairs, Caddy pushed her mother’s door open and came to an immediate stop.
    Mother lay in the center of the bed, flat on her back, her silvery-blonde hair spread out on her pillow like an overly large halo. Her arms lay folded on the white lace counterpane over her chest. All she lacked was a nosegay of