Chapter 56

“That’s just as well. I thought we would all go out to dinner.”

And dinner wouldn’t be for another four or five hours.

“All right, Papa. We’ll…take our time. Come along, muchachas.”

“Thank you, George,” Mama said softly.

He glanced back over his shoulder. She’d caught Papa’s hand and twined her fingers in his, and for a brief moment George thought about holding Bart’s hand.

George knew his friend’s palm was rough—there had been times, climbing trees or scrambling into the hay loft when a grip was necessary. He also knew Bart probably wouldn’t object if George took his hand. Bart was his friend, after all, and he had gotten into a fistfight with one of the younger journeymen who’d mocked George as being too pretty—as if a man could be pretty. He’d insinuated something was going on between them, because Bart always had lunch with George. Bart wound up with a black eye and a bloody nose, but he’d knocked the journeyman on his ass.