“Come and get me,” Jecca said as she hurried toward her room.
“Today we’re going to do—”
“Don’t tell me or I’ll panic and run away,” Jecca called over her shoulder as she went to the drawing board she’d set up. She used drafting dots to tape the first copy on her board and began to fill in the colors.
When Lucy knocked on the door, Jecca couldn’t believe it was time to go exercise. She hastily changed her clothes and hurried after Lucy. Mrs. Wingate was already waiting downstairs. An hour later, they were sweaty from doing the samba. Or at least Lucy and Jecca were perspiring heavily. Mrs. Wingate’s forehead had a bit of a glow, but that’s all.
They went upstairs to the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea. In the few days that Jecca had been there, the three women had settled into a routine. Jecca got out the sandwiches while Lucy cut up the fruit, and Mrs. Wingate went through an elaborate ritual of making the tea. Within minutes, the tray was loaded and Jecca was carrying it into the conservatory, the other two women behind her.
Jecca was thinking hard about what she wanted to do with the playhouse. What if she used dark blue tiles for the roof? Could she incorporate that with pink porch posts? Or should she use natural cedar shingles for the roof? Were they too dark for Nell’s Easter colors?
“Jecca, dear,” Mrs. Wingate said, bringing her back to the present, “when are you going to tell us about you and Tristan?”
Jecca nearly choked on her tea. “I, uh . . .”
“If it’s supposed to be a secret, we’ll mind our own business,” Lucy said, giving Mrs. Wingate a look of reproach.
“In other circumstances, I would agree, but I haven’t seen Tristan so happy in years,” Mrs. Wingate said, her eyes on Jecca.
“He told you about us?”
“No,” Mrs. Wingate said. “But of course I have talked to him and Nell on the telephone. And Addy.”
“And Tristan quit visiting us,” Lucy said, “and you were outside so late every night. It wasn’t a difficult mystery to solve.”
Jecca couldn’t see any reason to keep her and Tristan a secret. “He tripped over me. The night I arrived, before I met either of you, I fell asleep on the chaise, and Tristan ran into the chair and landed on top of me.”
“Oh my!” Lucy said.
“Nothing happened,” Jecca said. “He was a perfect gentleman, but it was startling.”
“Too bad,” Lucy murmured. “Passion in the moonlight would have been nice.”
“There was no moon that night,” Mrs. Wingate said, looking at Jecca in speculation. “Do you think Tristan is handsome?”
Jecca tried to control it, but she could feel her face turning red. “I haven’t seen him. I saw the pictures of him but that’s all.”
Neither Lucy nor Mrs. Wingate said a word. They just leaned back in their chairs, teacups in hand, and gave Jecca a look that said she had to tell the story.
Twenty minutes later, the plates had been cleared of food and Jecca had told them everything. Or most of it, anyway. She left out the kissing parts.
“How interesting,” Mrs. Wingate said.
“How romantic,” Lucy said.
“So now Addy has asked me to oversee the renovation of the playhouse. She said some man is going to call me. I don’t remember his name, but his grandfather built the playhouse.”
“Bill Welsch,” Mrs. Wingate said, and her face seemed to drain of color. She looked like she might faint.
“Did I say something wrong?” Jecca asked.
“No, of course not,” Mrs. Wingate said as she stood up. Her hands were shaking as she began clearing the table.
Jecca looked at Lucy in question, but she merely shrugged. She also had no idea what was going on.
By the time Lucy and Jecca got to the kitchen, Mrs. Wingate seemed to have recovered enough that she was encouraging Jecca to take on the repair of the playhouse. “Tristan has been meaning to get it done, but he’s not had the time.” She looked at her wa {kedon the rtch. “Speaking of which, I need to get back to the shop to relieve my helper.” She hurried out the door.
Jecca looked at Lucy. “Was it my imagination or did she . . .”