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found his temper.
    Neither of them spoke for a few moments, both too preoccupied with drinking in great gulps of fresh air laced with the faintest hint of honey. As their breathing calmed, the merry buzz of hundreds of worker bees busily zooming in and out of the dozens of wooden movable-frame hives in the meadow before them became discernable.
    At least Midge could make it out in between the hitched, sniffle-laden, quickly-stifled breaths of her companion. Miss Chandler dabbed at her eyes and nose with a pressed linen handkerchief, tucking it into a pocket in her skirts before looking up. The mop-up job hadn’t done much to hide the fact she’d gone on a crying jag. Red nose and watery eyes tattled on both her upset and her inability to play a good damsel in distress. That made her more likeable in Midge’s book.
    â€œYou don’t have to go back,” she piped up once the other woman seemed ready to hear her out. “We’ll get you taken care of. Now, what did he do?”
    â€œIt’s a mistake.” Miss Chandler’s lips moved almost too slowly for the words she spoke. “A terrible mistake.”
    â€œDon’t you worry.” Midge reached over to give her a soothing pat on the back. “We’ll make sure you get home again, safe and sound. No woman need put up with a man who done her wrong.” She heard her molars grind in the silence as she waited for her new project to confide in her.
    But this woman managed a rare feat—she kept her lips buttoned and her thoughts sewn up. She simply looked to the right, off to the distance, as though trying to make a plan, and periodically shook her head as though to clear it.
    â€œDid he hit you?” Midge couldn’t see any marks.
    â€œNo! Gavin would never do such a thing. How could you say that?” In an instant, the sorrow and uncertainty gave way to bristling indignation. “He’s a good man.”
    â€œIf you’re so fond of him, I don’t know why you were dead set on running away from him. I suppose that’s your business, but seeing as how I thought he’d done you wrong and tried to lend a hand”—Midge worked what scant angles she could—“maybe you could see your way clear to explaining why you don’t want to marry the man?”
    â€œIf only it were that easy.” The tears came back. “I’d rather no one saw me like that, but I needed some time to think on my own.”
    Obviously this would take some additional needling to get any useful information. Midge used another tactic. “Understood. I’ll just wait here while you finish thinking about the reasons you don’t want to marry such a fine man.”
    â€œSimple. He doesn’t want to marry me. ”

CHAPTER 6
    If she had her “I’d rathers,” or druthers, as Aunt Verlata termed them, Marge wouldn’t be confiding in this piquant girl who’d whisked her away from the mill. Proclaiming aloud that Gavin didn’t want her did nothing to ease the heart-hollowing impact of its truth and only served to broadcast her shame.
    Contrary to what she’d told Gavin’s grandmother, she’d done an excellent ninny impression when she hied off like that. Fainting ninnies, at least, held no control over their unfortunate reactions. Unless, of course, they were that vile breed of fake-fainting ninny, whose real classification became far less pleasant.
    Marge would have said she didn’t believe in fleeing one’s troubles but rather standing one’s ground and confronting them head-on. Putting off an issue didn’t make it go away, after all. Yet when things became unbearable and granted her a moment to make a bid for freedom, she ran.
    She ran away from going back in the house to face Awful Ermintrude. She ran from seeing the man she’d rejoiced to marry tell her he didn’t want her but would take her on as an obligation. Most of all, she’d run