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blushed.
    â€œWhat’d she do?”
Mrs. Murphy wanted to know.
    â€œWhat’d she do?” Lucinda echoed the cat.
    â€œShe’s been visiting the terminally ill children down at the hospital and she’s organized her church folks to join in.”
    â€œLarry, I do it because I want to be useful. Don’t fuss over me.” Mrs. Hogendobber meant it, but being human, she also enjoyed the approval.
    A loud meow at the back diverted the slightly overweight lady’s attention, and she opened the door. A wet, definitely overweight Pewter straggled in. The cat and human oddly mirrored each other.

    â€œFat mouse! Fat mouse!”
Mrs. Murphy taunted the gray cat.
    â€œWhat does that man do over there? Force-feed her?” Lucinda stared at the cat.
    â€œIt’s all her own work.”
Mrs. Murphy’s meow carried her dry wit.
    â€œShut up. If I had as many acres to run around as you do, I’d be slender too,”
Pewter spat out.
    â€œYou’d sit in a trance in front of the refrigerator door, waiting for it to open. Open Sesame.”
The tiger’s voice was musical.
    â€œYou two are being ugly.”
Tucker padded over to the front door and sniffed Lucinda’s umbrella. She smelled the faint hint of oregano on the handle. Lucinda must have been cooking before she headed to the P.O.
    Lucinda sauntered over to her postbox, opened it with the round brass key, and pulled out envelopes. She sorted them at the ledge along one side of the front room. The flutter of mail hitting the wastebasket drew Larry’s attention.
    Mrs. Hogendobber also observed Lucinda’s filing system. “You’re smart, Lucinda. Don’t even open the envelopes.”
    â€œI have enough bills to pay. I’m not going to answer a form letter appealing for money. If a charity wants money, they can damn well ask me in person.” She gathered up what was left of her mail, picked up her umbrella, and pushed open the door. She forgot to say good-bye.
    â€œShe’s not doing too good, is she?” Harry blurted out.
    Larry shook his head. “I can sometimes heal the body. Can’t do much for the heart.”
    â€œShe’s not the first woman whose husband has had an affair. I ought to know.” Harry watched Lucinda Coles open her car door, hop in while holding the umbrella out, then shake the umbrella, throw it over the back seat of the Grand Wagoneer, slam the door, and drive off.
    â€œShe’s from another generation, Mary Minor Haristeen. ‘Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled; for God will judge the immoral and adulterous.’ Hebrews 13:4.”
    â€œI’m going to let you girls fight this one out.” Larry slapped his porkpie hat back on his head and left. What he knew that he didn’t tell them was with whom Samson Coles was carrying on his affair.
    â€œMiranda, are you implying that my generation does not honor the vows of marriage? That just frosts me!” Harry shoved a mail cart. It clattered across the floor, the canvas swaying a bit.
    â€œI said no such thing, Missy. Now, you just calm yourself. She’s older than you by a good fifteen years. A woman in middle age has fears you can’t understand but you will—you will. Lucinda Payne was raised to be an ornament. She lives in a world of charities, luncheons with the girls, and black-tie fund-raisers. You work. You expect to work, and if you marry again your life isn’t going to change but so much. Of course you honored your marriage vows. The pity is that Fair Haristeen didn’t.”
    â€œI kept remembering what Susan used to say about Ned. He’d make her so mad she’d say, ‘Divorce, never. Murder, yes.’ There were a few vile moments when I wonder how I managed not to kill Fair. They passed. I don’t think he could help it. We married too young.”
    â€œToo young? You married Fair the summer he