Her eyes questioned me.
“I’ve seen you only a few times. But I suspect you come frequently.”
“I am sure I don’t, Mr. David Dale.”
She came closer, her cheeks like crimson roses, her bright eyes angry, her lips scornful.
“You come to visit Joey, I think. You came the first night after your departure from Cedar Dale. And you went into the cedar room.” I smiled into her troubled face.
“And what did I do there?”
“You took the magpie’s cage from its hook. You carried it away with you. But you were like a little trade rat—you left the cedar waxwing for Joey and me.”
But just here Wanza flung me an odd look and ran into the house, saying over her shoulder: “That was a funny, funny dream.”
Haidee favored me with a rather intent look, and dropped her gaze to the envelope in her hand. We walked around the cabin, and I explained how I planned to build a small rustic pergola with a trellis for wild honeysuckle at the back door to serve as a breakfast room next summer, and timidly at last, I told her that I wished that I might cover the rough walls of her sleeping room with cedar strips and build a pergola outside the door like the one I had built at Cedar Dale for Joey.
“We’ll plant some woodbine roots this fall, and set out a crimson rambler. We may as well have the place blooming like an Eden,” I said.