Her eyes were dancing as Lightning came up, and the great team halted of its own accord. The old man remained where he was on the mare’s back, while some form of greeting passed between the home team and the stranger. He barely even responded to Andy’s nod of greeting.
“Don’t worry, boy,” Molly cried airily. “I’ll sure be fixed right. I’ll be wearing a swell gown. I certainly will. When’s the day?”
Lightning spat out a chew, and took a fresh bite at a fragment of plug he drew from his hip pocket. But his hard old eyes remained fixed on the other man’s face as though he were reading him down to the depths of his very soul. He uttered no word. Not a single word.
“Thursday. I’ll be along with the spring wagon.”
Lightning’s jaws chewed harder as Andy made his reply. There was not the flicker of an eyelid to indicate that which was passing behind his stony regard.
Molly was becoming uneasy at the old man’s silence. She wanted to force him into speech. But she refrained, fearing the result.
“So long, Molly.”
Andy raised a hand in salutation, and his horse stirred as he lifted his reins. “Thursday—sure.”
Molly gazed smilingly up into the man’s face under the cold gaze of the silent Lightning.
“Thursday—sure,” she responded. “So long, Andy.”