Beth looked at the roast. Her mind moved even raster than her dinner-getting hands. “I’ve got to find something yet for the minister’s wife. Every year I promise myself I’ll give her a Christmas present, and every year I put it oil’ or forged” She handed him a spoon. “Hold this—over the sink!” She took the lid from a pot, looked, popped it back. “And don’t let me forget to take the ice cream along tomorrow. It’s in the deep freeze. Ruth couldn’t afford it this year.”
“ Where’s everybody?”
“They’ll be in soon. Nora’s over with the Crandon youngsters. I don’t know where Ted is. And Charles is shopping.” Henry eyed another roll and restrained himself. “If Chuck’s downtown, he’ll be late. Never saw such crowds.”
“I’m worried about him,” she said.
Henry looked at her thoughtfully. “Me, too. It’s”—He nodded toward the window, the snow, the gleaming house where the Baileys lived, where Lenore had always lived.
“I think he got his leave to try to see what he could do about it,” Beth said. ‘‘I’m perfectly sure he’s aware what’s afoot….”
“You should be,” Henry answered with mild disapproval. “You wrote him, phoned him—”
She defended herself. “I thought he had a right to know.”
“That’s the trouble with love. People think it involves rights.”
“Doesn’t it?” He laughed and put a sturdy arm over her shoulder, rocking her slightly.