“That is his version of the story,” she said, her tone sharp and clean as a fresh sheet of paper. “But you must remember how easily you were led when we were young. We have our family standing to protect in this town, and Richard says people are already talking about the old truck parked in your yard.”
“Richard has no say in who visits me,” I said.
“Richard is the bank manager, Martha, and he understands the character of people in this county,” Clara said, tapping her glasses against her chin again. “I strongly advise you to close your door to this man before you find yourself with nothing left.”
“He has a right to be here,” I said. “His family owned half the valley.”
Clara adjusted her linen collar, her fingers perfectly steady. “A home is built on stability, Martha, not on old promises that were broken before the decade turned. I will see you at two for our afternoon sewing.”
She did not wait for me to answer before she backed down the gravel drive, leaving a trail of orange dust hanging in the hot air.
