“We need three more bundles for the pews,” Adele said, keeping her voice low so the clerk behind the counter would not hear. “If we only have the bare minimum on the altar, people will notice.”
“Your sisters will look beautiful,” I said. “Nobody is looking at the wood on the pews.”
Adele folded her hands tightly in her lap as she sat on the small wooden stool by the ribbon rack. It was her habit when she was trying to resolve something without causing a scene.
“She offered to send a wire for the decorations,” Adele whispered.
“We do not need her money,” I said.
The bell above the shop door chimed as a delivery man carried in a wooden crate of ferns. The cold air from the street hit my ankles, reminding me how close the autumn frost was.
“She said she wanted the church to look decent for Harry’s family,” Adele said, her eyes fixed on the bucket of white roses.
“We are paying for this ourselves,” I said.
Adele did not look up, but her fingers remained locked together in her lap.
