CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A little time before, having watched Reece ride out of town, Miss Bessy returned to her kitchen. She was preparing the evening meal, chicken stew with dumplings, and had a dozen buns already rolled and primed for the oven. She enjoyed cooking. If pushed, she’d have to admit that it was the only thing she had in a life run dry. Years before, when Destry was so fine and his attentions so sincere, she believed she had found her niche. This place, her simple yet happy existence, all was well. How quickly everything had been swept away. She had no doubts what had allowed the rot to set in – it was that damned mine.
The War, of course, was the root of it. If the country hadn’t split and did its best to murder itself, those terrible men, bushwhackers or whatever the moniker was
