December 1763
MacKim stood at the door, fighting the nervousness that threatened to overwhelm him. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked, hearing the sound echo in the quiet street.
When there was no reply, he knocked again, harder, and the door opened. Claudette stared at him, with her sleeves rolled to the elbows and flour on both hands.
“Hugh?” Claudette’s voice shook. “Hugh?”
“That’s right.” MacKim took a step back, unsure if he were welcome.
Claudette opened the door wider. “Come in, Hugh,” she placed a hand on his arm. “Come in.”
The house smelled of soap and fresh-baked bread, with flour spread over the table. Claudette patted her hair into place, leaving white smudges on her forehead. “I don’t know what to say. I got your letters.” She opened a drawer and produ
