ThirteenHuldah sat down to breakfast alone the next morning. Isabella had complained of a headache and begged off rising at the normal time. She was sick, she said. She needed to rest. She pulled the fine-thread cotton sheet over her head and moaned, “Go away, Mama. I want to sleep.”
Huldah banged her cup down too sharply and coffee sloshed into the china saucer. Sleep indeed! If she hadn’t got herself caught up in that ridiculous farce at Lotta Crabtree’s yesterday she’d be just fine — ready to talk seriously about their plans for next year.
She idled at the table rethinking her approach. With Isabella unwell she couldn’t go shopping for new dresses for the girl at Cressida Washington’s as she had intended. She pictured the rapturous reception they would receive back home in Germany in
