As he came to each turn, he shot an anxious glance at Camilla’s bent head as she sat on the sofa, reading. In a burst of white-hot creativity, he’d written an entire chapter in one night. His right hand still felt cramped, and the pages, ill-spelled and ink-spattered, showed the effort. Also, his head ached from frustration. All day, he’d attempted to steal half an hour of Camilla’s time, longing to hear her opinion of what he’d done. Yet she always seemed too busy to draw aside. Ever since she’d spent an hour closeted with Beulah two days before, she’d been scurrying about like a home-loving mouse, up attic and down cellar, whispering the corner with Tinarose or one of the other two children. When she wasn’t afoot on some errand, she was sitting, her hands full of busywork, with Nanny Mallow. Finally, he’d cornered her by promising her an uninterrupted tea. Uninterrupted, that was, by everybody but himself. Though he paused, hardly breathing, when she laughed and tried to peek when she made a pencil mark on a page, he was distracted from her reaction to what she read by the unexpected charm of her appearance.
What do You think about A Yuletide Treasure (2003)?
