He felt preoccupied, bothered by a comment the dean had said to him that morning. “Saw a woman coming out of the tavern the other day, midafternoon, who could’ve been your wife’s sister.” Nathaniel had peered at him closely afterward, to detect either malice or insinuation, but saw nothing. It was only a genuine, innocent remark. Yet, it agitated Nate all morning, and he’d decided to walk home and simply ask Frances if she’d been there or not. He couldn’t imagine that she would set one dainty foot in the joint, rumored to be full of old drunks and women of ill repute, but he would ask just the same, he decided, to ease his mind. Using his pocketknife, he clipped a bunch of the lilacs. It was then he heard a screech through the kitchen’s open window. “What have you done?” It was Frances. Dropping the bouquet, he ran toward the kitchen door. He heard Jeselle say, “I’m sorry, Miss Frances. It was an accident.” “This was silk from India, you stupid girl,”
