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jar, the morning mail suffered the same fate. It was only half-opened and the paper went unread. |
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For the time being, the jar was forgotten. Flora rustled about the kitchen, restacking the Colonel's mail, refolding the paper, locating his briefcase and searching out his earmuffs and umbrella. |
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Outside, the dreary and unseasonal winter drizzle partially obscured the piles of dirty wet snow. It was a typically gray, Newfoundland winter montage of nothingness, the kind of day that drags on hour after hour with no promise of anything except more of the same. It was the kind of day Flora liked. Colonel Driver was a kind and considerate man. He would not expect her to be out and about on such a day. As a consequence, as soon as she had completed her chores, she would have much of the day to herself. |
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"Will you be eatin' in tonight?" she asked. |
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Driver paused, mentally reviewing the tidy little calendar he kept in the forefront of his thoughts. "Thursday," he mused. "I'll stop by the officer's club for a drink. Somebody told me Major Boykin was in town, so I'll try to catch him. Should be home by nine or so. Leave a light on." And with that, he stepped out into the damp grayness of the Saint John morning. |
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