Solon was pleased that Lou's writing about Jim had relieved some of her hurt and now she was reckoning with Joe's future.
"Yes, I know of Buchtel's Universalist connection and your Cincinnati fellow being there. That is important, I know. We will go see him during the school year, though. We will, you understand!
Travel safe, dear one. See you the 23rd.
My heart, Lou"
Solon's tears were gone. He was just anxious to get home but his train north wasn't until 7 p.m., nearly three hours away.
He was hungry. The Herrington's, down towards Ellisville, had fed him breakfast before daybreak but he'd missed dinner, lost in the Piney Woods after forgetting the directions given him. It was overcast and he had a hard time reckoning the winter sun in the tall, tall pines. Some were upwards of a hundred twenty-five feet tall. The virgin yellow pine was thick at the tops but there was lots of clearing in the shade of the great trees. Day dreaming as Ghost walked, Solon had missed the marked tree for the turn at a crossroads called Buttermilk Crossing. He had noticed this day dreaming happened every once in awhile nowadays. It bothered him some but as he'd gotten absent-minded he'd also acquired a sense of less urgency.
"Hungry," he thought as he rose and turned towards Miss Mary.
"Excuse me, Ma'am, reckon there's somewhere I can get some vittles?" he asked.
"Why our Miss Peggy down the block across from the depot and up the hill a bit has wonderful meals. With all the busy-ness around the mill these last few months the workers come all hours it seems. She'll be happy to accommodate you."
"Much obliged, Ma'am! You say up west from the depot?"
"Oh, Brother Stevenson, you'll smell the cooking before you get there. Just follow your nose," she smiled but not like someone who'd tried to be funny but rather as someone who was being quite reasonable and accurate.
He found the place just as she had said by the good smell. It was just past the corner where once stood the old deer stand he learned later from Miss Peggy.
"Come in, Hon, come right in," the stout red head said as Solon opened the door to the good sized board and batten building with a wide front porch. Gilded gold letters on the plate glass front window read, "Laurel Canteen". Solon was a bit startled by the familiar greeting. The fortyish woman's smile and sparkling green eyes quickly assured him that he was merely one of many "Hons" that frequented Miss Peggy's eatery.
Presently there were three men in deep conversation standing up from their table covered with a white tablecloth. They moved towards Solon.