Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

If Arthur sees us carrying these to the house, he’ll know we’ve been in here.”

“He’s in town until three,” I said. “We have time.”

By two in the afternoon, the wind had picked up, blowing dry pine needles across the dirt road. I walked to Evelyn’s cottage, the heavy burlap sack resting on my hip, the glass jars inside clinking with continue reading …