Oh. If Rena wanted, she could sit here. Even with her papers spread before her, she didn’t take up much room. And it was comfortable here by the fire. It wasn’t like Molly was going to hog the best spot in the place. Making a small gesture with her hand, she invited the woman to sit down. “If you want to, you’re welcome here. I was just,” she gave a look of exaggerated disgust at the paper. “I was just trying to get this sorted out.”
Molly knew she must have looked quite a sight. Letter writing always sounded elegant in the stories – women sitting down to have their quill sweep across the paper as they beseeched or comforted or even flirted. She had no such delusions. Molly knew she was nothing so fanciful – nothing here to see beyond a grubby little girl, face pressed too close to the paper as she aspired to be legible.
Distracted by her internal battle of wits with the page, Molly wasn’t as attentive as she should have been. “Hm? Oh. It’s a letter.” She looked back at Rena. As long as she stuck to her story, she was safe. “I just wanted to write my dad back. Let him know I’m still in Greenville.” Expression turning to one of mock irritation at her absent father, she added, “That I’m remembering to eat, that I’m dressing warmly, that I’m minding my manners.” A smile lit her face. “That sort of thing.”