Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (13 page)

A guarded expression splashed across Doc Randolph's
face as his gaze went from the unmoving child to her mother.
"We'll know soon enough," were his carefully chosen words.

he first rays of sun shot over a bumpy horizon like hot
honey on a biscuit. Wispy clouds, thin and hairlike,
stretched across an already brilliant sky of orange and blue,
grazing the tops of Kentucky's low mountain range. Jon tipped
his hat back for an unobstructed view of nature's display, rested
one hand on the saddle horn and the other on his knee, and
breathed in the clean scents of morning.

"Don't get much better than this, right, preacher?"

Jon grinned, never taking his eyes off the resplendent display, to his right a field of black-eyed Susans and to the left a
copse of tall pines reaching skyward.

"Nope, Elmer, not much better. Matter of fact, this is
church, in my opinion."

Jupiter whinnied in agreement, then continued picking
his way down the hillside leading to Ezra Browning's oneroom shack. A little caravan of volunteers followed Jon's lead:
Elmer and Bess Barrington, Rocky and Sarah Callahan, Ben
and Liza Broughton, Tom Averly, Irwin Waggoner, and Gerald
Crunkle. The small turnout pleased him. Now he could only
hope that Ezra would allow them on his property.

Ben and Rocky clicked their horses into a faster gait and
cane up alongside Jon.

"Think he'll meet us on his porch with that shotgun?"
asked Ben.

"If he does you have niy permission to turn tail and run."

Ben chuckled. "And leave you to your own defenses?
Nothin' doin'."

"He brings out that gun," Rocky inserted, "we're all high-
tailin' it, you hear? I'll beat you all back to town."

"You always were the chicken-heart," Ben harassed.

"And you were the hothead," Rocky retorted.

Jon couldn't help the grin. "Contain yourselves, nien, or
I'll have to send you both to the end of the line."

"What-and miss all the fun?" Ben joshed.

A flock of birds flew overhead, settling in a meadow, no
doubt in search of breakfast. The men reined in their horses
at the top of a knoll, calling a halt to the rest of the group.
"Looks pretty quiet down there," remarked Ben. "The guy's
probably sleepin' off another night of debauchery. What'll we
do if we can't wake him up?"

"We'll work around him," Jon said. "Might be better that
way." He glanced behind him at the quiet cavalcade of followers, Elmer, Irwin, Toni, and Gerald riding single file, with
the three ladies bringing up the rear in Ben's wagon. The
wagon carried a load of building supplies, including glass for
the broken windows, donated by none other than Clyde Winthrop.

"Probably should have left the women home this first
tine," he said, chasing down a smidgeon of worry. If anything
happened of a negative nature, there'd be no one to blame but
himself.

"Liza wouldn't hear of it. She was ready to head out here
last Sunday after dinner."

Jon chuckled under his breath. "She's something. Heart of
gold, that woman."

"And a mind of steel," said Ben, shaking his head, his tone
a niix of pride and pleasure.

Jon gave Rocky a sideways glance. "And I suppose Sarah
refused to stay home once she learned Liza was coming."

He grinned and nodded. "Matter of fact, Rachel and Seth
would've cone too if Ma hadn't insisted we drop them off at
their place."

"And what of Lill and Molly?" Jon asked.

"They were still sawing logs when we left. Lilt's responsible. She'll hold down the fort till we get back."

They proceeded down the hill until the little cabin cane
in full view and they found a place to hitch the horses. Chickens scratched at sod, scuttling away the closer they came. Wandering aimlessly was Ezra's lone goat, skinny as a rail. A sort of
pity welled up in Jon for the helpless creature.

"It's deadly quiet," Rocky said.

Ben looked back at Liza, who was driving the rig, and
motioned for her to stay put. She reined in the horses and
stopped several yards back.

"Let me go knock on the door," Jon said, dismounting and
loosely tethering the reins to the same crooked post he'd used
before.

He walked across rutted terrain, climbed the rickety porch
steps, and rapped on the door. When he got no response, he
gave the door a slight nudge. It pushed open with ease. "Ezra?"
he called.

As expected, the room was a hodgepodge of empty soup
cans, heaps of clothing, dirty dishes, and upturned furniture.
In the corner, slumped in a chair and out like a dead horse,
was Ezra, empty bottles stockpiled at his feet. Jon walked the
ten or so steps it took to get to the other side of the room and
poked the guy in the shoulder. "Ezra, wake up." A low moan
cane from his mouth, along with a trail of spittle. "Ezra, you
have company."

Emma wrung out the last of this week's laundry, piled the
wet garments into a basket, and headed out the back door.
Miss Tabitha, stretched out on the windowsill enjoying a patch
of sunlight, meowed a greeting.

"Mornin', Emma," called Rita Flowers, Little Hickman's
laundress. She was crossing the alley but paused midway when
she spotted Enmia, putting a hand to her brow to shield her
eyes from the blaring sun. "Ain't it a beautiful mornin'?"

Emma put down the basket and cast a smile at the middleaged woman. "The finest." Although it promised to be another
hot day, there was a lovely breeze to offset the worst of it. "You
out for a pleasure walk?" Emma noticed she was strolling in
the opposite direction of her laundry business.

Rita shook her head. "I'm goin' over to Doc's office to see
what I can do about relieving Flora. Lucy Fontaine said Flora's been stayin' with little Ernaline round the clock. Fred's
doing his best to keep house and take care of their brood, but
it's not an easy time for there. Hear Doc's out to the Thompson fare right now lookin' after their youngest that's got the
croup.

"Doc's got his hands full," Emma remarked. "How is little
Ernialine?"

"Holdin' 'er own far's I know. Actin' like a regular little
sprout, anxious to be out of bed. Course, she can't move what
with a broken leg and arni and bruises, to boot. Lucky little
thing, if ya ask me."

Emma recalled the accident with a shudder. "It was a terrible thing, but I'm glad that things seen to be workin' themselves out."

"I s'pose we could've been havin' a funeral. Thank the
Lord for His great mercy."

It seeped to Erma it would have been altogether more merciful had the Lord prevented the accident, but she refrained
from expressing her opinion.

"Sometimes the Lord allows these things so His children
will learn what it is to trust Hini completely. No matter the
outcome, He's the one in control. I suspect the Swains will
grow closer t'gether 'cause of this accident. No matter, somethin' good will come of it. Romans 8:28, you know." No, Emma
didn't know, but she kept that matter to herself. "Well, I best
be gettin' over to Doc's. You have a good day now."

They waved and Emma hoisted up the basketful of wet
clothes and walked to the clothesline, the cat joining her to curl
around her legs and do her best to make a pest of herself.

"Shoo!" Emma ordered, smiling to herself for no particular reason when the cat failed to obey.

After hanging the last towel, she set to rights a couple of
garments hanging in a cockeyed fashion, and that's when she
noticed it, the corner of something sticking out of her sopping
dress pocket. "What in the world?" she muttered, pulling from
the pocket a waterlogged envelope, the writing on it faded and
running. It came back to her then, the note she'd received in
the mail a few days ago, stowed away for safekeeping when Will
Murdock had cone along, then completely forgotten about
when the accident stole their attention.

A frown pulled at her face. Would she even be able to decipher the contents now that the missive had gone through the
wash? Walking to the back stoop, she dropped down to the top
step, her skirts falling about her ankles, and commenced to
peel back the envelope's gummed flap, taking care not to do
more damage to its already fragile state.

As suspected, the message was mostly unreadable, save a
few words here and there, mistakes-past forgiveness-your
father.

Her frown deepened. The thing made no sense, regardless of the effort she put into decoding the washed-out words.
Finally ruling it fruitless, she crumpled the wet letter into a
ball, retrieved her laundry basket, and went back inside, tossing the crumpled paper into the waste bin.

Only one thing nettled her senses. The mention of her
father.

The evening supper consisted of beef stew and warm biscuits with a side of warns applesauce. Jon ate as if it were his last
meal, famished after a clay of laboring at Ezra's place, repairing
broken fence posts, replacing rotten boards in the front porch,
and swapping old shards of glass for new in the broken windows. While he worked at those tasks, Irwin, Elmer, Toni, and
Gerald tilled the garden and planted some seed, even though it
was late in the season, repaired the roof on a shed out back, and
built a lean-to for the wayward chickens. Ben and Rocky fixed
broken hinges, repaired sagging cupboard doors, and mended
broken furniture, while Liza, Sarah, and Bess scrubbed floors,
cabinets, stove and sink, and washed every piece of clothing
they could lay their hands on. After that, they baked enough
bread to last Ezra into next year, if it didn't mold first.

As everyone toiled, Ezra sat on his haunches, stupefied.
No one lectured, no one preached. They just worked as unto
the Lord, with no thought of repayment. The verse from Matthew, Inasmuch as you have done it unto the least of these,
my brethren, you have done it unto me, seemed to permeate
the little cabin as the team of volunteers worked side by side.
Even now, Jon's heart swelled with gratitude as he lapped up
the last of his stew.

For a change, the table wasn't full. Gideon and Wes were
working late at the sawmill, and Charley Connors was reportedly butchering a fresh side of beef that had just arrived at
Flanders' Foods from Bill Jarvis.

"Delicious supper, Eninia," Jon praised, giving his mouth
a thorough sweep with his napkin, feeling like he'd downed
it so fast that surely he was wearing it all over his face. Luke
picked up his napkin and did the same, his eyes mindful of
Jon's every move.

"Just a simple stew," she said, giving a dainty nod. She rose
and set to picking up plates and spoons.

"Thatwas not simple," he argued, deciding to help. "Simple
would be fried hamburger with watered down gravy and a
sliced potato added to the niix, niy usual mid-week fare."

Half a grin peeked out on her pretty face. His goal was to
coax out a full-blown one, one of these clays. "You actually ate
that?"

"You'd be surprised what I concocted in the name of food.
It's a wonder my stomach survived those many years of abuse.
I used to toss pickles and sliced apples into a fry pan and eat
then like candy."