Courting Miss Amsel (13 page)

“So you’ll keep me, right? An’ we’ll go back to Omaha?” Missy tugged at her arm, hindering her efforts to put the letters into the envelope.

Edythe pulled loose of Missy’s grasp. “Please, Missy, let me think.”

Missy fell silent. Edythe pushed the thick envelope into her coat pocket with the tea and steered Missy toward the door. As she’d promised Mr. Scheebeck, she turned the little sign to
CLOSED
as they left the store. Arm in arm with Missy, she headed for Luthenia’s again. She fingered the envelope, envisioning its contents.

Missy was her responsibility – but how would she care for her sister
and
teach?

God, I need some answers. Are You even up there at all?

Chapter
SEVENTEEN

Soft lantern glow beckoned Edythe down the stairway. She reached the bottom and peeked around the corner. Luthenia sat at the kitchen table, busily stitching, but her hands stilled when she spotted Edythe. Two joined triangles of fabric, suspended on a slim silver needle, swung from her fingers. The light glinted on the needle as Luthenia put her hands to work again.

“What’cha doin’ up so late?”

Edythe stepped around the corner on bare feet, gripping the collar of her threadbare robe. “You’re up late, too.”

Luthenia gestured to the fabric scraps scattered across her lap. “Workin’ on that quilt for the Scheebecks’ new one.” She chuckled. “Since the baby’s comin’ early, I’m havin’ to hurry. Figure if I use every spare hour, I’ll have it done by the first time the tyke shows up at Sunday service. Knowin’ Wally an’ Mary, that’ll be the very first Sunday Doc gives approval.”

Edythe worried her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “Do you suppose the baby will be all right?”

“Miz Scheebeck’s last ’un came early, too. Nothin’ wrong with Jenny, now, is there?”

“No, but . . . things can go awry. Aren’t you worried?”

The older woman released a soft snort. “Worry don’t fix anything. Prayer does.” She glanced at Edythe, her brows low. “You didn’t tell me why you’re up.”

“My throat’s dry. I need a drink.”

Luthenia’s gaze dropped to her work. Needle in, needle out. “Fresh water in the pail – fetched it right after supper.”

Edythe scuffed to the water pail and took down the drinking dipper. She downed one full dipper, then a second. She headed for the stairs, but Luthenia’s voice stopped her.

“Awful quiet at supper tonight . . . you ’n’ Missy both. Somethin’ on your mind?”

Edythe sent a cautious look toward the stairs.

“She’s likely asleep, quiet as it is up there. An’ even if she ain’t, the heater grate won’t pick up voices from the kitchen. You’re safe talkin’.”

How did Luthenia always know what she was thinking? With a sigh, Edythe pulled out a chair and sat. She hooked her heels on the chair rung and fingered one of the finished quilt blocks laid out on the kitchen table. “I heard from my brothers and my other sister. None of them are willing to let Missy live with them.”

Luthenia chose two more cut triangles from the pile in her lap and lined them up. “That what’s got you all fretful?”

“Well, of course!” Edythe tossed the little block aside. “What am I supposed to do with her?”

Luthenia poked the needle through the fabric and started stitching. “Haven’t you been prayin’ on that?” Edythe didn’t answer, and Luthenia blew out a noisy breath. “Well, I’ve prayed plenty, askin’ God to make it clear about where Missy’s s’posed to live.”

“He hasn’t told me anything.”

“Seems to me He has.”

Edythe stared at her, silent.

“What were your choices? Send Missy back to your pa, which you didn’t want to do, so it wasn’t really a choice . . .” Luthenia’s fingers sent the needle in and out in a steady pattern. “Or have Missy live with one o’ your siblings. Or keep ’er with you. God closed the door on her livin’ with your siblings, so what does that leave?”

“Keeping her with me, but – ”

“But you don’t think you can take care o’ her an’ do your teachin’, I know.” Luthenia looked up from her stitching long enough to give Edythe a stern look. “Problem is, you keep thinkin’ of what you can get done on your own strength ’stead of relyin’ on God to help you. Don’t know how much Bible readin’ you do, but – ”

“I don’t own a Bible.”

“ – there’s a perfect Scripture for this situation.” Luthenia shot her a low-browed look, daring her to interrupt again. “You’ll find it in Philippians, the fourth chapter. Verse thirteen, if my memory isn’t slippin’. Says, ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’ ” Luthenia jabbed a finger at Edythe. “
All
things . . . includin’ carin’ for a sister while teachin’ school.”

She put the needle to work again. “The secret is to let Him carry your burdens for you. His hands are a heap stronger’n ours. When you let go of the things that wear you down, then you have the freedom to
be
. I learned a long time ago, there ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle as long as I’m leanin’ on His strength.”

She tied off the thread and laid the block aside. “My eyes’re tired.” She yawned and then chuckled. “Guess the rest of me is, too. I’m headin’ to bed – work on this more tomorrow.” She whisked the fabric pieces into a basket and rose.

Edythe stood, tangling her hands in her robe. “If you’d like, I can do the cooking and cleaning tomorrow. Then you’ll be able to work on your quilt all day.”

Luthenia tilted her head. “You sure? You got cleanin’ to do at the schoolhouse, too.”

“Missy can help. Then we’ll come back here and do all the chores.” Edythe’s shoulders squared as she spoke. “It’s the least we can do to thank you for putting up with the
two
of us.”

Luthenia reached around to untie her apron. “I enjoy havin’ company. Even if Missy isn’t the most agreeable girl, she’s someone to talk to. And surely, once she settles in, she’ll lose that sulky face and be more pleasant.”

Edythe appreciated Luthenia’s positive, giving attitude, but she felt guilty forcing her sister on the kind woman. “But you only agreed to board the schoolmarm. As soon as possible, I’ll find us – ”

Luthenia flapped her hand. “You got enough to do, what with teachin’ an’ now lookin’ after your sister. You don’t need the care of a house, to boot. Just stay here.”

“Are you . . . sure you don’t mind?” Staying with Luthenia would ease Edythe’s burden considerably, but she didn’t want to impose. She held her breath, waiting for an answer.

“I’m more’n sure. We’ll make do.” Luthenia smiled. “You’ll be the one doin’ most of the adjustin’. You gotta share your room with her.”

Gratitude flooded Edythe’s frame. “I know the town council pays you for my keep. You tell me what it is, and I’ll pay you the same amount out of my salary to cover Missy.”

Luthenia waved her hands at Edythe. “We’ll argue that out another day. I’m too tired for it now. Head up to bed so I can blow out the lamp. We’ll be draggin’ like a pair o’ tomcats after a full-moon night if we don’t get to bed soon.”

Edythe laughed loudly, then clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. She whispered, “Good night, Luthenia.”

Luthenia cupped her hand behind the lamp’s glass globe. But before she blew, she bolted upright. “Edythe! I just recalled somethin’, an’ before I forget it again . . . you said you’d be willin’ to cook tomorrow?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, then, would you consider helpin’ me cook up a big dinner next week?” Luthenia seemed to cringe as she asked. “Thanksgivin’, y’know. Past few years I been invitin’ folks who’d otherwise be alone to eat with me. The table’s grown a mite crowded, an’ it’ll be even more so this year addin’ you an’ Missy. I could use an extra pair o’ hands.”

“Missy and I will both help.”

Luthenia beamed. “Good! There’s a few older folk – a couple o’ widows an’ old Mr. Crank, who lives out south o’ town all by his lonesome. I already asked the Coopers – young couple, new in town – if they’d like to come. Gonna invite the Scheebecks so Mary doesn’t have to cook after just havin’ a new baby. That’ll work nice if they come. Give Johnny an’ Robert a couple of other kids to play with.”

Edythe’s mouth went dry. “J-Johnny and Robert?”

“Why, sure, I always invite Joel an’ his boys. They’ve got no woman to cook for ’em.”

“I . . . I see.”

An amused smirk appeared on the older woman’s face. Did Luthenia guess the source of Edythe’s discombobulation?

Luthenia quirked an eyebrow. “That sound like too many for us to handle?”

Edythe inched toward the stairs. “No, I . . . I think it’s fine. Missy and I will help, of course. Good night, now.” She lifted her nightgown’s hem and dashed up the stairs. Pausing on the landing, she tried to catch her breath. Come Thanksgiving, she and Joel Townsend would spend the whole day in this house . . . together.

Chapter
EIGHTEEN

“Betcha there won’t be any beans.” Robert’s voice held elation.

Joel took two wide strides and caught hold of Robert’s coat collar. The boy came to an abrupt stop in the middle of Miz Kinsley’s front pathway. He peered up at his uncle. Johnny kept trotting toward the porch, but Joel called, “Johnny, you come here, too.”

Johnny spun on his boot’s well-worn heel and galloped to his uncle’s side. “What is it?”

Joel released Robert, leaned forward, and gave both boys a serious look. “What’d we talk about before we rode over here?”

The boys exchanged a quick glance. Johnny answered, “We gotta eat everything on our plate an’ tell Miz Kinsley thank you when dinner’s over.”

“That’s right.” Joel squinted down at Robert. “It’s not polite for a dinner guest – an’ that’s what we are here – to turn up his nose at what’s bein’ served. So if she serves beans . . . ?”

“I’ll eat ’em, but . . .” Robert hunched his skinny shoulders, burying the lower half of his face in his jacket collar. “I don’t hafta like it, do I?”

Joel knew he served beans too often at home, but what else did bachelors eat but beans and hardtack? “You don’t have to like it, but if she serves ’em, you’re gonna eat ’em. And without complainin’. We’ll be polite guests. Or . . . ?”

Robert puffed out a breath. “Or next year we’ll eat at home ’stead o’ comin’ to Miz Kinsley’s for Thanksgiving.”

“That’s right. Now go on in.” Joel gave the boys a light push with his fingertips, aiming them for the porch.

Johnny threw his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. Doubt she’d make beans today, it bein’ Thanksgiving when we’re s’posed to be thankful.”

Joel stifled a laugh. Johnny had Miz Kinsley figured. She’d never yet served him and the boys beans when they came for a meal. Of course, it had been a few months since they’d eaten at her place – not since the new schoolmarm moved in.

His feet slowed, and he checked the ribbon tie at his throat. The boys had fussed some about putting on their Sunday go-to-meeting clothes to eat dinner on a Thursday. But he’d wanted to wear his good suit, and he felt funny about coming dressed like a dandy while the boys wore their everyday clothes. So they all looked like they were heading to Sunday service. Or a funeral.

“Uncle Joel, hurry.” Robert danced in place outside Miz Kinsley’s front door.

Joel drew a breath of fortification and trotted the final yards to reach the porch. As soon as his boot found the first riser, Robert knocked on the door. Miss Amsel’s younger sister opened the door to them.

“Happy Thanksgiving. Please come in.” She sounded like a child reciting a memorized verse.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Johnny and Robert chorused. Their voices rang like bells compared to the girl’s subdued tone.

Joel gave the girl a bright smile, but she didn’t respond in kind. She’d been distant at church on Sunday, too. For reasons he couldn’t rightly explain, he wanted to set her at ease. But he had no idea what to say to a young woman. So he popped off his hat and handed it to her. The boys gave her their coats, and the girl disappeared through a side door before reemerging empty-handed.

She turned toward the kitchen. “Everybody’s gathered back here. Mrs. Kinsley’s almost ready for us to eat.”

Wonderful aromas enticed Joel to follow her. Saliva pooled under his tongue, and he swallowed several times. Johnny and Robert licked their lips, their eyes alight with anticipation. Joel had eaten many a meal at Miz Kinsley’s table, but it never ceased to amaze him how many people she managed to squeeze into the cozy kitchen. Her time-battered table stretched from the dry sink nearly to the parlor doorway, expanded by three homemade leaves. Mismatched chairs circled the table, half of them already occupied.

Miz Kinsley looked up from the stove, where she stirred a simmering pot that sent up swirls of steam. “Joel! An’ boys! Glad you made it – just need to finish this gravy, get everything all dished up, an’ we’ll be eatin’. Hope you brought your appetites, ’cause me an’ Edythe fixed enough to feed half the town of Walnut Hill.”

Miss Amsel was doing something at the far side of Miz Kinsley’s double-sized stove. He could only see her deep pink bustle perched over a striped skirt of pink and green. His face went hot when he realized he was staring, and he whirled to face the guests seated at the table – all familiar faces from town.

“Missy,” Miz Kinsley said, reaching to the shelf above the stove for the salt bag, “see if you can get Mr. Townsend an’ the boys to sit. Then you can help us put these platters on the table.”

Missy pointed, unsmiling, to three chairs in a row along the back wall. Joel motioned the boys in first, then he took the seat closest to the head of the table. The boys did him proud, sitting quiet and patient while Miss Amsel, Miz Kinsley, and Missy carried steaming, overflowing platters and bowls to the table. It took nearly five minutes just to set out all the food.

The older woman stood at the edge of the table and used her finger to point at the bowls by turn, as if counting in her head. “Oops – still need butter. Edythe, Missy, set yourselves down. I’ll fetch butter from the cellar, an’ then we’ll commence to eatin’.” She dashed out the back door.

Miss Amsel removed her apron and then she and Missy sat, leaving the chair at the head of the table open for Miz Kinsley. Joel found himself looking directly across at Miss Amsel. She fussed with something in her lap, allowing him the chance to give her a furtive once-over. Her cheeks wore bright pink, matching her dress. Wisps of hair, loosened from the stern bun she always wore, clung to her moist forehead and neck in damp coils. His ma had always looked a little bedraggled after a long morning of cooking, but the wispy, curling strands gave Miss Amsel a soft, relaxed appearance.

She lifted her head and caught him looking. For a moment, alarm flashed in her eyes, but then she shifted her gaze to the boys, and she smiled. Her lips parted, but before she could speak, Miz Kinsley bustled into the room and thumped a bowl mounded with creamy butter onto the table.

“There now!” She plopped into her chair and placed her hands, palm up, on the table. The guests formed a chain by joining hands. She gave Joel’s hand a squeeze. “Would you do the honors, Joel?”

Joel gulped, taken by surprise, but he nodded and bowed his head. “Dear Lord, on this day of thanksgiving, we come before You with thankful hearts. Thankful for our homes, for a good harvest, and for good friends. I thank You especially for Miz Kinsley an’ her willingness to serve us all such a fine dinner this day. An’ thank You, too, for . . .” His mouth went dry, and he had to swallow. “For Miss Amsel, who teaches our children an’ also loves ’em. She . . . she’s a blessin’ to our town.” Heat rose from his chest. He hurried on. “Thank You, Lord, for this food. Let it nourish our bodies. May we be faithful in following Your ways. Amen.”

A chorus of “amens” rang, and Joel looked up. Miss Amsel dabbed at her eyes. His heart fluttered in an unfamiliar manner. Her gaze met his, and her lips curved into a sweet, appreciative smile. The flutter in his chest increased to a gallop. He held his breath, his gaze locked with hers, wondering if her skin was all a-tingle like his was.

Then Robert bumped his elbow. “Uncle Joel, can I have some potatoes, please?”

Folks were passing bowls. Embarrassed, Joel snatched up the potatoes and spooned a sizable serving onto his plate before helping the boys. Platters kept coming, bearing sliced turkey, juicy ham, sugar-crusted yams, string beans, corn swimming in butter, round green peas, applesauce, moist stuffing, jellied cranberries, noodles in a rich broth, thick slices of hearty wheat bread, and more. He filled his plate until it couldn’t hold another crumb.

Miz Kinsley called out, “Leave room for dessert! Got pumpkin pie an’ apple pie an’ – ”

Groans sounded, followed by laughter, and then forks clinked on plates as everyone dug in. Folks chatted, several conversations going on at once – it was almost dizzying. But Joel enjoyed listening while he kept one eye on the boys and the other on Miss Amsel. He couldn’t seem to keep himself from looking at her. Her location, straight across the table, made it too easy. And he found he didn’t want to
not
look. Sitting there, enjoying the meal, he imagined himself in his log house with her across his table.

“Anybody know how the Scheebeck young’un is farin’?” old Mr. Crank called out.

Miz Kinsley raised her voice to a holler, the way everyone in town did for the hard-of-hearing man. “Doc’s feelin’ encouraged that the little feller’s gonna make it. Smallest babe he ever delivered that lived past the first few days. Every day he gets a bit stronger.”

A thankful murmur went around the room, and Joel observed Miss Amsel once more lifting the napkin to her eyes to wipe tears. Such a tender heart . . .

“Don’t reckon we’ll see mother an’ baby out until close to Christmas,” Miz Kinsley went on. “I asked ’em to come here today, but they said they’d best stay home. They want to protect the babe from chills an’ so forth.”

“Heard the Sholes boy is ailin’,” the widow Meiner commented. “Out o’ school this week . . .”

“You don’t say?” Young Miz Cooper’s forehead puckered with worry. “Nothin’ serious, I hope?”

Miss Amsel replied, “Nothing serious. He just caught a chill.” Her lips twitched into a grin, and Joel answered it with one of his own. William deserved that chill, and they both knew why.

Miz Cooper released a breath of relief. “Back in Walker last November, we had an outbreak of measles that near turned the town inside out. Hate to see that happen here.”

From there, the three oldest guests launched into tales of illnesses that had swept through Walnut Hill in the past. Joel didn’t think it the best dinner talk – especially at Thanksgiving – but Miz Kinsley would bring it to an end if she deemed it unseemly.

Missy, who’d kept her head low and hadn’t spoken a word throughout the entire meal, looked up and blurted, “My mama died from anemia after birthin’ me.”

Everyone fell mute. Edythe’s jaw muscles quivered. Joel bit down on the tip of his tongue, trying to find words that would end the uncomfortable silence.

“Our ma an’ pa died, too.” Johnny spoke, his childish voice so innocent it stung Joel’s soul. “Their wagon turned over on ’em an’ they died.”

“Then they went to Heaven,” Robert contributed.

Missy leaned forward, her expression intent. “How old were you? When they died, I mean.”

“Robert was five. I was six,” Johnny answered matter-of-factly.

“I was two months old when my mama died.” Missy kept her gaze on the boys, and Joel got the impression she’d forgotten anybody else was in the room. “So mine’s been gone lots longer than yours, but I never knew her. Must’ve been harder for you.” Suddenly, she jolted and looked around the table. Her face flamed bright red. She screeched her chair against the floor and tossed her napkin over her plate. “Excuse me.” She whirled and clattered up the stairs.

Miss Amsel started to rise, but Miz Kinsley caught her arm. “Let her go.” The older woman’s face wore a sad smile. “Might do that youngster good to reflect a bit, realize others besides her have had losses, too.”

After a moment of hesitation, Miss Amsel settled back in her chair. Miz Kinsley gave the schoolmarm an approving nod, then looked down the length of the table. “Anybody ready for pie? Would’ja like pumpkin, apple, mince, berry, or buttermilk pie?”

“Yes!” Robert shouted, and everyone laughed.

Miss Amsel carried away the dinner plates while Miz Kinsley cut pies into good-sized wedges. To Joel’s amazement, Johnny and Robert ate three slices apiece. Where they put all that food, he could only imagine. He enjoyed a slice of pumpkin and then ate most of a piece of mince. He had to leave the last few bites – the buttons on his suit coat strained against his full stomach. If he didn’t quit, he’d have a bellyache for sure.

When they’d finished eating, the boys stretched out on the sofa in Miz Kinsley’s parlor and napped. The grown-ups sat around the table, sipped tea, and visited for the better part of the afternoon. Joel removed his suit jacket and tie. He even unbuttoned his collar. Then, hooking his elbow over the back of the chair, he held his end of the conversation.

Shortly after three, the Coopers thanked Miz Kinsley and took their leave. Mr. Crank left with them, accepting their offer of a ride home. The two widow ladies finished their tea, hugged Miz Kinsley, and tottered out the door together. That left Joel with Miz Kinsley and Miss Amsel. He should go, too, but he didn’t want to leave. He’d had half a dozen Thanksgiving dinners at Miz Kinsley’s table, but he’d enjoyed this one more than any other.

“Can I help with the dishes? You’ve got a heap of ’em to wash.”

“It’s kind of you to ask, Joel, but Edythe, Missy, an’ me’ll get ’em done.” Miz Kinsley chuckled. “After we take a little nap. I’m plumb tuckered.”

Joel took that as a hint. “Well, then . . .” He tugged his jacket on and wadded the tie into his pocket. “I’ll wake the boys an’ go. Thank you for dinner. Everything was delicious, like always. The stuffin’ was especially good this year.”

Miz Kinsley flashed a smile. “I can’t take credit for that – Edythe made it. Her ma’s recipe.”

“Dried cranberries, walnuts, and rosemary,” the schoolmarm said. Then her face flooded with pink. “I’ll wake the boys for you.” She skittered out the door.

Miz Kinsley wrapped up a generous portion of turkey, half a loaf of bread, and the rest of the apple pie and gave it to Joel. Juggling the items, he entered the parlor. The boys were buttoned into their coats, their eyes bleary. They offered sleepy good-byes before they scuffed out the door. Joel hovered in the doorway, looking at Miss Amsel, who stood looking back with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Thank you for the meal, Miss Amsel.” His lips quivered when he tried to smile. His palms turned sweaty, his heart pounded, and his tongue felt clumsy. Even Susannah hadn’t had such a strange effect on him. “It was all real good. Enjoyed the visiting, too.”

She tugged at the rounded hemline of her long shirtwaist. “I . . . I did, too. It was nice to get acquainted with more of Walnut Hill’s residents. The . . . the Coopers seem very nice, and . . .”