Forevermore (16 page)

“Hmmm.” Gramma tapped her foot. “I recollect we sometimes did that when I was young. Mamas whose babies were suckling took on the smallest ones. If we do that, I’d still like to mind the older children at whichever farm we’re at. It’s important for them to help out with chores wherever they go.”

Hope rubbed her hands together. “Grand! Annie, you can tuck yourself away on Forsaken Ranch, and I’ll go represent the Stauffer farm whilst the other places harvest.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Mind? I reckon I probably skipped holdin’ a rattle and went straight for a skillet.”

Velma set down a chicken bone. “Hope’s cooking is every bit as tasty as my own. She’ll fill in for you nicely, Annie, and I’m glad to have you and Daisy away from the heat.”

Daisy chewed on her lip. “I’ll do it the rest of the time, but when the harvest is at my farm—”

“Daisy,” Linda scolded in a loving tone, “of course you can stay there, but your baby’s only two months old. None of us expects you to run all over and stand at the stove! The rocking chair is where you belong.”

While the women murmured agreement, Hope leaned toward Annie. “You got the nicest neighbors I ever seen. Maybe them aren’t really wheat fields out yonder. Maybe they’re really streets of gold, ’cuz I can picture God a-walkin’ up and bein’ in our midst here.”

“So you all agree to my plan?” Sydney beamed.

“Do you realize how many babies you’re taking on?” Mrs. Richardson cast a meaningful look toward the house. “There must be a dozen of them sleeping in the parlor right now.”

Sydney Creighton’s cheeks went pink.

Hope gave her an assessing look.
I wonder if . . .

The young woman drew in a deep breath. “That’s all part of my plan, too. Or rather, God’s plan. Tim and I are going to welcome a little one of our own. I could learn more about caring for babies.”

Sounds of delight and congratulations swelled.

“To my reckoning, it’ll come in mid–November.” Velma looked more like a proud grandma than a housekeeper. “Sydney’s right. She needs to practice up on taking care of diapers and such.”

Sydney reached over and took hold of Annie’s hand. “And I thought while we were watching the babies, you and I can use my sewing machine to make dozens of nappies and gowns.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to help with the babies, too.” Etta Sanders pushed back an errant lock of hair.

Lena’s brow puckered. “I thought you said you were done weaning your daughter.”

Etta nodded. “I don’t mean to take away from your news, Sydney, but I’m expecting again. To be honest, the smell of all that food today . . .”

“That settles it!” Velma stopped by the door. “I’ve tended most every one of you while you’ve been with child, and each year at harvest, I’ve fretted about you overdoing. No more. I’m taking matters into my own hands. Hope said she was bossy, but I’m a dictator—and I’m dictating. Etta, Daisy, and Annie are reporting for baby duty at Forsaken this year.”

Hope lifted her hands to the heavens. “Well, praise ye the Lord!”

“Hallelujah!” Mr. Patterson pointed to the edge of the field.

More water,
Jakob thought as he turned. He could taste the salt of his sweat and the dust of the earth. Only it wasn’t a cadre of little boys with water buckets again. Instead, Hope drove her mule cart into view.

Jakob let out a piercing whistle, and work ground to a halt.

The men thronged to her cart. She sat on the seat—which kept her at eye level. “Y’all probably already figured out I’m odd as a unihorn.”

“Corn,” someone muttered.

“Corn ain’t odd. ’Tis a right fine food if ’n you ask me.

Anyhow”—Hope pressed a crock into Jakob’s hands—“first things first. You’re all sweatin’ hard. I halved them pickles, and once you all chomp one down, the salt in it’ll help you hold the water you drink.”

“Pickles?” Leopold said in disbelief. Tradition was for the men to get something more substantial in the late afternoon— sandwiches were most common.

“Yep. Pickles. But be shore to drink a big cup of water after so’s it won’t make the food taste off.” She whipped a lavender checkered tablecloth off the center of her cart to reveal trays stacked high with sandwiches and . . .

“Tarts.” Jakob wasn’t sure whether he’d said the word or thought it. He didn’t have time to wonder. All around him, hands shot toward the mouth of the crock.
Good thing she didn’t have any brine in this thing
.

Hope raised her hand to shield her eyes as she looked toward the west. “You men shore are gettin’ a powerful lot of work done. Makes me think on how God created all the plants, but He made Adam the gardener. What all y’all are doin’—’tis a work of the hand that honors God’s plan.”

“True.” Asa Bunce ruffled his younger son’s hair.

Hope leaned forward. “Hey, there, lil’ man. Didja get a pickle?”

“Yes’m.”

While he ate, Jakob started wondering about Hope. She had a knack for dealing with kids. Kind and loving as she was, why hadn’t she married? She’d make some man happy. The breath froze in his lungs.
She figured out about Annie. Did she know because she’s endured the same? Is she moving around, trying to survive because she had to run away from a husband who was a bully?

“At this rate,” Richardson said, cutting in on Jakob’s thoughts, “we’ll be done with this farm by midday tomorrow. Smith, did you want us to move on to your place and get it started, or do you want to wait ’til Monday?”

“With the extra reaper, my place will take about a day and a half.”

“Ain’t that convenient?” Hope passed a tart to each of the boys. “I’ll fix breakfast and serve lunch here, then Daisy will fix up your afternoon snack.”

Smith scratched his head. “Guess that’d work.”

Hope smiled. “What with Daisy havin’ that bitty baby of hers, I bet havin’ the Lord’s Day of rest falling betwixt the reapin’ days on your place will turn out right nice.”

The men wolfed down the thick sandwiches and tarts. Not a single crumb remained on any of the trays. Hungry as they became with their labor, men would eat anything; but the gusto they put into eating made it clear the Stauffer farm provided above and beyond the usual.

“Mr. Stauffer, sir, how many of these fellers is gonna be stayin’ the night in the barn? I’m fixin’ to start on supper, so I’d like to know.”

To her credit, Hope didn’t single out Leopold, but Jakob knew she was alerting him to an upcoming hurdle. He shrugged and reached for the water dipper. “Volkner might—”

“Be our guest,” Mr. Richardson inserted. “He needs to taste my Marcella’s cooking.”

“Your Marcella?” Volkner folded his arms across his chest.

“Soon, God willing, she will be my Marcella.”

“You can have Marcella,” one of the out-of-town “cousins” said. “As long as you leave Katherine to me.”

Mr. Richardson grinned. “Men, Linette is up for grabs.”

“Time to get back to work!” Mr. Toomel wheeled around. The other local bachelors beat a hasty retreat, too. The married men followed just to escape the awkwardness.

Hope compressed her lips. It made her freckles seem more prominent. Tilting her head to the side, she said in a gentle tone, “Mr. Richardson, sir, your daughters are each special in her own right. God’s pourin’ out His blessings to match up two of them in one day.”

“Linette is the oldest.” He smiled sadly. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m thankful for both of the men, but Linette . . .” He shrugged.

“Better to be an old maid than to be married to the wrong man, that’s what I say.” Hope turned to check the cart.

Jakob eyed her carefully.
Which are you, Hope? The old maid, or the woman with regrets?

Thirteen

T
he question nagged at Jakob. He knew nothing about his housekeeper’s past. She had no one and nothing other than a quilt, a cart, and a mule. A woman who had to sneak away might have done so with only that. And she kept on the move. Her letters of recommendation proved she’d been all over. Like Annie, did she need safe harbor?

After supper, when the hired men went back to the barn for the night, Hope was too busy to pull away from her chores. She had Annie and Emmy-Lou out on the back porch plucking chickens while she stood at the hot stove. Cookies by the score, boiled potatoes to turn into potato salad, more bread, and heaven only knew what else kept her occupied.

The screen door banged behind Emmy-Lou. “I got another chicken for you. Auntie Annie says I need to go to bed now.”

“All right, sugar pie. Can you please put the chicken on the tray like a big girl? Then we’ll—”

“I’ll take care of her.” Jakob waited a moment while Emmy-Lou dumped off the chicken.

Emmy-Lou slid her slimy hand into his—a potent reminder that he needed to wash her before tucking her in. As he held Emmy-Lou to rinse off the soap into the washbasin, she asked, “Daddy will you sing me the night-night song?”

“What song is that?”

Emmy-Lou started, “Twinkle, twinkle . . .”

He and Hope sang along, only Hope continued to sing lyrics he didn’t know. Emmy-Lou chimed in with about half of them.

“When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, Twinkle, all the night . . .”

Finished, Emmy-Lou scampered over to Hope. “Night-night.
Ich liebe dich.
”

“Night-night. I love you, too.” Hope knelt and gave her a hug and kiss. “Auntie Annie and me—we’ll be up in a little while. But ’til then, what did I tell you?”

“Jesus is in my heart and room. And I got my own special angel and the twinkly star with me, too.”

Jakob swept Emmy-Lou into his arms and carried her upstairs. He made sure the curtains were open, then knelt with her so she could say her prayer. One last kiss, and she snuggled in with her doll. Closing her eyes, she started singing to herself.

Jakob stood in the doorway for a moment to savor the sweetness. For the first time since she’d fallen into the well, Emmy-Lou was going to bed without fear.

By the time he got back downstairs, Annie sat at the table, slicing cabbage. “Where’s Hope?”

“She cut up the chicken and took some pieces out to the springhouse. Should I get her for you?”

“No, no. You stay put. What are you making?”

“Coleslaw.” As the knife shaved thin slivers from the cabbage head, Annie murmured, “I want you to talk to Hope.”

Annie never asked for anything. Startled, Jakob asked, “About what?”

“She does too much and I don’t do enough. So many things need to be done for tomorrow, yet she wanted me to go to bed.”

“You worked hard today.”

“Not nearly as much as Hope.” Embarrassment tinged her voice and cheeks as Annie scooped the cabbage into her hands and dumped it into a large bowl.

Jakob laughed in hopes of easing his sister’s worries. But tears filled Annie’s eyes.

She’s crying? Hope laughs, and Annie smiles. Why didn’t it work for me?
He moaned, wishing Hope would come back in and rescue him.

“Konrad was right. I’m useless.”

“You are not! We need you—Emmy-Lou and me. Hope is here just to help for the harvest. She’ll move on, but you—you’ll stay. I couldn’t manage without you. You know this. And Emmy-Lou—she needs you. She loves you.”

Jakob reached for one of his bandanas to dry her tears but realized a full day’s grime caked both of them. He grabbed the nearest cloth, then scowled at it. A potholder. What good was that?

Hope came inside. He shot her a helpless look.

A single sweeping glance, then Hope rested her hands on her hips. “Mr. Stauffer, sir, I told you I’m bossy. On account of that, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I’m gonna get het up if ’n you don’t put down that potholder. Annie, swipe it from that brother of yours.” She made a silly face, and laughter tinted her voice. “Imagine, a man tryin’ to cook!”

The funny face did the trick. Annie blinked away her tears.

“Who says I can’t cook?” Jakob tried to sound outraged. “Annie, tell her I can cook.”

Dutifully, Annie murmured, “He can cook.”

“Badly!” Hope tacked on. Wiggling her nose, she reached out a hand. “If ’n you don’t give up that potholder, the bread’s gonna get singed. That would spoil everything Annie and me are doin’.”

He set the pad in her work-chapped hand. “One burned loaf wouldn’t change anyone’s opinion. The men always expect hearty food—but the spread you women put out today surpassed anything we’ve ever had.”

“See, Annie? I told you, your tarts were the bestest thing that’d happen all day. You shoulda seen them men out there in the field when they clapped their eyes on your tarts. They nigh unto turned handsprings.” Hope headed to the oven.

“She’s right, Annie.”

Annie dipped her head and concentrated on slicing more slaw. “Hope and Velma made all the crusts. And all the other women brought food—good food.”

“ ’Course they did. You know the sayin’: ‘Put your best food forward.’ ”

“Food?” Annie’s head shot up.

Jakob cleared his throat. “Put your best
foot
forward.”

Glancing down at the toes of her scuffed boots, Hope shook her head. “One ain’t any better than the other. I’m grateful to have ’em both and wouldn’t want to favor one and leave the other slighted.”

“Yes, but the saying is for foot, not food.” Jakob didn’t want to be unkind, but he figured Hope deserved to know the right word—as a cook, she probably made the mistake often.

Shaking her head, Hope opened the oven door. “Gotta feel sorry for that feller what come up with that sayin’. The bad foot must be painin’ him something fierce.” She pulled the bread out of the oven, magnifying the already warm, yeasty smell of the kitchen and inhaled deeply. “Maybe it’s just me, but ain’t nothin’ more welcome than the smell of fresh-baked bread. Do all y’all think maybe Jesus thought so? He prayed for us to have daily bread.”

“It always smells wonderful.” Annie dumped several ingredients into the bowl and started to mix it.