Forevermore (19 page)

“Reckon you men are hungry ’nuff to eat the north end of a possum headin’ south, so I fixed y’all plates. They’re under the towel on that other bench.”

The door opened a crack. “Hope?”

Hope set aside her handiwork. “I’m a-comin’.” As she rose, she said, “Hot as it got and hard as you worked, you gotta be miserable. I’ll be stayin’ inside now to help Annie rinse out her hair, so if ’n the both of you wanna strip off your shirts ain’t no reason you can’t.”

The soft, indistinguishable sounds of the women talking in the house drove home how Hope had brought serenity with her—an odd variety of peace, to be sure. Instead of it being a thick wool blanket, it was a crazy quilt that still enveloped them all.
My thinking—it is fanciful. Just because she’s eased Annie’s life is no reason to start imagining things that aren’t to be
.

“Are you thinking what I am?” Phineas shrugged out of his shirt.

Jakob gave him a wary look. “What are you thinking?”

“Hope—she twisted another saying around. It’s supposed to be the south end of an animal going north. She mixed it up, but . . .” He grinned. “It still made sense. I don’t know how she does it.”

“She has her own ways.” After sluicing the water over himself, Jakob briskly tumbled the bar of Pears soap round and round in his hands to work up a suds. In no time at all, he and Phineas sank down onto the chairs and whisked back the covering to get to the food.

“Mmmm.” Phineas grabbed for a plate.

Jakob stared at his. Slices of melon ringed the edge, then four drumsticks formed a box around a small bowl of ricotta cheese. Only Hope would take the time and trouble to serve food in a pretty arrangement. It all looked appealing and refreshing and generous. Ten short minutes later, the food had more than fulfilled its promise to sate his hunger. Something didn’t feel right, though. Maybe it was because he and Phineas had discussed Annie’s predicament.

“It’s odd, the cows not bawling.” Phineas set down his plate and tilted his head to the side. “Do you think—”

“Hope must have milked them.”
There’s no telling what else she’s done.
There she was again, doing, solving, making all his worries easier.

Phineas rose. “I’ll go unsaddle and stable the horses.”

“I’m so filthy, I could shake off an acre of dirt.” Jakob stretched. “It’s a good thing we have Sunday tomorrow. If it weren’t normal time for a bath, I’d still shove you into a tub. You smell worse than a sick billy goat.”

“And you”—Phineas headed down the steps—“smell like a dead billy goat. Hurry up in the tub so I’ll still have warm water, will you?”

“Ja.” He knocked on the door.

“The coach is clear,” Hope called out.

A smile tugged at his mouth. Hope and her slaughtered sayings. Jakob grabbed the plates and went inside. He set them down by the sink and looked at the enormous aluminum washtub in the center of the kitchen. Big pots of water sat on the stove, promising the luxury of a hot soak for his tired muscles. For the first time, Hope didn’t meet his gaze.

“Hope, Phineas and I—we’re filthy. You should bathe first.”

She looked up and swallowed hard. Instead of the joy that normally sparkled in her warm hazel eyes, aching misery shimmered there.

“What is it?”

“We gotta talk. I’m not shore, but I’m pretty shore—well, I ain’t a doctor or nothin’, so what I think ain’t really—”

“What is it?” he repeated, his voice sharp.

“It’s Emmy-Lou. I think you need to take her to a doctor right away. First thing tomorrow.”

The acrid taste of fear filled his mouth. “Why?”

“It’s her eyes. She can’t hardly see nothin’ at all.”

“What makes you think there’s something the matter with her eyes?”

“Lotta things. She’s ascairt of the dark.”

Relief started to trickle through him. “All children are. She’s doing much better—especially since you taught her that song.”

Sadly shaking her head, Hope sagged against the cupboard. “Ain’t just that. She’s always losin’ her dolly, even when it’s close by.”

“Carelessness.”

“When she’s outside the house, she always stays beside someone.”

“Because I’ve admonished her to.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “See? It’s nothing.”

“I thought so, too. And I thought when she tripped or bumped into things and when she banged into your weddin’ picture and broke it—them was all accidents or clumsiness. But it’s more. I wish with all my heart it wasn’t nothin’ more, Mr. Stauffer, but wishin’ don’t make things true.”

“You’re tired.” Every woman was after feeding all the harvest hands.
And Hope’s been getting up extra early and going to bed late ever since she arrived, just to get more done
.
When I got home, I saw she was tired, but I didn’t realize just how exhausted she’s become. A weary woman’s liable to notice something minor and let her fears grow rampant
. Naomi had been that way, and he’d learned to listen and calmly point out that matters weren’t so bad after all. A few reassurances, some sleep, and Naomi did fine. Hope was every bit as resilient. Jakob felt sure he knew how to handle her. “A good night’s sleep, and everything will look different in the morning.”

Hope rubbed her forehead and made a small sound. When her hand dropped, tears turned her eyes into molten gold. “I wisht all this would be a bad dream and a little sleep would make it go away, but it won’t.”

Compassion filled him. She’d worked herself silly and wouldn’t rest until she let out her worries. He’d listen and let her speak her piece, then soothe her fears. “What makes you so sure something’s wrong, Hope? Annie and I haven’t noticed anything.”

“Neither did I. Not really. Not ’til today. This mornin’, she couldn’t see dandelion fluff.”

When he’d called to Hope this morning, he’d seen her showing his daughter the “wishy.” How could Emmy-Lou have missed seeing the white flecks glowing and glittering in the morning light? He’d spotted them even from the porch.

Distress grew in Hope’s tone. “This afternoon, she couldn’t see the pictures in the big storybook, even though all the other kids saw ’em without any trouble.”

“Maybe someone was in her way.” Jakob searched for a simple explanation, only now he was trying not only to reassure Hope, but also himself. Each thing she’d said was minor, but put together, the facts became unsettling. Very unsettling. “My Emmy-Lou—she’s small.”

“When Emmy-Lou woke up from her nap, she couldn’t even see the mice in the book, and her little nose—it was practically touchin’ the page. Somethin’s sore wrong, Mr. Stauffer.”

Alarm poured through him. “Show me the book. Maybe the picture was blurry or something else was bigger. Or more interesting.”

With leaden steps, Hope went to the parlor. She picked up a large, thin book. “I’ll show you the page.” Fingers made awkward by worry, Hope fumbled to open the middle of the front of the book, then leafed past a few pages before flopping the storybook wide for him to inspect the whole scene. “Do y’all see any mice, Mr. Stauffer?”

He barely heard her question. The illustration showed several mice. They weren’t faintly sketched in or hidden among several other objects where an unobservant or distracted child would miss them. Taking the book into his own hands, Jakob stared at the picture. “My Emmy-Lou—you say she did not see these mice?”

Sixteen

N
ary a one.” Hope’s voice trembled. “I didn’t say nothin’ to Annie. Your sister—she’s got plenty enough to worry over without me addin’ to the burden on her mind. Besides, you bein’ Emmy-Lou’s pa, I reckoned it was best to talk to you first.”

He nodded somberly.

“But once I started a-watchin’ close-like, so many little things walloped me in the eye. Didja know Emmy-Lou says ’tis hard to find eggs here and ’tis easier at the other places? Your Dominiques lay brown eggs. Most everybody else’s hens lay white eggs. And ever notice how the toes of her shoes are scuffed dead straight on? She bumps into the first step on the stairs before she picks up her foot.”

She’s right. Emmy-Lou does that
. Jakob felt as if he’d been kicked in the chest by Hattie. All he could do was stare at the book. The mice in the picture seemed to mock him. His daughter couldn’t see well enough to enjoy the simple pleasure of the illustration. His gaze dropped—and the words of the story enclosed in scroll-like boxes toward the bottom of the page drove home another awful truth. “If what you say is true, she won’t see the letters. My daughter can’t learn to read.”

“I thought on that.” Hope gently tugged the book from him, closed it, and set it aside on the parlor table. “Maybe eyeglasses would help. Could be, a doctor could fix her up with spectacles.”

Grasping at that possibility, he nodded once, emphatically. “Yes. Spectacles.”

“But if ’n the doctor says eyeglasses won’t help, ’twon’t be the end of the world.” Hope lifted her chin and finally met his gaze. “You been a-readin’ to me, and so has Annie. Emmy-Lou will have y’all to read ’loud to her. She won’t lack because you’ll meet her need.”

Denial sprang to his lips, but Jakob caught himself just before speaking. Hope couldn’t read, and if he bemoaned the horrid void illiteracy would cause, Hope might think he was ridiculing her.

“I reckoned you oughtta be told, but I figured a man should eat his supper in peace first.” Regret filled Hope’s eyes and voice. “Ain’t right for me to keep anything back from you—’specially ’bout your loved ones. I got to thinkin’ on how Jesus didn’t mind healin’ folks on the Sabbath and knew you’d wanna carry Emmy-Lou to the doctor soon as the rooster rose.”

Raking his hand through his hair, Jakob grimaced. “I wouldn’t let the doctor here treat a hangnail.”

“Velma said somethin’ ’bout him bein’ a quack. I hoped ’twas just about birthin’ and not ’bout other things.”

“I try to give a man a chance. Doctors—they can’t fix everything. Even their best isn’t always going to make things better. The Tyson kid—Doc set his broken leg.”

Hope winced. “The one what hobbles, and his foot goes out cockeyed?”

Jakob nodded. “It was a bad break. At the time, the doc boasted he’d done well not to amputate. But then he rubbed goose grease and ashes into Slim Garner’s burned arm, and the whole thing putrified. Velma barely kept Slim alive. Since then, he’s done other things that prove he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I won’t trust Doc with my daughter.”

“Where’ll you take her?”

He searched his mind for someplace that might have a decent physician. “Abilene. Fuller over on Forsaken went to Abilene to take a cure for his rheumatism. He said the doctor there was good.”

Hope crammed her fists into the pockets of her apron. “Good.” She cast a quick glance at the tub. “I’ll go on out and crochet more. You take yourself a nice hot soak.”

“After you.”

She shook her head. “Mr. Stauffer, sir, you need to get yourself to bed so’s you can head out first thing in the mornin’. I’ve got some deep thinkin’ and prayin’ that’ll keep me up.”

“Pray hard.”

Later, Jakob lay in bed and peered through the dark. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than his beloved, motherless daughter going blind. Terrified of the dark, how would Emmy-Lou ever survive without her sight?
Lord, please don’t rob Emmy-Lou of her sight
.

Dozens of memories surfaced where Emmy-Lou had bumped into something, spilled her milk, or rubbed her eyes.
I should have realized it. What if it’s too late to save what vision she has left because I didn’t pay attention?

He heard rustling downstairs. It was long past the time that Hope had taken her bath, so he knew it was safe to descend the stairs. Needing to escape his jumbled thoughts, Jakob headed for the kitchen.

“Mr. Stauffer, sir. Guess you’re unsettled. Can’t much blame you, seein’ as I’m itchy myself. No use lying abed and wrestling with thoughts.” Hope punched down some dough.

Words were useless. He didn’t want to discuss his fears. Instead, he pulled open a drawer and withdrew the whetstone. One after the other, he sharpened the knives. Hope stayed busy baking. Every now and then, she’d refill the mug of coffee she’d set beside him. Put a sandwich in front of him. Slid a pair of big oatmeal cookies straight off the oven-hot sheet onto the table for him.

As he slowly wiped the last knife blade clean, Hope said, “You and me—we made a pact to make things easy on Annie. I’ll do my best for your daughter, too.”

Jakob looked at her tenderly. “I know you will.”

She took off her apron and laid it across the counter. Naomi always hung hers on the hook, and so did Annie.
Hope gets up so early and goes to bed so late, I never noticed she didn’t hang up hers.
To his astonishment, Hope took the tin of cinnamon, sprinkled a little on one apron string, and proceeded to rub it in. She must have seen his puzzled look, because she explained, “Emmy-Lou likes the scent of cinnamon. Most gals wear toilet water or perfume. Me? I reckon I’ll do this so’s she’ll find comfort by me.”

Jakob nodded curtly, abruptly pushed his way out of the house, and strode out into the darkness.

“We’re going on a special trip!” Emmy-Lou scampered up to Hope. “Wanna come along?”

“Why don’t you tell me all about it while I put this here milk in the icebox?”

“I’m thirsty. Please, can I have some first?”

She’s just a short little thing. Maybe she’s not tall enough to see
. But even as Hope said that to herself, she knew deep down inside that wasn’t why Emmy-Lou asked. “I poured some in a cup for you already. It’s on the table.” Hope turned and stooped—more to hide her reaction than to put away the milk bottle.

“Thank you. So me and Daddy and Auntie Annie are going on a trip! I’m gonna be a traveler just like in our song you were teaching me yesterday! Daddy says if we go right away, we can get there and come home all in one day.”

Hope caught sight of her boss speaking in a low tone to Phineas. Both men looked somber.

No use in scarin’ the child. Could be all she needs is eyeglasses
. “Sounds like you’re in for a fine adventure!” Hope interjected more confidence in her voice than she felt.