Forevermore (4 page)

The textures of her quilt never ceased to bring pleasure. Feedsack cotton took on a special softness, but it was different than the downy nap of the occasional patches of velvet. Twenty-five thumb-sized yellow silk stars dotted the willy-nilly kaleidoscope of colors. One more fold, and—

“Miss Ladley.”

“Yes?” She finished her task.

“Your letters . . .”

“Oh. Hold on.” She walked to her cart and tucked the quilt along one side.

Mr. Stauffer followed her, a frown plowing furrows across his forehead. She took the letters from him and tucked them beneath the quilt.

“Mr. Stauffer, you don’t gotta say nothing. I understand.” Staring him straight in the eye would be rude—like she was challenging his decision, so she focused on the shirt button playing peek-a-boo with his red bandana. “I gotta say, that sister of yours—she’s dreadful tired. Them neighbors you mentioned, you’d best better fetch ’em straight off.”

An odd sound curled out of him, forcing her to look up. The rows in his forehead deepened.

“Mrs. Erickson—well, she’s hangin’ on by the thread of her teeth.”

“Hanging . . .” He looked bewildered.

“I was a-feared of that. What with you bein’ out and doin’ all your chores, you probably don’t see how hard it is for Mrs. Erickson to get stuff done. Just a few minutes of workin’, and she went white as a sheep.”

“Don’t you mean white as a sheet?”

“Nope. Sheep are white. You work with cattle so much, you forget what they look like? Okay, then, pale as a goat.”

“I’ve seen plenty of sheep,” he muttered. “It’s supposed to be pale as a ghost.”

“I’ve never seen a ghost. Hope I never do. How would I know how pale one is? Seems mighty wicked that a God-fearing body would truck with ghosts.”

“It’s just a saying!”

“Well, if it’s just a saying, why are you carrying on so?” Hope drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m sorry. You’re worried, and the last thing you need is to have to tippy-toe round the eggshells with me. I’ll trot on into the kitchen, grab my hat, and tell your sis and little girl ’bye.”

His jaw hardened, and he stared at her. “You’re not staying.”

Three

W
hen a mind’s made up, it’s set. The man of the house makes the decisions. If’n you took the notion that I’d try to get Mrs. Erickson to go against your say-so, you’re wrong; but I’ll just take the rest of the things from the clothesline whilst you get my hat. How’s that?”

Mr. Stauffer folded his arms across his chest. “Do you, or do you not, want to stay?”

Leaning against the cart, Hope shook her head. “Onliest thing I want is to go where’re God sends me and farmers need me.”

“You just said Annie can’t keep up. Do you think someone else needs you more? Or is it money? I can’t—”

One hand shot up in the air. “Hold it right there. You and me—I get the funny feelin’ I’m talking turkey and you’re talking goose. Far as I can see, you folks could use my help—”

“Of course we can!”

“Then, why didn’t you just say so? I thunk you was tryin’ to send me off.”

He jerked his gaze to the side, and his hands fisted, then opened. “What do you charge?”

“I don’t bicker or dither. For all the work he does, a farmer don’t earn much money. What he gets, he’s gotta use for his family. God and them, that’s where his loyalty lies. Me? My deal’s straightforward and plain as can be: When the day comes that God sends me down the road, you give me whatever you feel you can afford. So there you are.”

“Someone could cheat you.”

“Never have.” She shrugged. “God takes care of me. ’Tis Him I lean on.”

Mr. Stauffer studied her face, then glanced at her cart. One step, and he dipped his head to see its contents. “Who keeps the rest of your belongings?”

“Nobody.”

Eyes narrowed, he pushed her quilt and discovered nothing beneath or behind it. “Two cans? All you have are two cans of food?”

Hope smiled at him. “Two cans more than lotta folks got.”

“You’re staying—at least for a while. As long as Annie wants. She’s the woman in my home, and the decision is hers to make.”

“I’ll do my best to help her out.”

“Two cans,” he muttered to himself. Raking his fingers through his hair in one savage move, he rasped, “I don’t know who’s saving whom.”

“Jesus saved me. As for anybody else—well, He puts us together to help one another out. Suppose you tell me where you want Hattie to go. Pasture or stall—don’t matter which. She don’t mind bein’ round any of God’s other critters. Fact is, cows and horses and—” She caught herself just before mentioning sheep. Some folks held a strong dislike for them, and from what he’d said earlier, Mr. Stauffer was one of them. “—and goats all seem to take a shine to her. Hattie’s got a way of calming other beasts.”

He nodded. “Donkeys and mules—they’re good at that. I have a mare that’s trying to wean her foal. We’ll put the foal and your Hattie in a stall together tonight.”

“Fine. Fields look to be ripening right nice. When’s harvest set to start?”

“Week and a half or so. Maybe two weeks.” He took a breath and let it out.

Hope shoved a hand in her apron pocket. “Mr. Stauffer, you got the look of a man fixin’ to say something, but the words don’t taste none too good. Why don’t you just go on ahead and say what you gotta?”

He grimaced. “My sister—she is . . . having a hard time. The heat and her being, umm . . . well, there are things she shouldn’t do.”

“Yep. I reckon you and me’re gonna have to team up and set her to simple tasks so she feels she’s useful. Don’t want her to feel I’m shoving her outta her own kitchen, but I aim to be takin’ charge of things and say I’ve gotta earn my keep.”

His shoulders relaxed. “
Gut. Sehr g
—Good. Very good.” He smacked his hand against the cart. “This can stay here, and I’ll take Hattie to the barn.”

She grinned at him.
“Sehr gut.”

Jakob paused a moment on the bottom step. “Good morning, Miss Ladley.”

“
Guten morgen,
Mr. Stauffer.” Her voice came out in a low, pleasant tone. She remained seated in the chair closest to the oven and finished lacing her boot. “Is there something special you’d like for breakfast?”

“Anything, so long as there’s a lot and it’s hot.” Since she’d yanked down her skirts and rose, he felt it acceptable to stride past her. With Annie not feeling her best, Jakob had grown accustomed to stoking the oven fire and setting the coffeepot over the heat. Instead, the first hint of the rich aroma of a pot just starting to brew wafted toward him. Last evening, he’d tried to find a way to tell this woman that she’d have to work harder than what might ordinarily be expected because allowances needed to be made for his sister. Instead, Miss Ladley pointed out the issue and volunteered to ease things for Annie. This was a good sign—the housekeeper had gotten up and come down to get the morning started.

A few minutes later, the sunrise silhouetted Miss Ladley in the barn’s open doorway. Jakob quirked a brow. “Did you need something?”

“I came to milk the cow.”

“We have two
milch
cows. Phineas and I trade—one day, I milk and he mucks; the next day, he milks and I muck.”

“Two cows? So there are about forty gallons of milk each day?”

“Ja. Whatever we do not use or sell goes to the swine. I’m fattening them for slaughter.”

“The butter yesterday—it came out very yellow. The color told me the pasture is good, so you aren’t using much hay. Do you normally sell the milk, or has your sister skimmed the cream and made butter and cheese to sell?”

Pain lanced through him. “No one makes hard cheese.”
Not anymore.
Naomi had been adept at making a fine cheddar. In fact, one year, when they were starting out, her egg and cheese money paid for the wheat seed.

“If’n you got any rennet, I don’t mind makin’ some cheese. Might be, it takes a few days ere I get to it, though.”

“Other chores are essential.”

“And I’d best better get to ’em.” Her faded brown-checked skirts swirled as she turned and left.

Whirlwinds. Dust devils. Whatever a man called them, those gusts that came out of nowhere, whipped everything into a crazy spin, then disappeared just as rapidly—they matched Hope Ladley. By supper, she’d probably covered every inch of his house and barnyard twice—and some spots, three or four times for good measure. In a move that took him by surprise, she’d taken a broom to the outside of the house and swept off layers of dust. Why, he couldn’t say for certain. Dust would blow it all right back on. And it coated the left front window she’d washed just yesterday.

Did I do the right thing, asking her to stay? I acted without praying first.
He couldn’t complain about the food, though. Eggs, biscuits, and gravy for breakfast. Cabbage and sausage rolls for lunch. Hearty black bean soup and corn bread for supper.

But who gathered eggs after lunchtime? And who bothered to do laundry when all they did were socks? Furthermore, what woman in her right mind made only two crocks of watermelon pickles at a time? His mouth watered. He loved them. Annie hadn’t gotten around to making any. Perhaps he ought to fill the wheelbarrow with melons and leave it at the back steps. Surely she’d take that hint.

His cousin, Miriam, had planted the garden before she left to get married. Naomi had loved her garden, and neither Jakob nor Miriam had the heart to cut back on the size. Two-thirds of an acre now brimmed with vegetables. Loamy soil, an intangible sweet moistness of green leaves, tomato tanginess—aromas that mingled, testified to God’s bounty, and promised his family wouldn’t go hungry. Well, as long as Miss Ladley got busy. She’d watered the garden today—no small task, that. But canning only a few jars a day wouldn’t meet the need, and most of the food would rot out in the sun.

In all fairness, what did she know of a family’s requirements for a whole year? The woman lived from hand to mouth. Two cans. Two pathetic cans, and she considered it to be sufficient. Compared to two cans, it was no wonder she’d consider a half dozen to be gracious plenty.
If I say anything to Annie, she’ll feel it’s her fault for not seeing to everything. Another woman . . .
The Smiths were too busy, and the Richardson girls—well, he’d rather not do anything that might even vaguely be construed as an invitation. Velma! Yes, Velma over at Forsaken Ranch was due to come over any day now. The housekeeper from the neighboring property checked on Annie’s pregnancy now and again. She could bring along Big Tim Creighton’s bride, and the women could all see to matters.

“Daddy,” Emmy-Lou’s little voice called through the screen door, “will you tuck me in?”

Emmy-Lou’s request took him by surprise. Normally she sought a good-night kiss from him, then Annie put her to bed. “Ja.” He went into the house. Annie and Miss Ladley sat at the table, slicing fresh peaches. When Annie started pulling herself out of a chair, he motioned her to sit back down.

Emmy-Lou scampered over and gave her aunt a good-night kiss.
“Ich liebe dich.”

“I love you, too.”

Leaning the other direction, Emmy-Lou stood on tiptoe and puckered her lips. Miss Ladley gave her a quick kiss. “If’n your dreams are half as sweet as these here peaches, you’ll have to tell me all ’bout them in the mornin’.”

“ ’Kay.” Emmy-Lou gawked around. “I don’t ’member where I put my dolly.”

“Right there,” Annie said. “By the windowsill where you left her.”

Emmy-Lou shuffled to the side and brightened. “Dolly!”

“
Komm,
Emmy-Lou.” Jakob held his daughter’s hand and took the stairs slowly so she could set both feet on each step. Her short legs didn’t quite allow her to manage alternating feet on the steps yet.

She knelt at the edge of the trundle bed and folded her hands. “Daddy? Aren’t you going to pray with me?”

“Of course I will.” He tore his gaze away from Miss Ladley’s quilt. Though folded neatly, it rested in the corner of the room. He knelt beside Emmy-Lou. She nestled closer. “Will you say it with me?”

“Ja.”

“Ich bin ein kleines Kindelein,
Und meine Kraft ist schwach;
Ich moechte gerne Selig sein,
Und weis nicht wie ich’s mach.”

The innocent prayer hit him hard.
I’m a little child, and my strength is weak. I’d like to be holy, but don’t know how . . .
The words resonated. Though a grown man, Jakob felt every bit as helpless as a child before the throne of the Almighty and under the heavy burdens he bore.

Emmy-Lou climbed into the trundle, but Jakob stopped her as she started to tug up her blanket. “Did you sleep here last night?”

She nodded.

He’d assumed Annie shared her bed with his daughter and gave the trundle to the housekeeper. Jakob frowned. “Then what about Miss Ladley?”

Emmy-Lou shrugged. “I don’t know.” A frown creased her brow. “Where’s my dolly?”

“Right here.” He’d distracted her, and she’d lost track of her beloved rag doll. She managed to lose track of it quite often, but each time she found her doll, the joy on her face kept him from chiding her for being forgetful. Soon enough, when she started school, she’d mature enough to keep track of things better. With the household in a dither, it wasn’t always easy for him to find things either. Jakob picked up the doll from the edge of the bed and pressed it into Emmy-Lou’s hands.

“
Danke.
I love you, Daddy. Night-night.”

“Sweet dreams.” He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I love you.” He made sure the curtain was pulled back so a slice of moonlight filtered into the room, then blew out the lamp and left. The housekeeper went to bed after his daughter—had she shared Annie’s bed? Annie—Jakob halted. Annie wouldn’t sleep well with someone in bed with her. They’d moved Emmy-Lou to the trundle because she squirmed and thrashed in her sleep.

Once he went downstairs, he watched as his sister reached for another peach to slice. Miss Ladley stood over by the sink. She dunked peaches into scalding water and peeled them. “Smells heavenly.”