The Calling of Emily Evans (10 page)
“Thank you, Lord, for soap and water,” she breathed quietly as she picked up a cleaning brush and some soap, pushed up her sleeves and set to work on the bedroom. There wasn’t much she could do about the skimpy, soiled mattress that flopped across the cot, but she could wash the walls, the windows and the floor. She would feel better about that.
When she turned to the kitchen-living quarters, she had to add more wood to the fire and more water to the tub.
By the time she had completed her scrubbing, dusk was falling. Then Emily remembered that she hadn’t eaten supper yet.
She threw out the last of the dirty water, filled the basin afresh with warm water, and thoroughly washed her hands, arms and face. When she had finished, she turned with an aching back to her kitchen supplies. She was much too weary to spend a lot of time cooking, so she reached for a frying pan, scrambled a couple of eggs, and sliced some of Ina’s bread.
She was about to sit down to eat her light meal when she noticed the kettle on the stove. In spite of the intense heat of the little room, she decided that another cup of tea would taste good. Then she settled at the table and bowed her head in prayer.
She was thankful—truly thankful. But as she raised her head the room before her made her tired shoulders sag.
Will this ever look like a
home?
Even with her scrubbing, she had succeeded only in uncovering more blemishes on the walls, more cracks in the windows, more worn spots on the painted floor boards.
The dirt was gone, but her unpacked boxes and bags were stacked all about. Would her things fit in this tiny place? What could she do for cupboard space? The one tiny cupboard would hold very little besides her few dishes. Emily sighed. It was going to be very difficult.
But even as she looked with dismay at her surroundings, Emily thought,
At least I’m here—not off in a tumbled-down barn. It’s clean,
and there’s no storm dripping water on me.
Emily remembered the big, gruff man who had come to her rescue. She wondered again how she would contact him. She either had to fix his fence herself or pay for the damage that Shadow had done. She wasn’t sure how she would accomplish either, yet it was very important that she not start off in this new community with a debt to one of the residents.
Emily sighed again. Perhaps someone who lingered around the blacksmith shop would know who he was. How could she describe him? There might be many big men in the area, and for her to ask if anyone knew a big, sour grouch with sloppy clothes and an unkept beard seemed hardly appropriate.
Emily sighed again. She would have to tread carefully. In the meantime she was weary and needed some sleep. She lifted her lamp from the small kitchen table and went to find blankets to make her bed.
The morning sun was already streaming in the open window when Emily awakened the next morning. For a moment she wished she had left it unwashed so the sunlight would not shine so brightly in her eyes. She wearily pulled herself from the cot, her sore muscles screaming their silent protest.
The thin, lumpy mattress had not allowed for a good night’s sleep. The springs underneath sagged until her body nearly draped to the floor. She had not been able to properly turn over during the night. Emily stretched to loosen her cramped limbs.
She was running a brush through her long hair when she distinctly heard a woman’s voice call loudly, “You boys get down off’n thet fence.” The shout was followed by a thumping and scrambling, and Emily looked up just in time to see youngsters scrambling down off the fence that separated her yard from the mercantile next door.
“They were spying!” she whispered in horror.“The young rascals were spying on me.” With a flaming face Emily whipped a blanket from her bed and hung it from nails on each side of the window. She looked down at herself, thankful that she still remained modestly attired in her “proper” cotton nightdress.
“I must get some blinds or curtains first thing,” she announced to herself, hoping that something would be available at the mercantile next door.
And Emily hoped the prices would be reasonable.“I’m really going to have to watch my pennies,” she went on.“It could be several weeks before the offerings are enough to support me.”
After breakfast and devotions, Emily set to work trying to find a place for all her belongings. As simple as her requirements were, she still was hard-pressed to find room to store her things. It was afternoon before she had everything put away. Then she took a basin of water, her washcloth, and towel to her bedroom where, though she had little room, she was assured of privacy with the blanket over the window. After a quick sponge bath and a change into a clean dress, she tidied her hair, set her black bonnet in place, and took up her small handbag. It was time to do some shopping.
The few steps to the mercantile took only moments, and Emily pushed open the heavy door and stood quietly while her eyes adjusted to the darkness inside.
“Can I help ya?” a female voice asked, and Emily noticed someone behind the counter.
“Oh yes, please,” she began, moving into the store.“I’m Miss Evans, the new mission worker. I—”
“I know who ya are,” the woman interrupted, but there was no animosity in her voice even though it was curt and gruff.
Emily looked across the counter to the face of a tall plain woman.
Her graying hair was pulled back tightly to form an odd kind of roll at the top of her head, her ample frame was shrouded in a cotton dress covered by a stiff dark apron, and her lined face looked as if it had long since forgotten how to smile.
But it was her eyes that drew Emily’s attention. They were intense and piercing. Perhaps at one time they had danced with merriment or glowed with understanding.
“Oh … oh,” Emily’s voice faltered. Then she continued nervously.
“I need some—some coverings for my windows. I have—”
“Yer right,” said the woman briskly.“I chased them kids off the fence three times this morning’.”
Emily flushed.
“Oh, it—it was you. I—heard a voice—I … Thank you,” she finished lamely.
The woman just waved an arm and advanced toward a shelf at the rear of the store.“Jest curious—like kids always are.” Then she went on.“Whatcha wantin’?” she asked.
“Well, I—I don’t wish to spend too much. I would like curtains for the—the hominess, but I might have to settle for shades—if you have them.”
“We do,” the woman responded curtly.“Both. An’ not too expensive either.”
Emily was relieved. She followed the woman to the corner counter and waited for her to produce her merchandise.
Emily still felt as if she could not see clearly enough. She wasn’t sure if the bolt of material the woman pushed toward her was blue or green.
“Could I—do you mind if I take it nearer the window?” asked Emily hesitantly.“I’m having trouble telling just what color—”
“Thet’s John. He won’t let us have the light on here in the daytime. Can scarcely see to get around. Says it’s bright’nough without it. Might be—if the place had some decent windows. Jest a waste of good money, he says. And besides, he says thet the light would jest heat the buildin’ up more, and it’s hot enough in here as it is in the summertime. Won’t let no doors be open. Says the flies will come in—an’ nobody wants flies in their molasses or pickles.” She finished with a “humpf ” and passed the bolt to Emily.
The material was green. Emily hated to say so, but she didn’t like the color.
“Then we have these here blinds,” the woman continued when Emily laid the bolt back on the counter top.“Not expensive. You could maybe make some light curtains to go with’em for the same price as thet there heavier material.”
Emily brightened. She looked at the light material. It had a soft ivory background and a small flower print, and Emily much preferred it to the rather sickly green.
Emily pulled out her measurement calculations.“How much would it be,” she asked, “for the blinds and the curtain material?”
The woman did some quick figuring on a piece of paper and quoted Emily a price. It would cost more than she had hoped, but she did need to have some protection from curious eyes.
She nodded.“And I will need a spool of thread,” she added.“I wasn’t planning on sewing the curtains.”
The woman added the spool to the list, and Emily drew out the required cash. It cut deeply into her meager finances, and she fidgeted as the woman cut the cloth and bundled her purchases. Emily was glad to escape the dark shop and head for home.
The remainder of her day was spent in putting up her blinds and hand sewing her curtains. In spite of the cost, when she was finally finished, she was pleased with the results.
But in some ways the clean, bright little curtains made the rest of the room look shabbier than ever. Emily sighed. She did wish that there was some way to cheer things up a bit.
The next morning Emily was back in the dark mercantile again.
“Do you have calcimine?” she asked the woman behind the counter, and the woman nodded her head and moved to a shelf behind her.
“Ya want tinted or white?”
Emily hadn’t thought of getting tinted.
“White, I guess.”
“How much ya need?” the clerk asked.
“Well, I—I don’t really know,” responded Emily, embarrassed.
“I’ve never used it before—but the walls are in desperate need of some cleaning up, and I figured it would be the cheapest—”
“Yer right,” the woman answered curtly.“Much cheaper’n paint.”
Emily was relieved to hear that information.
“Ya doin’ all the walls?”
“I would like to—in the living area. I haven’t checked the—the church yet.”
The woman nodded but said nothing. Emily wondered if she found it difficult to think of the former billiard room as a church.
“This ought to do if’n ya jest put on one coat,” the woman said, lifting a can from the shelf. Then added, “Ya have a brush?”
Emily fumbled. She hadn’t thought of a brush.“No-o,” she stammered.
“Ya need a brush. No use buyin’ one. You can use the one I used on the back shed.”
“Thank you so much,” Emily told the woman with a smile when a nice, clean brush was produced.“I do appreciate your lending it to me. And I’ll make sure it comes back clean.”
She paid the bill, mentally cringing as each coin left her hand, and then went home to tackle the job of whitewashing her little parsonage.
When the task was finally accomplished and the blinds and curtains were back in place, Emily looked around with contentment.
“Well, the calcimine didn’t cover up all the problems, so it’s not perfect, but it’s much better—and it’s clean,” she declared.“Now I won’t be embarrassed to have ladies in to tea.”
Humming to herself, Emily set about washing up the borrowed brush.
Maybe she was going to feel at home here, after all.
Benches and a small pulpit would be arriving on the following Wednesday, thanks to arrangements by the district superintendent, so Emily wanted to have the meeting room cleaned up before then. The idea of a Sunday passing without a service distressed her, but there was really nothing she could do.
With a good deal of self-determination she gritted her teeth and picked up her broom and dustpan. The first task would be to remove the piles of debris from inside the church building. Then the scrubbing would begin.
Emily found an old apple crate, lined the bottom with a piece of cardboard so it would hold the clutter, and loaded it again and again as she swept the floor. Each time she filled it she had to carry it out and empty it at the back corner of the fence. She had quite a pile when the task was done—and the day was already spent. There would be no time for scrubbing this Friday.
Emily emptied her box one last time and dragged her tired body back to her living quarters. Her back and shoulders ached. Her face and hands were smudged with dirt. All she wanted was a chance to wash up, have some tea and a sandwich, and fall into her bed—lumpy though it was.