Forevermore (7 page)

“That’s what I thunk.” Hope wondered what was wrong with her boss. He’d been standoffish ever since Friday.

Mrs. Erickson tentatively rested her hand on her brother’s arm.

“You and Hope are talking about two entirely different things. You said seminary; I think she thought you said cemetery.” Annie twisted as best she could. “Hope, seminary is a special Bible college to make men into pastors.”

“Thankee for tellin’ me.” She let out a short laugh. “No wonder Mr. Stauffer didn’t turn!”

“I still wanna stop and pick flowers.” Emmy-Lou popped up onto her knees and stuck her head around the bend of her daddy’s arm. “Can we?”

“No.” Mr. Stauffer’s abrupt tone closed the subject.

Mrs. Erickson cringed.

So it ain’t just me who thinks he’s gotten surly. Well, no use dwelling on that.
“Can you ’magine being so lucky that you got to go to school to do nothin’ all day but surround yourself with the things of God? That seminary must be a wondrous place. Just like when we was all a-singing the hymns this mornin’. Everybody lifting their hearts to Jesus. ’Magine how tickled God must be that folks go study at a fancy school just so they can preach better. It shorely worked for him. Ain’t never heard me a finer sermon.”

Nodding, Phineas said, “Parson Bradle has a way about him.”

“I’d sure be tickled to hear that verse he used until I can recollect it on my own.”

Phineas gave her the black leather book he’d brought to church. “You’re welcome to borrow my Bible.”

Reverently, she gave it back. “Can’t read. Never learnt how. ’Twould give me a gladsome heart if’n you’d teach me the verse, though. There’s a place in the Bible that says, ‘Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee.’ I like to tuck verses in my heart every chance I get.”

“The hundred and nineteenth psalm,” Mr. Stauffer said.

“You got yourself a fine memory. Me? I can’t make head nor tales of numbers. I always wondered ’bout that sayin’. You can’t make up a story out of numbers.”

Mrs. Erickson gave Hope a shy smile over her shoulder. “It’s like ‘gambol’ and ‘gamble’ the other night. The words sound alike, but they’re spelled differently. In that saying, the spelling means ‘an animal’s tail.’ ”

Emmy-Lou giggled. “You can’t make a story out of a horse’s tail. Or a cow or a pig, either.”

“Coins have two sides—a front and a back. They are called heads and tails.” For having sounded so grouchy earlier, Mr. Stauffer seemed to have calmed down a mite. “When someone says they can’t make head nor tail out of something, it means that no matter which way they look at it, it makes no sense.”

“That’s me all right.” Hope paused a moment as a flock of birds startled and took flight. “Two years of schooling, and we all gave up on me. Teacher said I got stuff backwards, sidewise, and upside down. Couldn’t make sense of it. A washtub’s a washtub no matter what way you look at it, but them letters flip upside down or swap the stick to t’other side and they ain’t themselves anymore.”

Emmy-Lou’s eyes were huge. “Don’t you wanna read?”

“We don’t always get what we want.” Mr. Stauffer bit out the words as if they tasted mighty bad.

Hurt and confusion mingled on Emmy-Lou’s face, and Hope hastened to soften the unintentional upset Mr. Stauffer’s words caused. “ ’Tis true we don’t. But the Bible says God is our Father, and He always gives us what is best. So I can’t read, but God brung me here to your house where your auntie reads to me and your parson tells me more ’bout the Bible. Ain’t it something how my heavenly Father looks after me?”

“Daddy and Aunt Annie look after me.”

“Well, I reckon that means you and me oughtta look after them. What say we fry up a chicken to feed ’em for Sunday supper?”

“Yummy!”

Once they reached the Stauffer home, Hope caught herself before hopping down on her own. She caught the worried glance Phineas shot toward Mrs. Erickson; then he reached up to Hope. “Miss Ladley.”

A pregnant woman oughtn’t hop down. Us setting an example is a good notion.
“Thankee.”

As he set her on the ground, Emmy-Lou giggled. “Phineas helped you ’cuz he wants fried chicken!”

“Is that so?” Hope held out her arms to catch the little girl.

“Uh-huh.” Emmy-Lou jumped to her and wrapped her arms around Hope’s neck in an exuberant hug. “I like fried chicken, too.” Her little legs locked around Hope’s waist. “Do I get the gizzard or the neck this time?”

“Ask your auntie.”

“Aunt Annie?”

“Whichever you want.” Annie glanced past the garden, toward the outhouse.

Hope gave Emmy-Lou a squeeze. “You and me need to go change outta our Sunday clothes. I surely am lookin’ forward to eating some of your auntie’s coleslaw with the chicken.”

While Phineas drove the buckboard across the yard to the barn and Mrs. Erickson went to the necessary, Hope walked up the back porch steps. Emmy-Lou continued to cling to her, and Mr. Stauffer opened the door for them.

“Miss Hope, do you gotta change out of your Sunday-best dress? It’s so pretty, and I like green. The other one’s ugly.”

“Emmy-Lou!” Mr. Stauffer’s brows crunched into a stern V, and he pulled her off Hope and into his own arms. “That was rude.”

“We all got our favorite colors. I reckon lotta folks don’t cotton much to brown. Yeller’s probably my favorite on account of it bein’ so sunny. But brown—’tis a fine color, too. Why, I bet Emmy-Lou and me can name all sorts of grand things that’re brown whilst we change our clothes. Dirt’s brown, and ain’t nothin’ like rich, damp earth to cradle seeds. Now you tell me something that’s brown.”

Emmy-Lou didn’t bother to look around at all. She looked up with complete adoration. “Daddy’s hair.”

Golden fried chicken. The last bite of a peach tart’s crust. Tree trunks and lumber. Sturdy leather boots. By late afternoon, when the sun still gave light but heat no longer shimmered in the distance, Jakob marveled at how many things were brown and what a vast array of shades that color held. Never before had he scanned his farm and appreciated the fence posts or the smooth arch of the yokes. The supple look and feel of harnesses and saddles. To be sure, on occasions those thoughts had flitted through his mind, but today he’d seen his surroundings in a whole new light. Maybe it was because of Hope’s little game. Maybe it was because of all the brown things Emmy-Lou might have named first. His daughter had said, “Daddy’s hair.” Nothing but pure, innocent love rang in her voice. Even now, hours later, the memory watered his parched heart.

Jakob now watched as Hope and Emmy-Lou walked hand in hand toward him. Their arms swung with exuberance back and forth in an exaggerated pendulum’s arc.

“I don’t believe my eyes!” Phineas gave Jakob’s shoulder a shove. “You’re smiling! I thought you’d forgotten how.”

Jakob shrugged. “Look at my daughter. She’s happy. A man wants his child to be happy.”

“Daddy! Miss Hope says I gotta ask you. Can we go see Milky and her kitties?”

“Ja.”

Emmy-Lou curled her fingers through the hammer loop on his overalls and gave it a tug, just as certainly as she’d tugged on his heartstrings earlier that day. “Daddy, I want you to take me.”

“I’ll go yonder and take a Sunday stroll.” Hope gazed at him directly, making him know she’d ease away so he could have time alone with his girl. “Hattie’s winking at me and her ears are a-twitchin’ howdy, so I reckon I’ll take her ’long.”

Jakob rested his hand on Emmy-Lou’s head and felt her soft curls coil about his fingers. “Would you like a saddle and halter?”

“Thankee, but no. Well, maybe a rope halter. Hattie follows me just like your cat Fleck used to tag after you.”

She’d remembered that? Jakob covered his surprise by turning to fetch a length of rope. As she and her mule walked off, Jakob scooped up Emmy-Lou. “Let’s go see the kittens.”

Now that he’d taken a closer look, Hope’s everyday dress was the only brown thing he’d seen that day that didn’t carry a scrap of charm or beauty. Faded from repeated washings, the small checks looked drab as could be. A stingy one-inch ruffle made from the same fabric as the dress stood up to form a collar and V-eed down the bodice. Emmy-Lou was right—Hope’s everyday dress went beyond ugly; it was hideous. Many years ago, his grandmother would have nodded and pronounced Hope’s dress practical. It wouldn’t show dirt. Dim praise indeed.

I’ll talk to Annie. She can give Hope some feed sacks to make herself another dress. No . . . maybe I’d better not. So many other chores are in dire wont of doing. The last thing Hope needs is another project to distract her from the essentials. When she leaves—that’s when I’ll give her the sacks. It’ll be a little something extra.

“Daddy, when I go to school, do I getta ride a horse?”

Jakob halted midstride and looked down at the precious child he held in his arms. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. The very thought of her going away each day made his blood run cold. She’d come close to being buried alive when she fell into the test hole for the new well. Going off to school . . . anything could happen, and he couldn’t bear to lose her.

“I know how to ride a horse. You let me ride on Josephine sometimes.”

Only when he was by her side or she rode in his lap—never alone. He resumed his path toward the cat. Keeping her home from school wasn’t an option, but he’d do everything he could to assure her safe transit. “
Liebling,
you’re too small to go such a long way all by yourself. The Smiths—they have so many children, they take a wagon to school. When the time comes, I’ll walk you to the road, and you can go with them.” As much for himself as for her, he added, “It’ll be good for you to be with your friends, ja?”

“Miss Hope could go with me. We could learn to read together.”

Jakob shook his head. “No.”

Her little hand came up and patted his chest. “Daddy, you promised I getta keep one of Milky’s kitties.” When he nodded, she clenched her fingers, balling his shirt into her little fist. “I’m not gonna. I wanna keep Miss Hope instead of a kitty!”

Jakob set Emmy-Lou down and knelt beside her. “You can’t keep Hope, but I will let you have a kitty.”

Ignoring the playful, fluffy litter, Emmy-Lou leaned close and peered into his eyes. “Why can’t I keep Hope?”

Pain burned in his chest.
How am I to explain this, Lord? She’s too little to keep losing the ones she loves.
In her short life, his daughter had already lost her mother and brother; then her cousin Miriam left, as well.
She needs to know Hope won’t be here long so her heart isn’t broken again.
“We didn’t keep Cousin Miriam. Remember? She just came to help for a while, then she left. It’s that way with Hope, too—only her stay with us will be much shorter.”

Distress streaked across her little features. “Auntie Annie isn’t going to go away, is she?”

“
Nein
. She will stay with us. You can be sure of that.”

The certainty of his tone erased only a portion of Emmy-Lou’s upset. “But, Daddy, why can’t we keep—”

“People aren’t like kittens, to be kept or owned. You can’t keep Hope.” The forlorn look on his daughter’s face tugged at his heart, but Jakob knew he had to be firm. He couldn’t foster his daughter’s fantasy; doing so would only hurt her more when Hope left.

Six

I
have something for you.” Leopold Volkner didn’t bother to dismount; he simply handed a gazette and an envelope to Konrad Erickson.

Konrad accepted the mail. Though he could have gone to town today, he’d stayed home specifically because he knew the letter would arrive. Jakob was like that—dependable. Stolid and predictable. There wouldn’t be a letter inside. Only money. But no one else had to know that.

Invariably, a neighbor would bring by the envelope. It made everyone believe Annie was corresponding with him, and the envelope served as a not-so-subtle reminder to neighbors that Konrad sorely lacked a woman’s assistance. Occasionally, someone would bring by a covered dish or a baked treat the day after the letter came. He’d send that person back with the most recent “news” Annie’s letter supposedly contained.

He straightened his left arm and tucked the gazette into his left hand—a seemingly casual move. The last two fingers of his left hand were missing, and Konrad had perfected such moves so that no one would notice it. Pressing the envelope from Jakob to his chest with his right hand, he gave Volkner a sheepish smile. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but getting these letters from my Annie . . .” He cleared his throat.

Leopold Volkner chuckled. “My sister—she’ll be glad to know Annie is well. You’ve been apart a long time, haven’t you?”

Forcing a smile, Konrad shrugged. “Not so long, really.” Pride forced him to pretend all was well. “You know how softhearted my wife is. She’s just what Jakob and his little girl need—their grief is horrible.” He shook his head. “God forbid, but when we have a family, I’d be
vewustet
if Annie and our baby son died.”

“Ja. It is terrible. You show great mercy to your brother-in-law, allowing your wife to help him.”

Covering for Annie’s absence grew harder all the time. At first, everyone called him kindhearted, but as the months passed, Konrad knew people were talking. As their sympathy for him waned, so had the invitations for meals. The thought of food made Konrad’s stomach rumble. He rubbed it and smiled ruefully. “I change my mind. It’s been forever since my Annie left. Of course, I started saying that the second day she was gone. I’m a horrible cook.”

“Come next Sunday for supper.”

“I will.” His smile broadened. “I’ll give you all the news Annie wrote.”

Volkner nodded. He squinted at the fields around them and let out a sigh. “Your wheat—it looks good. I should have planted wheat this year. The greenbugs got all my sorghum.”

“Mine too. Crop’s ruined. If the weather holds good, the wheat might be enough to save me.”

“I’m glad for you.” Volkner took off his straw hat, raked his fingers through his wavy blond hair, and slapped the hat back on. “For me—the loss is too much. I’m going to go south and hire out to help with harvest. By the time the crops there are in, your field will be ripe. I wanted you to know so you can still rely on my help.”