Picturing her ma kissing her pa, Em frowned, knowing it was a fate not meant for her. “I’m sure there is joy in it. I don’t doubt that. I’m just not convinced there will ever be a good man who wants me. And I’ve no desire to marry a man who’s cruel just so I can share his name.”
“Oh, nonsense. There will be a man out there who thinks you are the sun and the moon, the stars—everything. Judging by that smile, you’ve already met him.” Margaret’s wild curls bobbed as she spoke.
Em, flustered, tried to think of a way to turn the conversation. “Do you attend the socials?”
“I do. Everyone does. I don’t even serve a meal on social nights. I tried to once, but no one came and I missed the fun. I won’t be doing that again. I was left with a mountain of food. I’m glad you brought it up. On the day of the social, we will clean but we won’t be cooking. We’ll work fast so we have plenty of time to freshen up before the fun.”
“I suppose work cannot be my excuse for missing the social.”
The cauldron was boiling. Margaret stirred the sheets with a big wooden paddle. “The socials are fun—all the young people love them. You will too. Is there someone you’re looking forward to dancing with?”
Em stood by the drying line. “I won’t be dancing. I never danced as a child and I certainly never danced during the years I lived near Hollow Creek. I don’t know a thing about it. I’d only make a fool of myself. If I had my way, I’d stay away from the social entirely.”
“Dancing isn’t so hard. It’s fun too. When Wyatt was alive, we danced every dance at the socials. He was so good at leading, and I felt like I was floating the whole night.” Margaret’s hand slowed. “Dancing with Wyatt was pure bliss.”
“Wyatt was your husband?”
“Sure was. He died a few years back—same fever took him that took the Howells’ boys. Now I have to wait for someone to ask me to dance and none of the other fellows are as good a partner as Wyatt was. I still go though.” Margaret sighed. “Every time I go I feel a little closer to him. I don’t want to forget him, so I look for anything that reminds me of him—and dancing always will.” She pulled a sheet out with the paddle, dipped it in the bucket of cool water, wrung it out, and handed it to Em.
She hung it on the line, her mind drifting to her morning again. The brook and the memories of Lucy had made her sweet sister seem closer. “I think I understand your wanting to remember him. Wanting him to feel close.”
“We all grieve differently. I want to have him all around me. I do too. In little ways he’s all over this house. In fact, that’s one reason I can never paint the house a different color.”
“Because he loved the yellow?” Em asked.
Margaret laughed. “Because he hated it. I hired two men to paint the building while he was away. When he came back, he stood in front of it and stared. Then he asked me what in blazes I was thinking. When I told him I thought it was cheerful, he just laughed. Then he swooped me up in his giant arms and carried me inside. He told me he must love me more than he ought to, to let me keep the house that color.”
Smiling up at the house, Margaret said, “I keep it yellow because every time I look at it I can hear his deep voice saying he loves me. Every day after that when Wyatt walked home, I’d see him pause in front of the house, shake his head, and laugh. The yellow reminds me of him.”
What would it be like to share so much with a man?
Margaret added wood to the fire. “I like reminders of him. But not everyone grieves like me. Others close the door like Abigail. She tries to lock it all deep inside. Those boys were something special. She knows it and can’t figure out how to remember them without hurting.”
“What were their names?” Em asked.
“Ask her sometime. Maybe she needs to talk.”
“Seems everyone has lost someone.”
“I think we all did between the war and the fevers that came through here. How about you? Did you lose anyone?”
Em wiped her wet hands on her sides. “I’ve lost everyone. I’m hoping to find one of them though.”
“You will. You’ll find what it is you’re looking for. I can see a fighting spirit in you. I don’t think you’ll give up until you do.” After wringing out the last sheet, she handed it to Em. “Let’s hurry with these so we can get started on our dinner preparations.”
Shaking her hands in the air, Em hoped to find a little extra strength in them. The pile of potatoes she’d peeled already looked like enough to feed all of Azure Springs. And so many more were waiting to have their dirt-stained peels removed. How many people were they feeding?
“You’ll get stronger. I hired you knowing the pile would be more than you could handle at first.” Margaret was kneading bread. “You’ve done remarkably well. I thought those thin arms of yours would take weeks to build up strength.”
Em picked up another potato and started scraping the skin from it. “I’ll finish them, even today I will. But I hope to get faster.”
“I believe it was providence that brought you here.” Margaret’s voice interrupted her peeling. “We two are a similar breed. A challenge always makes me want to fight harder. When Wyatt died, no one thought I could keep this place running. Every time they said I couldn’t, I grew more determined. It’s been years now and the deed’s still mine.”
“I haven’t succeeded at everything I’ve set my mind to,” Em said, scraping harder. “I wish I had.”
“Yes, but you’re a fighter. The future may not work out how you’ve planned or dreamed, but it will work out.” Margaret had a way of making anything seem possible.
“I like to believe it will,” Em said. “I daydream of happy endings for myself. I’ve hoped more since living here than I did before.”
“You’re here in Azure Springs with a job, and from what I overheard Abigail saying, you have endeared yourself in the hearts of that family.” Margaret began shaping the dough. “It’s easier to believe when we have people cheering us on.”
“I have been blessed as of late. More than I deserve.”
“Nonsense. You’re entirely deserving. I don’t know much of your story, but I know it’s been a rough road for you. Keep enduring. Sometimes the steepest roads lead to the grandest views. Now, before the crowd arrives, I must warn you about a few of the regulars.”
Em looked up.
“There are always a few strangers just passing through, and we will learn about them together. But there are some regulars you can count on. There’s Old Man Garret. He’s been coming every night since his wife died two months ago. He’s harmless but doesn’t hear well. Be sure to talk where he can see you so he can read your lips. His manners could use some brushing up, but he’s a good man.”
“How will I know him?”
“I’ll introduce you to them as they come in. Reuben Dronley will more than likely be here. He’s boarding over at the saloon. His house burnt down nearly a year ago, and he says he’s going to rebuild but doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to do so. If he’s been drinking, he’ll forget all his manners and might even cause a few problems. Don’t wander off alone with him.” Margaret pushed a few curls from her face, leaving a bit of flour on her already wild locks.
Em nodded. “I’ll forgo the evening stroll.”
“Sheriff Reynolds comes a couple times a week.”
Em perked up at his name, then just as quickly ducked her head and went to work harder than before on the potatoes.
“So you know our fine sheriff? Of course you do. He’s been chasing after the men who shot you.” She could feel Margaret watching her as she spoke. “Do you find him as dashing as the other ladies in town do? How could you not? You’d have to be blind not to. Scarlett always swooned when he was in, until she met her own man. Something about Caleb Reynolds turns all the girls’ heads.”
Margaret didn’t pressure Em for answers and went right on telling her about their other potential dinner guests. She told Em all about Spencer and Titus Weston who were twins and h
ad lived together their entire lives and never married. Then there was Walter Pratt, a traveling surveyor who was in town for a couple weeks.
“Every night it’s like having a dinner party and not knowing who to expect. Some nights the company is very pleasant, other nights you wonder when it will ever end.” Margaret stepped back and admired her loaves of bread. “It won’t be long before you know them all too.”
They worked hard preparing the meal to feed the mob. The conversation and companionship were easy. Margaret had a laid-back and natural way of sparking conversation, and Em felt herself relax in the woman’s company. The work was not as easy or natural. Instead, it was hard and tiring.
The dinner rush, as Margaret called it, was perfectly befitting of its title. Em rushed from the kitchen to the hall, carrying bowls of food and serving one man after another. A few women were present, but it was predominantly men. Margaret walked with Em around the table once—her serving beans and Em serving potatoes—and introduced her new employee to the guests.
These hungry men seemed to have bottomless pits where their stomachs should be. The crowd ate without ceasing until Margaret walked in from the kitchen carrying an empty pot. She banged on the pot with a wooden spoon, silencing the crowd. “Dinner is over—kitchen’s closing up. Finish what’s on your plate and be on your way.”
The men groaned and scraped their plates, desperately trying to get one more forkful. They obeyed though. When not a crumb more could be found, they stood and patted their full bellies and readied to leave. Chair legs dragged across the floor as they left the table and made for the door. Some were gruff, rowdy men. Reuben staggered out, announcing his need of a drink despite the fact that he had clearly had too many before dinner.
Most thanked Margaret and complimented her cooking. A few were bold and asked Margaret what it would take for her to cook for just them. Like a seasoned warrior, she stayed perfectly calm, only laughing and pushing them toward the door.
The noise of the men leaving the large dining hall was tumultuous. They left quickly, though, and suddenly it was very quiet. Strangely quiet after the long meal. For a moment Em just stood there looking at the mess the group had left. The table had become a long mountain range of dishes.
Weary from the afternoon of hard labor, she was tempted with every fiber of her being to sit down and refuse to lift so much as one dish from the table. Margaret patted her on the shoulder. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Never look at the whole table—it will be more than you can stomach. Instead, start at one end and carry an armload at a time. One dish, then another, and then somehow I come to get more and find they’re all gone. Done for the night. That is the best feeling of the entire day.” She pulled Em toward the table. “Let’s get started. The sooner we start, the sooner you’ll get to experience that moment.”
Margaret followed her own advice. She picked up an awkward load of dishes and carried them back to the big wash basin in the kitchen. Em picked up her own load and, walking carefully and slowly, also made her way to the soapy water.
She had aching arms, shoulders, and fingers, a sore back, tired legs, and even a pounding head, but she had survived her first hours of work. Washing the dishes was hard at the end of the day, but Margaret stayed beside her the entire time, washing and drying in turn. A comfortable silence settled over the two as they worked. And then the moment came. The table was clear, the mountain range replaced by a smooth wooden plain.
With their hands on their hips, the two women stood side by side admiring the empty table.
“Do you feel it?” Margaret asked.
“I feel it,” Em said while enjoying the sublime sense of accomplishment. “You were right. This moment was worth it.”
As she walked back to the Howells’, she knew she’d given a good day’s work and was a step closer to Beckford. Hope and pride crept into her heart.
Lucy, I’m coming.
Eleven
Rolling her shoulders back and forth, Em tried to loosen the knots that were forming beneath her skin. Despite her efforts, she could feel her muscles rebelling against the day’s hard work. Em walked slowly back to the Howells’ after her fourth day at the boardinghouse. She could feel the tightness all through her shoulders and back. Muscles that had lain dormant were now shouting as they awoke from their long slumber. She’d always worked hard, but this work was new and her body was struggling to adjust.
She rubbed the muscles in her neck with her hands. It was a satisfying feeling—painful but rewarding. It meant she was closer to Beckford and repaying the Howells. It meant she was no longer stagnant. Instead of waiting for her chance, she was now seizing it.
Margaret had proved a patient and kind teacher. She expected a full day’s work but held effort in the highest regard, and Em gave each task her all. During mundane jobs, Em reviewed letters and their sounds in her head. Already, after only four brief lessons, she was recognizing the letters she’d learned.
Caleb had seemed pleased with her progress, which made her heart soar. He had made no mention of the brook and neither had she. Instead, they had returned to being easy friends.
The newness of reading, the gratification of hard work, and the hope of seeing Lucy again filled her with an abundance of optimism. Each day she sprang from her bed, eager to see what lay ahead.
Tomorrow she would have to learn on her own. Caleb was meeting up with the other lawmen and would be gone for days or maybe even weeks.
Back at the Howells’ house, Em eased herself into a tall straight-backed chair near the fireplace. Eliza stood with her back to her on the other side of the hearth.
“You’re back early,” Eliza said without even turning to face her.
“Margaret doesn’t offer dinner when there’s a social. I helped her clean and do laundry. That was it for today.”
“You look tired. Are you sure she is not working you too hard?” Eliza asked while heating the iron.
“It’s hard work—I can’t deny that. I think I’ll get used to it. I hope I do. I need the money.” Allowing herself a moment of reprieve, she sank deeper into the chair. “Margaret is good company, which helps the time go quickly. My muscles might disagree with me, but I like the work even if it’s hard.”
“Perhaps you should stop spending your mornings with Caleb. Then you would not be so tired.”
“He leaves tomorrow and I don’t know when he’ll return. My mornings will be free again.” Em stood and began walking to find Abigail and make herself useful. Never would she allow herself too much idle time, not while she was living off the goodwill of others.
“He’ll never care for you. Not the way you want him to,” Eliza said over her shoulder as she smoothed her dress with the iron.
Em stopped. “I’m grateful to be his friend and indebted to him for his kindness, but I have no other expectations.”
Eliza stepped away from the dress and the iron and moved toward her. “I’ve seen you looking at him. Your eyes follow him when he’s here, and when he speaks you hang on his words. You care for him. I just hope you don’t end up with a broken heart.”
“Thank you for the concern,” Em said through clenched teeth.
“There are other men. Men who are more suited to you. Mr. Harvel lost his wife and has children who need care. His last wife was not much to look at—appearances don’t matter to him. He’s not so horrible. Papa says he works hard and he has his own home and business. I think you’d be well suited.”
“I’m not looking for a match.” Em said each word slowly.
“Well, you can’t live here forever, and Caleb won’t marry you. You need to think of another plan.”
Em turned and started to leave the room. A word of departure might be customary, but she could not speak another word. Leaving was all she could think to do. Otherwise her injured pride might get the better of her. But she wasn’t quick enough.
“There are already rumors about you. If you don’t want to hurt his reputation, you should leave him alone. J
ust go away.”
Through the kitchen and out the back door she went. The house full of people always had been so comforting, but now she wanted to be alone. Her knees buckled beneath her once she reached the big tree. In a pathetic heap she sat with her face buried in her hands. She tried to get Eliza’s words out of her head—he’ll never care for you, already rumors, leave him alone, go away—but the words would not go.
What rumors? She had only been in town a short while and most of that time had been spent convalescing at the Howells’ home. Nothing she’d done warranted gossip. The very idea of hurting Caleb’s reputation sat ill with her. He was her friend—she’d never willfully hurt him. Why couldn’t life move ahead easily for once?
“Em, come inside. The social begins soon and I have found the perfect dress for you to wear.” Abigail was standing at the kitchen door looking out at her. Her hand was on her forehead, blocking the evening sun.
“I was thinking of staying back. I find I am quite worn out from work,” Em said from her spot on the ground.
“He was right. That man seems to know you well. Stand up. You’ve got to come.” Abigail motioned Em inside.
“What do you mean, he was right?”
“Caleb stopped by earlier. Said he had a feeling you would try to get out of the social. I’m to remind you you’re under an obligation to attend. Something about your word and a shooting competition. All that aside, I believe you gave me your word as well.”
She hated that Abigail was right on both accounts. She had given her word. Being under an obligation did not make going any easier.
“I suppose I did,” Em said, walking toward her.
“I’m glad that’s settled.” Abigail took Em’s hand and pulled her inside. “I got ready early so I’d have time to help you. Let’s try on the dress and then I’ll fix your hair.” Abigail pulled back a little and looked her over. “What is it? Is something else wrong? Are you nervous to meet so many new people?”
“I suppose that is part of it.” Em did her best to brighten her face. “I’ll be fine.”
The Hope of Azure Springs Page 13