Forevermore

by Cathy Marie Hake

  He cocked a brow. “Don’t you want to be married?”

  “Not yet. God ain’t brung the right man along. King Solomon said there’s a season and purpose to everything. Right now, my calling is to do what I’m a-doin’. If God takes a mind to changing my callin’, I reckon He’ll let me know. For now, I’m like the wheat in the field.”

  “That’s hardly reassuring. We’re reaping it.”

  She bent to pick up the pails again. “I was talkin’ on the Bible verse about the wheat in the field. It doesn’t toil or spin, but God dresses it up in a cloak of gold.”

  “It’s in Matthew. I don’t recall the chapter. ‘Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’ ”

  “Oh, ain’t that a grand way to start off the day? Hearin’ the Word of the Lord.” And wasn’t it nice of you just to say the verse and not make fun of me for remembering the verse wrong? Hope glanced down at the dandelion stem between them, then looked back at him. “Your sis and all them ladies what come yesterday—they’re all lilies, puttin’ down roots and raisin’ their faces to praise God. And your Emmy-Lou? I think she’s like a bouquet of bachelor buttons—cheerful and fresh. Me? I’m a dandelion what blows along to serve God. Ain’t it a kick to belong to a Creator who got such an imagination?”

  “God’s not the only one with an imagination.”

  Hope turned to go to the springhouse. She called over her shoulder. “We’re made in His image. We’re supposed to have imaginations!”

  Hope stored the food and headed back toward the house, where Emmy-Lou sat waiting on the porch steps. Hope gave her a little hug. “Sugar pie, your auntie is going to go help with the babies at another house today. I don’t know whether you’ll go along or stay here with me.”

  A stricken expression streaked across Emmy-Lou’s face, and her little hand clenched Hope’s sleeve. “Auntie Annie isn’t going away like Aunt Miriam, is she?”

  “No, no, no.” Hope stopped. “Your daddy told me he wants your auntie to stay here with you forever.”

  Emmy-Lou’s hold of her sleeve didn’t slacken. “And you too!”

  Hope scanned the ground. Dandelions on a farm were a nuisance—but it was a fool’s hope to think they’d ever be completely banished. She found one for the second time that morning. Kneeling down, she kept Emmy-Lou on her lap. For all the children she’d ever cared for, Hope had always known she’d breeze in and out of their lives—so she’d delighted in the transient joy of their company. In the past, when a little one clung to her as the time came for her to move on, she’d had a peace and managed to coax a giggle out of each one before Hattie pulled her away.

  Now, for the first time ever, Hope’s heart ached at the thought of leaving Emmy-Lou and Annie. Mr. Stauffer, too. Even weighed low by his own grief, he possessed a gentleness she admired. Leaving him and his kin would be different. Normally she looked ahead as she left a farm; when she left here, she’d be looking back.

  I’m bein’ silly and stupid.

  With resolve she was far from feeling, she plucked the dandelion. “This here’s a dandelion. Ain’t it a purdy sight?”

  Turning halfway to face her, Emmy-Lou corrected, “It’s a wishie.”

  “Yep. That’s what I call it most of the time, too. See all these here pieces?”

  Emmy-Lou’s face puckered. “No.”

  “Look closer. See all them teensy, bitty little pieces stickin’ out? Sorta like umbrellas all around to make the ball. You and me—we’re like them umbrellas, comin’ together for a while, then we’ll drift apart.” Hope’s voice caught, and she took a second before whispering in Emmy-Lou’s ear, “Now, you and me’re gonna blow and watch what happens.”

  They blew, and the seeds dispersed.

  Emmy-Lou dipped her head and patted the front of her nightdress. “Where did it go?”

  “Here’s a little piece.” Hope pinched it between her fingers and tickled the back of Emmy-Lou’s hand. “See, this part stayed here with you. Another part blew away. Someday I’ll drift off, but whenever I see a dandelion, I’ll think of you; and when you spy a dandelion, you can ’member me.”

  “Hope!” Mr. Stauffer’s call wasn’t loud at all, but something in his tone made Hope snatch Emmy-Lou close and bolt to her feet.

  Fourteen

  Hope came in the kitchen door just as Marcella and Leopold entered the front door. Annie sat at the table as she had the day before. This time, she chopped cucumbers for a salad. Jakob pretended not to see how the knife shook in her trembling hand.

  “Good morning!” Marcella singsonged. “Since Annie is going to go help with the babies and toddlers today, Mama sent me to help Hope with breakfast.”

  “My gracious! You’re bright and early.” Hope set Emmy-Lou down and turned to Annie. “Aren’t they, Annie?”

  “Y-yes, they are.”

  Giving Emmy-Lou a gentle nudge, Hope ordered, “Sugar pie, you run on upstairs and get dressed.”

  “What can I do to help?” Marcella didn’t bother to take her eyes off of Mr. Volkner.

  At least he’s staring back at her. I’ve got to get him out of here. “Leopold, let’s go hitch up the first team.”

  “Sure. After—”

  “Who’s Leopold?” Marcella’s brows formed a small V.

  “I am.”

  Blushing to the roots of her hair, the girl shook her head. “Hope called you Peter yesterday.”

  “It was all a mistake.” Hope shoved an apron into Marcella’s hands. “The real mistake,” Hope continued, “would be for us not to have enough coffee for all the fellers. I reckon we’ll have the rest of the men here faster than a whole army of ants can swarm a picnic.”

  Briskly rubbing his hands, Jakob moved away from Annie. “Since we’re going outside, what do you want Volkner and me to carry?”

  “Whaddya say, Annie?” Hope looked at her. “The crate with the mugs and two of the coffeepots?”

  “Ja. And as soon as Marcella drains off the water, she can take out the hard-boiled eggs.”

  Antsy, Jakob didn’t breathe freely until he had Volkner out of the house—only Volkner had no more than set the coffeepots on the table than he turned back toward the house.

  “Have some coffee.” Jakob shoved a mug into his hands.

  Volkner set it down. “We have a minute. I’ll help . . . the ladies carry out the rest.”

  Gritting his teeth, Jakob knew if he objected, it would be odd. If matters seemed out of the ordinary in any way, Volkner might well start looking for what was wrong. He groused, “Okay. One more trip. Then we’ll hitch up that team.”

  They had barely stepped into the kitchen when Hope shook a big ladle at them. “Marcella, give your beau them eggs to carry out. And you”—she pointed the ladle at Jakob—“you can tote two of them coffee cakes out there. But I don’t cotton to havin’ to bump into big men and trip over their boots whilst I cook. If ’n either of you sets foot in this here kitchen again today, I’m gonna splavocate.”

  Volkner echoed in a confused tone, “Splavo—”

  “Pitch a fit.” Jakob shoved him toward the door and forced a chuckle. “Believe me, you don’t want to set her off.”

  As they descended the back porch steps, Hope’s lilting, laughter-tinged voice followed them. “Them plowboys smartened up, didn’t they?”

  Volkner chuckled and called back, “No use riling the cook.”

  It wasn’t long before all the men were in the field again. Midmorning, Hope drove out to them with peaches and water. She managed to give Jakob a sly wink and murmur, “Annie’s over at your neighbors’.”

  Relief flooded Jakob. He wouldn’t have to worry through the remainder of the day about Volkner’s discovering Annie’s secret.

  At lunch, more food than he’d ever seen made the tables groan. Men commented on it. Hope happened to overhear Mr. Toomel’s comment as she set a platter of h
am on a table. “Well, we was plannin’ on havin’ to cook for a full two days—maybe even half of the third. With that extra reaper and team goin’, you men’re way ahead of schedule.”

  “Ja, we are,” Jakob agreed with a great sense of relief.

  Hope bobbed her head. “So me and the gals, we pulled out all the slops.”

  “Slops?” Patterson said in disbelief.

  “Stops,” someone else said.

  Hope held up both hands. “I’ll stop. I didn’t mean for all y’all to think I was callin’ you hogs. ’Tis just a sayin’.”

  Jakob didn’t want anyone to humiliate her just because she’d slaughtered yet another cliché. In a slightly too-loud voice he said, “Truth is the truth. We’re eating like swine. I, for one, won’t apologize, either. You and the rest of the women—you’ve put on a fine spread.”

  Men grunted agreement as they ate their fill.

  “Many hands make the work right.” Hope straightened out her apron. “Holds true in the kitchen and in the fields.”

  She’d done it again. Mangled the old axiom, yet in such a way that it made sense. Jakob watched as Patterson’s brow furrowed and he silently mouthed the saying as if to figure out where things took a detour. The whole situation struck Jakob as amusing. Then again, with the harvest brought in, he’d already been in a good mood. He scanned everyone and said loudly, “Our neighbors have been generous with their help. I’m grateful for all your help. Together, we were faster than ever before.”

  After lunch, it wasn’t until he reached the Smiths’ farm that Jakob realized he and Annie had left Emmy-Lou in Hope’s care. Oddly, that didn’t trouble him in the least. Hope was capable and loving. His daughter would be perfectly safe in her care. Just as she charmed Emmy-Lou out of her fear of the dark, she’s given me peace of mind about my daughter. Surely the Lord sent Hope my way.

  In the quiet that followed the noon meal, a passel of children sat on the parlor carpet, heads tilted upward like baby chicks waiting for food. Katherine Richardson sat in a chair with a storybook. “The name of this story is Cinderella.”

  “And it’s my brand-new book,” her little sister Lottie boasted.

  “I can’t see,” Emmy-Lou complained. Jakob’s daughter normally had a sweet temperament, but she’d been a mite cranky today.

  While Mrs. Richardson, Lena, and Gramma chattered about what flowers made the prettiest bridal bouquets, Hope set aside the platter she’d finished drying and stepped over to the edge of the parlor.

  Emmy-Lou bumped shoulders with Mandy. “Move over.” Even as Mandy scooched to the side, Emmy-Lou rubbed her eyes and whined again, “I can’t see.”

  Without Annie here, it fell to Hope to handle Jakob’s daughter. “It’s your naptime.”

  “But I want to see the pictures and hear the story.”

  This was the first time Emmy-Lou had been quarrelsome instead of obedient. Hope gave the little girl a stern look.

  Emmy-Lou responded by poking out her lower lip in a pout.

  “It’s not a very long story,” Lottie Richardson said. She wiggled closer to Emmy-Lou.

  “We need to go home.” Mrs. Richardson motioned to her daughters.

  “Me too.” Lena folded a damp dish towel and set it on the counter.

  “All y’all have been so kind and helpful. Annie and Mr. Stauffer and me—we appreciate all you done. In the comin’ days, you can be shore I’ll work every bit as hard at your places.”

  “We’ll see you at church tomorrow.” Mrs. Richardson claimed her cake plate from the array of dishes on the table.

  Emmy-Lou let out an excited squeal and gave Lottie a hug. “Miss Hope, she says I can read her book today and bring it back to her at church!”

  “Ain’t that sweet?”

  Prompted by the necessity of all of the regular chores waiting at home as well as the extra ones women did on Saturday so Sunday would be the day of rest, everyone left. Hope tucked Emmy-Lou into bed for her nap, then surveyed the downstairs. Doing just as she’d said, Gramma had marshaled all of the school-age children into doing all sorts of tasks. With the eggs gathered, chickens fed, vegetables picked, the garden both weeded and watered, butter churned, and the porches swept, Hope took a moment to drink the rest of her glass of sweet tea.

  The book captured her attention. She’d never seen such a thing. Shaped like an arched stained-glass window, the book opened from the middle toward both sides. The colored artwork made it look as if the center portion was a stage in some fancy theater, and the black-and-white pictures on the side pages depicted the audience watching the play from fancy balcony seats. Cinderella. Hope knew the fairy tale, so she carefully turned the pages and enjoyed the story—even if the words all jumbled into indecipherable rows of circles and sticks and bumps. When Annie got home and Emmy-Lou woke up, they’d all sit together, and Annie could read to them.

  In the meantime, Hope took some of the day’s milking and set it to boil. It took little time to add vinegar, then line the colander with cheesecloth. The resulting ricotta cheese would be refreshing for lunch tomorrow. She made a second batch, but after straining it, she tightened the cloth to push out more whey, then compressed the still-hot ricotta between two plates to force out the moisture. Farm cheese—she remembered her mother making it and spreading it on bread or crumbling it on salads and vegetables.

  Carrying a lumpy flour sack, Annie returned from minding the babies over at Forsaken Ranch. She emptied it on the table. “You wouldn’t believe it. Sydney’s sewing machine is a marvel. Just look!”

  Hope picked up a soft flannel blanket. “Mercy’s sake, these stitches are small and tight and even. How long did it take you to hem?”

  “I made four of them in fifteen minutes!”

  Gawking at the other three on the table, Hope said, “I didn’t notice you’d hemmed ’em all. What, with all the babies you was watchin’, gettin’ one blanket done was all I expected. We’ll have to cut some diapers and a few more blankets so you can get a bunch done next week.”

  Dropping both her gaze and her voice, Annie confessed, “I’ve made very little for the baby. It was foolish of me.”

  “I sorta reckoned you’d borrow whatever Emmy-Lou used when she was born. Them things gotta be round here somewhere.”

  Annie nodded, but she still didn’t meet Hope’s eyes. “A good mother should make things for her own child.”

  “You’ve been busy, bringin’ in the harvest. Besides, you still have a coupla weeks.”

  Toying with another of the little blankets, Annie murmured, “Velma says babies come whenever they please, even if the mother’s not ready.”

  “If your babe takes a mind to come before everything’s prepared, it wouldn’t be a problem. Hot as it is, if all he has on is a diaper, it’ll be plenty.” Hope pretended not to see the worry in Annie’s half-shielded features and pretended to study the edge of the blanket. “I’m thinkin’, what if we was to cut out a mess of gowns? You could use Sydney’s machine to whip up the side seams and hems, and in the evenings, you and me—we could pop sleeves on ’em.”

  Annie finally looked at her. Several emotions shimmered in her eyes. “You’d help me?”

  “Just you try to stop me.” Hope set aside the blanket and patted Annie’s arm. “You and me together can fix up plenty in no time at all.”

  “Especially if I do what you said—get the gowns started so we just add the sleeves.” Annie’s shoulders finally eased down into a relaxed posture.

  “Bitty as baby gowns are, it wouldn’t take but a few minutes to tat or crochet a purdy edge on some of ’em.”

  “You should see the beautiful gowns Sydney made. She put in lace insets and has rows of pin tucks and ribbons. With the machine, she said it didn’t take much time at all.”

  “I wouldn’t mind none if you stayed a few hours extra to sew after the mamas pick up their young’uns. Truth is, with the harvest done here, things oughtta settle down.”

  A self-conscious look stole across
Annie’s face. “I’m not sure. Taking care of that many babies left me—”

  “You poor gal! Neither of us is gonna say another word. Y’all just go on upstairs and have a lay-down.” Annie opened her mouth, and Hope shook her finger. “Ahh-ahh-ahh. No talkin’.”

  As Annie started toward the stairs, Hope said, “That’s more like it.”

  “You talked,” Annie whispered.

  “So did you, just now. We’re even, so you go rest.” Deciding to add the hambone to the beans she planned to serve for supper, Hope headed out to the springhouse. It would still be a few hours before Jakob and Phineas returned home from the Smiths’. They’d reap until the last rays of sunlight died from the sky.

  When she returned, she spied Emmy-Lou lying on her tummy on the parlor rug, engrossed in the book. Emmy-Lou drew back in order to open the pages to the next theater scene, then dipped her head again to study the picture. Her cheeks were still sleep flushed, and her curls looked as if someone had stirred them with a fork until they formed a froth.

  “Sugar pie, if ’n you get any closer to the pages, one of Cinderella’s mice might run up your nose.”

  “I don’t see no mice.”

  Setting aside the hambone, Hope went to the parlor. She sat down next to Emmy-Lou. “I looked at the book and saw lots of mice. What ’bout this’un here? He’s fixin’ to—”

  “Where?”

  Cold terror streaked through Hope as she pushed several wisps of hair from the little girl’s forehead. Lord Jesus, don’t let it be what I’m a-thinkin’.

  Fifteen

  Jakob spied his house ahead and waited for the pain to hit. The place hadn’t felt like home since the day Naomi died. Only the grief didn’t come this time. Instead, the warm glow of a lamp near the window beckoned him home. For the first time, he wanted to urge Josephine into a trot to take him there more quickly—but he didn’t. Only a fool would push a horse to do more than walk at night.