“Is that all?”
“Yes. Thanks for helping.”
They stood in the doorway to catch their breath. “We sure need rain.” Clever conversation, Emmet mocked himself. But what did it matter? He was only being polite.
“Rain, an end to grasshoppers, better commodity prices. So many things. I know my sister thinks the government should fix the country’s problems, but I prefer to trust God. He’ll change things when He sees fit. In the meantime, I will trust Him for my daily needs.”
Her faith sounded nice. But would she trust if everything she valued was snatched away? Would she say God was treating her fairly? Would her faith falter? But he didn’t want to talk about trials and how they affected one’s faith. His own hung on by a tiny thread. “I neglected to ask about your family. Do you come from a large one? Tell me about them.”
“I have two younger sisters. Madge is a year younger. She married Judd last fall. Sally is two years younger. She lives at home as do I, with our mother.” She paused a beat then went on. “My father died four years ago. I still miss him.” Her voice thickened.
Emmet stilled an urge to squeeze her shoulder. “My parents died eighteen years ago and I still miss them.”
“Oh.” Her lips formed a little circle, and her eyes widened. “I thought it would get easier with time.”
“It gets easier. Just never goes away.”
“I remember him at the silliest times. A certain hymn will bring tears to my eyes. Or the smell of molasses cookies, which he loved. Or—” She shrugged. “I suppose it’s the same for you.”
It was a question, even though she didn’t voice it as one. But he remembered very little about his parents. “I leave it in the past.”
Her eyes widened even more. “You mean you purposely try to forget about them?” She didn’t wait for an answer but provided her own. “Although I miss my father, I wouldn’t want to forget him or all the wonderful memories I have. Nor the lessons he taught.”
“I suppose time has dulled my memories.” He didn’t want to dwell on it any longer. “You must have moved to this area after I left.”
“We bought the farm two miles from town eight years ago.”
“Ah. I left nine years ago.”
“Daddy!” Ellie’s voice wailed through the house.
Emmet chuckled. “She’s been waiting patiently all morning. Seems her patience has run out.” He again picked up the bag and board and trooped through to Ellie’s room. Several cats, seeing the unfamiliar items, hissed. Two backed into a corner and continued to hiss and arch their backs. Four skidded from the room.
Ellie laughed. “Scaredy-cats.” But her laughter died and her eyes grew wary at all the equipment Emmet and Louisa dragged in.
“Where do you want this?” Emmet indicated the blackboard.
Louisa looked around. Stood beside the bed. At the end and then on the side farthest from the door. “This would be ideal—” Except for the bookshelf, the table and the wooden chair in the room, all of which were loaded with Auntie May’s belongings.
“I’ll move this stuff out of the way.” He shoved it into the far corner, crowding the china cabinet. “Auntie May doesn’t believe in throwing things out.”
He wondered at the way the sunshine left Louisa’s face and her eyes grew stormy.
“I suppose she finds comfort in being surrounded by familiar objects.” She kept her back to him as she cleared the top of the table and lifted the bag onto it, but he thought he detected a tightness in her voice he hadn’t noticed before. He put it down to tension at getting the room organized for teaching.
He set up the tripod, adjusted the blackboard on it then stepped back. “Looks like everything is set. I’ll leave you to it.” He edged toward the door, reluctant to leave them.
“Daddy, where are you going?” Ellie reached out, as if to stop him.
“I’ll be close by. If you need me, you only have to call.” The door was inches away, but he didn’t step through.
“We’ll be fine,” Louisa murmured, then pulled a reader from the bag and directed her attention to Ellie. “Miss Ross sent the whole set of grade-two readers so you can show me which ones you can read.”
Ellie sent Emmet a look rife with pleading and accusation. He hoped she would understand he was only doing what was best for her.
But she understood the knowledge would provide poor comfort.
Chapter Three
Louisa watched Emmet’s departure, feeling the same frightening desperation she heard in Ellie’s voice. Don’t leave us. I don’t know what I’m doing. Adele had laid out the lessons and told her what to expect. “The first thing to remember is the child may be resistant to the whole idea of having to do schoolwork while in bed. Find a way to pique her interest and curiosity.”
Sounded so easy when Adele said it. But she could do this. Louisa drew a brave breath and began. “First, I’d like you to tell me what things you like. That way we can make your lessons as interesting as possible.”
Ellie gave her a stubborn stare. “Can you bring my pony so I can ride?”
Louisa laughed softly. “I think that is outside my power. What games do you like?”
“Hide-and-seek. Racing. Climbing trees. We can’t do that either, I suppose.” Ellie boldly challenged Louisa with her words and her expression.
“You’re quite right. So let’s think of something you can do and enjoy.”
The child made a most unladylike sound. “There isn’t anything to enjoy while I’m stuck in bed.”
“Do you like reading?”
“Hate it.”
“Do you like stories?” Louisa held up two storybooks she’d enjoyed when she learned to read. The books were well-worn. “These were my two favorites at your age. They’ve been read over and over by myself and my sisters.”
A flicker of interest. Good. “You’ve got sisters?”
“Two. Madge and Sally.”
The interest died. “I’ve got my daddy.” She grew fierce. “He’d be lonely without me.”
“I’m sure he would. He’s fortunate to have you.”
Ellie nodded.
“Just as you’re fortunate to have him. Now, shall I read a story to start with?” Ease into the lessons, Adele had advised.
“I guess.” Her lack of enthusiasm was slightly dampening, but Louisa chose to ignore it, opened the book and began to read. She loved the rhythm of the words, the comfort of the familiar story, but she closed the book at the end of chapter one. “We’ll read more later, but now it’s your turn to read to me.” She handed Ellie the primer Adele thought she would be reading from by now. “Can you read me the first page?”
Ellie fixed Louisa with a stubborn frown and made no move to open the book.
Louisa flipped the pages to the first story. “Start here.”
Ellie didn’t even shift her eyes to the page.
“Ellie, please read this.”
Ellie lowered her eyes, skimmed the page and closed the book. “I can’t.”
“Why can’t you? Is it too hard?”
“I can’t remember.”
Louisa sighed. “What do you remember?”
“Falling out of the tree and landing wrong. You should have heard my leg. It snapped. Like this.” She clicked her tongue to imitate the sound. “I tried not to cry, but my daddy was gone.”
“Gone? Where?” Was this what he meant when he said it was his fault?
“Out working. We own a ranch, you know. He was checking the cows.”
“I see.”
“So now I have to lie in bed in this horrible cast—” She banged on it, the sound a hollow thud. “I can’t do schoolwork.”
“Of course you can work. There’s nothing wrong with your brain.”
Ellie turned away and stared at the door, as if willing Emmet to appear. And he did—sauntered past as if he had other things on his mind, but Louisa knew he was checking to make sure Ellie was okay. He paused. “Things going well?”
; “Daddy.” Ellie’s voice quivered in the saddest possible way.
“Things are just fine.” Louisa grabbed a bit of chalk. “Let’s do some arithmetic now. What is the answer to this?” She wrote “1 + 1=” on the blackboard.
Emmet hesitated, watched a moment longer then moved on, and the outside door whacked shut.
“Ellie?”
The child stared clear through Louisa. “I don’t know.”
“You aren’t even looking.” She tapped the blackboard.
Ellie glanced at the numbers. “Can’t remember.”
Louisa crossed her arms and faced the child squarely. “I don’t think that’s the truth. I know you know the answer to one plus one.”
They did a stubborn silent duel.
“Two.” Ellie was not happy about admitting it.
“Good. Now two plus two.”
“Where’s my daddy? I want my daddy.”
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“No. I want my daddy.”
Louisa took two steps until she stood right next to the bed. “Your daddy is working, and you must too.”
“I’m sick.”
“No, you’ve got a broken leg.”
The big gray cat Louisa had met the day before jumped on the bed and stared into Ellie’s eyes.
Louisa laughed. “The cat is telling you to do your schoolwork.”
Ellie shoved the cat to the floor. He landed with a thud and stalked away. “I want my daddy!” Ellie yelled loudly.
Emmet crashed into the house and strode into the room. “Did you call me?”
Ellie nodded, her eyes brimming with innocent tears. “I have to go to the bathroom and Miss Morgan won’t let me.”
Emmet shot Louisa a stinging look.
Louisa wisely refrained from rolling her eyes at the child’s dramatics. Instead, she quietly headed for the door. “I’ll step out while you tend to her needs.”
She came face-to-face with Auntie May. “How long have you been here?”
“Just got in. Emmet and I were fixing the shingles.” Her eyes narrowed. “She been giving you grief?” She tipped her head toward the bedroom.
Louisa opened her mouth to answer, then realized it would be inappropriate to speak of her concerns. “We’re getting a routine established.” Heaven help her if this was the regular pattern she’d be forced to follow.
“The little one is a tad spoiled, though I suppose it’s to be expected. There’s just the two of them.”
“And you.”
Auntie May snorted. “The child barely knows me. Besides, I’m just an old spinster.” She bent to pet the cats crowding around her ankles.
Louisa wanted to see her expression. She longed to see acceptance and peace in Auntie May’s eyes. Needed to know being a spinster wasn’t an unhappy fate.
Louisa straightened her spine. She would become a happy spinster doing things to help others and bringing joy to herself as well. She’d start by showing Ellie it was fun to learn. She’d help the child deal with the boredom of her body cast. It would take more wisdom than her limited experience offered, but she could ask Adele for help, and she could pray. After all, hadn’t God said in James chapter one, verse five, “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” It was one of the verses Father had Louisa and her sisters memorize.
Emmet emerged from the room. “Miss Morgan, please call me if Ellie needs to go the bathroom again.” His voice and expression clearly said what his words didn’t. He judged her unkind and unreasonable to not allow his child such basics.
“Of course.” She knew full well there was no point in saying she had asked and Ellie had denied such a need. This battle was between Ellie and herself. With renewed determination, she returned to the child’s bedside.
At noon, when she was done for the day, she’d made absolutely no progress with the planned lessons. Ellie insisted she didn’t know or couldn’t remember anything and refused to do any work.
Louisa emerged from the room, knowing her hair was mussed and her face likely flushed from frustration and fighting back tears. Why had she thought she could do this job? A bubble of self-pity whispered she was totally useless, but Louisa ignored it. Fought back. She wasn’t useless. Not in every aspect. She could help this child if Ellie allowed it.
Emmet walked her out, waiting until they were out of earshot to speak his mind. “I sense you and Ellie are not getting along.”
“Miss Ross said I might encounter resistance. After all, Ellie has lost her freedom. On top of that, everything is new. Familiar things are gone.” Let him think the latter observation came from Adele as well, even though Louisa spoke her own thoughts. “Her only defense is—” she wanted to say defiance, but doubted Emmet would appreciate such a description “—is to exert what little independence she has left. I believe she will soon tire of it and find there are more enjoyable ways to pass the time.”
He looked doubtful. Louisa feared he would tell her not to return. But after several seconds’ consideration, he sighed heavily. “You’re right about one thing. She’s lost everything. She can hardly be blamed for feeling out of sorts.”
“She hasn’t lost everything, though.” Her words were quiet, coming from a place full of certainty that Emmet was more than enough for this child. “She has you.”
“She’ll always have me.”
She nodded, though words pushed at her lips, wanting to warn that he couldn’t promise such.
“As long as I live.” He clenched his fists. “And I fully intend to raise her in such a way that even if something happened to me—God forbid—she would never feel like I was gone. I’d be in her thoughts and in her actions every day.”
Peace filled Louisa. “Exactly what my father did.”
Their gazes connected, forged a single thought about fathers and daughters…how each needed the other. How sweet the relationship.
Louisa tipped her head away first. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was half a question, but he nodded.
“Until tomorrow then.”
She climbed behind the wheel of their old, unreliable automobile and turned toward home. She admired Emmet’s devotion to his child. It reminded her of the love her father had lavished on her and her sisters. Louisa smiled as fond memories of her father filled her thoughts. Ellie was a fortunate child to know such love.
Not until she reached the turnoff did she remember that the fortunate child was also a defiant, uncooperative child. Tension grabbed the muscles of her shoulders and loosened tears. She let the car coast as she struggled to gain control.
Blinking back the moisture in her eyes, she looked at her home. Father had dreamed of operating a farm, growing crops and raising cows. But after he died and the Depression hit, the family had been forced to make sacrifices. They’d let most of the land go to the bank in exchange for the house, the outbuildings and a few acres. The Morgan family didn’t have much—their home, a barn, a cow, a calf and a reluctant garden—but it was so much more than many had. Over and over Louisa had observed families—beaten and broke—load their meager possessions to the sides and roof of their vehicle and drive away. Many couldn’t afford the gas for driving and left with bundles on their backs. She knew just how blessed she, her mother and her sisters were. Thank you, God, for allowing us to keep our home and stay together. Her illnesses brought further tightening of purse strings that were already pulled about as taut as they could go.
“I prayed for a job so I could help pay the bills. Lord, You provided one when there were none available. I am not going to accept defeat or complain that it’s hard.” She sent the car toward home at a faster pace.
Mother watched her approach from the window and came to the door as she stepped from the car. “You look exhausted. Come in and rest.” She twisted her apron in worried hands. “I’m afraid you will make yourself sick again.”
Louisa hugged her mother. “I’m fine. I have no intentio
n of making myself sick. You can count on that.” Never again, if she had anything to say or do about it. She wouldn’t jeopardize her health. It was far too precious.
“How did your first day go?”
She longed to share her frustration with her mother, but she knew it would only worry her. “About as expected. We’re learning to adjust to each other.”
Sally stood in the kitchen doorway, her eyes watchful. Sally didn’t say much, but she saw a lot. Louisa could duck her head and avoid her sister’s keen gaze, or she could face her and let her try to guess what lay behind her words. She knew the latter was the easiest way to deal with Sally, so she smiled at her. “How was your day?”
“I’ve been busy. Clara and I went to the orphanage and put in a garden for them.”
“Good for you.” Ten to twelve children lived at the home on the hill. A barren spot without trees or flowers, but at least the children were housed and fed. They attended school and church and appeared happy enough.
Mother had lunch ready and they sat down to enjoy it. Afterward Mother went for a nap.
Sally waited until the bedroom door closed, then gave Louisa a demanding look. “Tell all. How did it really go?”
Louisa blew out a huge sigh. “Ellie refuses to learn.” She described the morning to her sister, including the part when Ellie made it sound as if Louisa wouldn’t let her go to the bathroom.
Sally drew back, looked shocked. “She sounds dreadful. Are you going back?”
“I’m not about to give up.”
“You’re stronger than I am. I wouldn’t be able to face such a situation.”
Louisa chuckled. “I’m not strong. You know that as well as I do.” Her thoughts darkened, but she refused to be controlled by her disappointment.
“You’re strong in a quiet way. Perhaps because you’ve had to fight to get over pneumonia and influenza.”
The darkness drew closer. The pain beckoned. But Louisa saw it for what it was—self-pity. And refused to open the door and invite it in. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” She thought of Ellie. The child needed to learn how to make the best of her situation.
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