The Seeds of Change

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Can I show Sofie first?”

  “Very well, then back it goes.”

  “Look, Sofie.” Cradling the worm in his hands, Robbie bent to show the little girl, who squatted on her haunches, poking a stick in the dirt in imitation of Forsythia’s spading. Her rosebud mouth opened in an O as she stared at the moist pink worm.

  “All right, put it back now.” Forsythia made her voice firm. “We don’t want it to dry out.”

  “Because if it dries out, it’ll die, right, Miss Sythia?” Robbie carefully slid the worm back into the furrow.

  “That’s right.”

  She still needed to decide what to have Robbie and the other children call her long-term. Auntie Sythia? Mama? What was right? She glanced toward the house, where they’d pulled Mikael’s cradle outside. He was quiet, so he was still napping. The cradle had come from the Durhams’ wagon, no doubt used for Robbie and allowed to take up valuable space in hopes of the new baby to come. That little one had never used it, but baby Mikael did. She hoped that brought a smile to Alice’s face in heaven.

  Forsythia turned back to spading, having finished one length of the plot already. Not a bad start this early in the morning, though heat already rose from the sun-soaked earth.

  “Sythia! Come look what we’ve got.”

  At Lilac’s call, Forsythia looked up again. She’d make little progress with this many interruptions.

  Lilac hurried toward her, her dark curls flying free of her sunbonnet and face beaming. She clutched her apron around . . . a bundle of wiggling feathers?

  “Chickens. Jesse brought us chickens.” Out of breath, Lilac hurried to the edge of the garden plot and opened her apron for Forsythia to see. “A batch of chickens someone was giving away. Mr. Jorgensen had them at the store. He was only too glad to get rid of them, Jesse said. Isn’t it wonderful? They should be laying by fall. There are more, if we want to go to town to get them.”

  “Wonderful.” Forsythia smoothed her finger over the coppery feathers of one bird. Three half-grown, leggy young chickens stirred in Lilac’s apron. “We definitely need a barn of some sort now.”

  “Jesse and the doctor are going to help us put together a temporary coop before they leave. Lark says she’ll go into town for chicken wire.” Lilac hesitated. “They’re already in the field, but the doctor asked about you.”

  “He did?” Forsythia’s heart flipped.

  “Well, he asked where you were, at least.” Lilac cocked her head, compassion in her eyes. “You’ll speak to him, won’t you?”

  “If he’ll speak to me.” Forsythia turned back to her spade.

  She didn’t see Adam until she took water to the fieldworkers midmorning, carrying Mikael snug in the sling against her.

  She was grateful for the baby’s distraction for both of them. The doctor kept his eyes on Mikael’s face as he took the water dipper from her.

  “He’s grown.” He drank, then took his hat off to wipe his forehead with his sleeve.

  Seeing him so close, shirtsleeves rolled up and dark hair curling with sweat, sent Forsythia’s heart into her throat. She searched his face, hoping for some sign of forgiveness, but he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes.

  “Doctor.” She gripped the water bucket handle and adjusted Mikael’s weight in the sling with her other hand.

  “Yes?” He did glance at her then.

  “How—how have you been?” Her courage failing, the words stuttered out.

  His gaze softened. “I’m well. We have the office and our rooms pretty well set up, and I was able to obtain a horse and buggy yesterday.”

  “Lark mentioned that.” Something released in Forsythia’s chest. At least they were talking.

  “And you?”

  The look in his brown eyes caught her in the throat. He did still care—surely he did. “Well also. Still not full strength, but I’m fine to work in the garden.” She jiggled Mikael with a hand under his bottom. “And tend to these little ones.”

  “Which you do nicely.” He touched Mikael’s tiny fist.

  “Doctor . . .” she started.

  “I’d best get back to work.” He handed back the dipper, brushing her hand ever so briefly, then settled his hat and picked up his scythe.

  “Of course.” Throat stinging in disappointment, she nodded, watching his broad back and arms begin the swinging rhythm of cutting once again.

  Well, Lord, thank you. She headed back to the house with Mikael. It’s a start.

  By Saturday, the hay lay cut and drying, and the garden plot was ready for planting. Lark gave Jesse—and his uncle—the day off, and the sisters walked the rows of their garden, seeds in hand. Laughter and chatter rose like steam from the earth in the summer sunshine, the children playing about them. They planted the seeds they’d brought from home, carrots, beets, turnips, and cabbage, and also those ordered from the store, lettuce and beans and seed potatoes. It felt so good to get the vegetables in the ground.

  “Tomorrow let’s go to the church service,” Lark said as they washed their soil-dusted hands once the planting was done. “It’s been too long since we gathered for worship.”

  “Oh, that would be such a gift.” Forsythia drew a deep breath at the thought. “I wonder if they have anyone to play music yet.”

  “I’m not sure. The town is pretty small still, with how many families left after the Indian scare last year.”

  “Did anything actually happen?” Lilac dried her hands.

  “No, but people were terrified by the rumors.”

  “So much happens because of fear and misunderstanding.” Forsythia thought of Little Bear and the friend he had been to them on the trail. How was he faring, and his family on the reservation? And now the distance between her and the doctor . . .

  “Then to the Caldwells’ for supper, right?” Del scooped a wakening Mikael from his cradle and kissed his cheek, earning one of his increasingly frequent smiles. “There’s much to look forward to this Sunday.”

  Only a few families had gathered in the simple church building at the end of the main street on Sunday morning, but Forsythia already recognized a number of faces. The Jorgensens, and Adam and Jesse, of course. The banker, Mr. Young, and his family. Mr. Caldwell and a kind-faced woman who must be his wife. And a few other people she’d met briefly in the store or passed on the street.

  Someday, hopefully, this would be home and all these people their friends. Surely gathering to worship the Savior together was a good step in that direction.

  Rev. Pritchard, a slender, earnest young man with slightly disheveled hair, rose to begin the service. Del had told them he was an itinerant preacher, going back and forth between Salton and another town about ten miles away.

  “This is the day the Lord hath made,” he said, smiling broadly over the little congregation. “Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

  Yes, Lord. Forsythia closed her eyes and quieted her heart. Help me be glad in you, though I don’t know what the future holds. But all will be well, as Ma always said. Maybe not in our way, but in yours.

  After the simple service, they gathered out in the sunshine to visit. Del held Mikael while Robbie ran to play with the other children scampering about. Sofie clung to Forsythia’s skirts, sober-faced.

  “You haven’t seen this many people in a long while, have you, little one?” Forsythia picked up the toddler and kissed her hair, braided tightly and tied with a blue ribbon in honor of the day.

  Sofie sniffled and leaned her head on Forsythia’s shoulder.

  “You aren’t coming down with something, are you?” She laid her hand on Sofie’s forehead. She wasn’t feverish, but she seemed a bit under the weather.

  “Sythia.” Lark waved her over to where her sisters stood talking with the reverend.

  With a glance to see Robbie engrossed in a game of tag with some other little boys, Forsythia crossed the churchyard with Sofie in her arms.

  Lark introduced her to Rev. Pritchard. “I was asking the reverend if he’d lik
e any help with the music on Sundays. He says yes.”

  “Accompaniment would be a tremendous boon to our services.” Rev. Pritchard rocked on his toes, beaming. “Someday I hope we can have a piano, as we do in my other parish. I fear our a cappella tunes lack the luster and life instruments bring. But with juggling two congregations—you can imagine there’s much I haven’t managed to accomplish yet.”

  “It was still lovely to join the congregation in song, a cappella or not.” Forsythia shifted Sofie on her hip. “But we’d be delighted to bring our instruments next Sunday, if a guitar, fiddle, and harmonica aren’t too rustic for you.”

  “By no means. Surely any instrument is fit to make a joyful noise unto the Lord. And after all”—he flung his arms wide toward the dusty road and unpainted buildings—“we are plenty rustic here to begin with.”

  Forsythia laughed. He seemed like a pleasant, good-hearted young pastor, if a bit enthusiastic. She glanced back to check on Robbie and noticed the doctor watching her. What was he thinking, seeing her laugh and chat with a friendly young man?

  She turned back and focused on what Rev. Pritchard was saying. If Adam wanted to talk with her, he was free to do so. In the meantime, let him wonder. The thought gave her a wicked little frisson of pleasure. Forsythia Peace Nielsen, shame on you. And on the Lord’s day too, Ma’s voice niggled in her mind.

  “You must be the Nielsen sisters.” A gentle hand touched Forsythia’s shoulder. “I couldn’t leave without greeting you all briefly, though I know we’ll see you tonight.”

  They turned to see Mrs. Caldwell smiling at them, her dark hair laced with silver. Her husband stood back but gave them all a friendly nod.

  “Thank you for inviting us.” Lark shook the woman’s hand. “I meant to ask, is it all right if we bring the children?”

  “Oh, goodness, yes. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” Mrs. Caldwell beamed at Sofie, earning a shy smile in return. “I won’t keep you now, but we’ll see you about six? I look forward to becoming better acquainted.”

  They said their good-byes and gathered the children to head home. Sofie had started to fall asleep on Forsythia’s shoulder and fussed when transferred to the wagon. Robbie, meanwhile, was not pleased at being removed from his new friends. Between the older two and a hungry baby, it made for a rather fractious ride home.

  They had a simple cold dinner, since their main meal would be supper today, and then the children napped. By the time they piled back into the wagon to head for the Caldwells’, everyone seemed more chipper again.

  The evening summer sun still shone when they pulled up at the Caldwells’ homestead a short ways out of town.

  “A real frame house,” Lilac marveled, climbing out of the wagon. “Lark, think we’ll have one like this someday?”

  “I hope so.”

  Del and Forsythia collected the children, smoothing Sofie’s dress and straightening Robbie’s collar, then together they climbed the steps—real wooden steps. Forsythia admired the simple porch with a rocking chair and porch swing. How lovely it must be to sit out here on summer nights to catch a breeze or watch the stars.

  Mrs. Caldwell opened the door before they even knocked, beckoning them in. “Welcome, welcome.”

  Forsythia stepped inside, leading Robbie by the hand, and gazed with hungry eyes about her. Braided rugs, kerosene lamps, framed pictures on the walls, comfortable furniture. Scents savory and sweet wafting from the kitchen, and Mrs. Caldwell’s motherly voice. A home—that was what this was. An unexpected lump tightened Forsythia’s throat. It felt so long, compared to the actual time since they left home.

  Robbie stared speechless at the spread when they all sat down at the supper table. Forsythia felt almost the same. Crisp fried chicken, new potatoes, tiny pole beans from the Caldwells’ garden. Even lettuce in a salad with sugar, vinegar, and cream dressing. They must have gotten their garden in early.

  Mr. Caldwell prayed. “Father, we thank thee for this food from thy hand, and for new friends and a new life in this land. Bless this evening and our fellowship together. In the name of Jesus, amen.”

  Forsythia blinked back tears before lifting her head. They hadn’t known a homey welcome like this since the Herrons. Heavenly Father, you knew how much we needed this.

  “I hope our beans will produce before frost. We got them planted yesterday.” Lark speared a forkful reverently. “This looks heavenly.”

  “Make sure you soak the ground and seeds really well,” Mrs. Caldwell counseled. “They’ll sprout faster that way.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Lark answered. “Thanks for the good advice. I’ll water it well tomorrow and keep it damp.”

  Conversation flowed easily, as if they’d known the Caldwells for years. After supper, Forsythia sat in the sitting room—on an upholstered sofa, luxury of luxuries—to cradle a sleeping Mikael and watch Sofie and Robbie play.

  “Rests the soul, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Caldwell entered and sat beside her. “Watching a sleeping baby.”

  “Would you like to hold him?”

  “You don’t mind?” Her eyes held an unexpected vulnerability.

  Forsythia transferred Mikael’s sleepy weight to the other woman’s arms.

  “I’ve always loved little ones.” Mrs. Caldwell brushed a gentle hand over Mikael’s growing hair. “We couldn’t have any of our own, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.” One never knew the heartaches behind others’ smiling faces.

  “I gave that dream to the Lord long ago. But now and then He gives me the gift of loving other people’s children.” Mrs. Caldwell looked up at Forsythia with eyes whose kindness reminded her more of Ma than anyone she’d met in years. “As it seems He has given you.”

  “I sometimes feel very inadequate for it.” Forsythia folded her hands in her skirt.

  “Well, that’s a good sign you’re not depending on your own strength, then.” Mrs. Caldwell rocked Mikael gently. “But perhaps you won’t always carry this burden alone? My Henry said something to me of his friend the doctor . . .”

  “Oh.” Forsythia’s face warmed. “I don’t—that is, there is no understanding.”

  “Would you like there to be?”

  Their hostess could be direct as well as kind. “I—I might. But I don’t think he does, not anymore.”

  Mrs. Caldwell sat silently a moment. “I’m sorry, dear one. But be sure of what he thinks before you assume. Sometimes things just need to be talked through a bit.”

  Perhaps she was right. But it took two to be willing to talk.

  A sudden eruption from the children claimed Forsythia’s attention as Robbie tugged a wooden train Jesse had carved away from Sofie. Sofie slapped him, then burst into tears.

  Forsythia hurried to separate them, lifting the sobbing little girl to her hip. “What’s the matter with you today?”

  Sofie coughed and rubbed her nose, eyes streaming.

  “I’m afraid she might be coming down with a cold. We’d better get her home. I’m so sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for.” Mrs. Caldwell rose. “Let me tell the rest of your family for you.”

  “Thank you. Robbie, pick up your train. It’s time to go.”

  Sofie fell asleep on Forsythia’s lap on the drive home, but the heaviness of her breathing was worrying. The little girl barely woke when they got back to the homestead, undressed her, and tucked her under the covers.

  “I don’t like the sound of her lungs,” Forsythia whispered to Lark, covering the little girl with a blanket. “And she feels feverish. This came on so suddenly. Or else I just haven’t been paying close enough attention.” Had she been so preoccupied with her own problems that she’d neglected this little one entrusted to her? Guilt smote hard.

  “Things do come on suddenly in children. It’s not your fault, Sythia.” Lark squeezed her shoulder. “Get some sleep yourself. She’ll probably be better in the morning.”

  Lark headed out to the wagon, where she still slept unti
l they could add on to the soddy. Forsythia lay down next to Sofie so she would hear her in the night. She laid a hand on the small back, feeling the gentle rise and fall. Only a slight wheezing now. Hopefully Lark was right, and Sofie would just sleep off whatever this was. Please, Lord.

  A barking cough woke Forsythia sometime later. She sat up to find Sofie caught in a paroxysm beside her, her little body spasming with coughs so sharp she could barely breathe.

  Dear God. Forsythia snatched the little girl up and held her upright against her own body to help her breathe. “There, little one. Sythia’s here. Try to breathe, Sofie.”

  The coughing eased slightly, and Sofie drew several shuddering breaths, then started to cry.

  Del sat up on the other side of the bed. “Is she all right?”

  “I’m not sure. She was coughing dreadfully.” Forsythia rocked the little girl in her arms. Almost immediately, Sofie started to cough again, hacking barks that made Forsythia wince at the sound. “Del, can you get her some water?”

  Del scrambled to her feet and lit a lamp, then dipped a tin cup into the water bucket they kept near the stove. “Here, little one.” She brought the cup near.

  Sofie tried to drink, but she just kept coughing. Water spilled over onto her nightie and Forsythia’s.

  “Can you get Lark?” Forsythia wrapped a blanket around the little girl and rubbed her back, trying to calm her. Crying certainly didn’t help the coughing.

  A moment later, Lark knelt beside them. “Sounds like croup. I remember Jonah had it when he was little, and the coughing comes on sudden in the night. Ma used steam to calm Jonah’s down.”

  “Let’s boil some water, then. Put some lavender and rosemary in the water from my kit. Those are supposed to help with breathing. Add a few drops of eucalyptus oil.”

  Lilac was up now and put a kettle on the stove. Thankfully, Robbie and Mikael still slept.

  When the water boiled, Forsythia held Sofie so the fragrant steam could rise into her face. Lark settled a towel over their heads to hold in the steam. Though the coughing eased a bit, fits persisted, only giving the little girl a minute or so break between paroxysms. Her breath started to come in high-pitched wheezes.