“Thank you,” she whispered to Hank.
“You’re quite welcome. There are times when only a wife can help a man through hard times.” He motioned for her and Mr. Weaver to precede him up the stairs.
Maime heard a tone in Hank’s voice that he’d not revealed before, as though he were in pain … or a deep hurt. She sighed. In all of this time together, she hadn’t asked him if he wanted to talk, if there were things he needed to say. She’d been self-centered, always leaning on him and not offering a sympathetic ear.
At the top of the stairs, she turned to wait for him. “Hank, can I speak with you a few minutes this evening?”
He hesitated. Or perhaps he was out of breath from climbing the stairs. “Is there something wrong?”
“I’ve discovered a few things, and I need to discuss the matters with you.”
“Miss Maime, can it wait until tomorrow? I’m really tired and wanted to get to bed early.”
“Oh, yes. Tomorrow is fine.”
“Good. Mr. Weaver, we’ll have a fine time discussing the fishing this afternoon with your wife.”
“What fishing?” Mr. Weaver frowned.
“This afternoon with several of the men from here,” Maime said. Sometimes her residents’ state of mind saddened her more than other times.
Mrs. Weaver was awake and talking to Lucy when the three entered the bedroom.
“Look who’s here,” Mrs. Weaver said. “My dear husband has come to visit me.”
“Who’s that? I don’t know you.” Mr. Weaver said.
“This woman is your wife.” Hank led him to Mrs. Weaver’s bedside. “That’s all right. There were days I didn’t recognize my wife, either.”
Mrs. Weaver smiled at her husband. “We’ll get reacquainted.”
Hank clapped an arm on Mr. Weaver’s shoulder. “I’ll help you.”
Maime smiled. Hank had definitely stolen her heart, just as Lucy had observed. The confusing revelation had to be sorted out. Later when she was in the solitude of her bed, she’d ask God for wisdom. Even if Hank didn’t care for her in the same way, she’d need to decline James’s offer. Would she have to give her old friend a reason? Mercy, how embarrassing.
Maime shoved her problems from her mind. Tonight was radio night, and as soon as supper had been cleared, she’d gather the residents together in the parlor to listen to the latest comedy from Ed Flynn.
She and Lucy descended to the lower level, one step at a time.
“Mrs. Weaver appears much more chipper,” Maime said.
“She is rallying. I hated the thought of losing her.”
“I don’t know how she handles her husband’s memory loss.” Maime listened to the laughter from the dining room. “I’m afraid I’d not be so optimistic.”
“Love covers a lot of faults.” Lucy paused. “Have you considered what I said … about Hank?”
Maime sensed the heat enveloping her neck and face. “A little.”
Lucy laughed. “From the pink in your cheeks, I’d say you were thinking about it a lot.”
Maime forced a laugh. “At times I wish he wasn’t so much like Charles. Makes me wonder if my feelings are really for him. Of course I don’t know how he feels about me. Here I am again acting like a silly schoolgirl.”
“Give yourself time.”
“Oh, Lucy, I can’t dally with this too long. James is anxious for an answer.”
“Who says you have to choose between the two. James deserves his answer, which has nothing to do with your heart softening for Hank.”
Maime touched her friend’s arm. “So very true.” She brightened. “I hadn’t looked at it quite that way, but I will tell James soon that I must decline his proposal.”
Chapter 7
James and Maime sat on the front porch swing and listened to the chorus of insects serenading the night. She sighed and allowed her thoughts to sweep over the evening and how one fishing trip had perked everyone up. The residents were all sleeping, or nearly asleep, with full stomachs, giving Maime a brief reprieve from the day—until a nightmare or illness woke one of them. Many a night she and Lucy held the hand of a frightened resident until sleep calmed them.
A faint candlelight flickered through the window from the parlor. Electricity was too costly, and candles were much less expensive. When the country recovered from the stock market crash, she’d not have to make such concessions. At least she hoped not.
“I should be heading home soon.” James toyed with the brim of his hat on his lap. “Church is tomorrow, and I don’t want to be late. I sure enjoyed today, even if it cut into the never-ending work on the farm.”
“I think the men had as good a time today as on the Fourth. You and Hank are spoiling them. But they deserve it. All of us were partial to that delicious fish.”
James chuckled. “Hank deserves more credit than I do. He led us to a great fishing hole.”
She nodded. Guilt weighed on her for the way her thoughts focused on Hank … and the dilemma of James’s proposal.
“You’re quiet tonight. Are you tired?”
“A little.”
“I’ll head on home. Whose turn is it for church tomorrow?”
“Mine. Lucy went last week.”
“Would you like for me to pick you up?”
Maime smiled. “I rather enjoy the walk, especially when it’s warm. But thanks anyway.”
James stood. Usually he held her hand. At times he kissed her cheek but not tonight. Could he tell she was confused?
“Maime, I’ve been thinking.” In the cloak of darkness, James’s tall form blended with the shadows.
Oh no. Does he want an answer now? What do I say when I don’t know myself? “What is it?”
“My marriage proposal … I’ve been pressing you about it for a long time. That’s not right, and I apologize. Let’s wait awhile on this, and when the time is right, we’ll talk about it again.”
Relief swept through her—and guilt. “Have I hurt you?”
“Not at all. But I’ve worried you for an answer until I’m surprised that you haven’t run me off. We’re friends, Maime, and that may be all God intends for us.” His voice rang soft through the night air.
“Thank you, James. I appreciate this more than you know. I treasure our friendship, and yet I’m not sure if it’s meant for marriage. You are so good to me. While others would let the residents here go hungry, you make sure we have plenty of food. When the house needs repairs or I need a listening ear, you stop what you’re doing at the farm and make a path to my door. Seems like the moment I lift a prayer, you’re here as though God summons you. Makes me wonder when you get all of your farming done.”
He chuckled. “Oh, there’s not much to do at home but work. I try to take care of things for you as though Ivy and Charles were directing me.”
“I know and I appreciate it.”
He plopped on his hat. “Good night, Maime. I’ll see you in the morning. Take some time to rest up tomorrow. I’m sure Hank would do anything you asked.”
“He’s a big help, but I don’t want to put unnecessary burdens on him. I wonder if the strain of leaning on his crutch is painful. When I think of him having to use the cellar stairs, I’m afraid he might fall.”
“Don’t imagine he’d complain about anything.”
She smiled. “I suppose not.”
She sat on the swing until James’s taillights disappeared down the road. Tears sprang from her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands. The reason for the outburst of emotion was as vast as the confusion about James and Hank—and all the responsibilities of maintaining Cranberry Hill. Her life was slipping by, and what did she have to show for it? She believed she had a purpose with her residents, but did God have more for her to do? The Depression had made it difficult to survive from one day to the next, and any future plans required money. Fortunately, none of them went hungry, unlike many folks in the cities. Even when things did get better for the nation, she’d still need to find resources to
care for the physical and mental needs of the residents.
Had she turned to Hank in desperation to find a replacement for Charles? And in the process, had she hurt James, even though he denied it?
Dear God, am I just feeling sorry for myself? I’m tired, and I don’t see much of an end in sight. But You do. Help me to live each moment for others and not myself.
She’d envisioned a much longer prayer, one that would include each resident and that person’s special need. The problem with James didn’t seem as critical now. But what of Hank? If they’d indeed begun to care for each other, then time and God’s blessing would cause the relationship to grow.
Maime wiped her dampened cheeks and blinked back the remaining tears. Things always looked better in the morning. Spending time fretting over herself was not what God required of her, especially when those under her care needed so much of her attention.
Hank heard James’s engine start up and the truck back out onto the street. A few moments later he heard Maime walk through the house and up the stairs. The sixth step creaked, and he knew she was on her way to the attic where she and Lucy shared a room. Maime and Hank’s old bedroom had been given to a married couple a long time ago.
The time had come for him to leave, and he couldn’t tell Maime good-bye except in a letter that sat atop the feed sack containing his meager belongings. He’d printed it rather sloppily so she wouldn’t recognize his handwriting. The words burned in his mind, the ones he wanted to say.
Maime,
Thank you for taking me in and giving me such a fine job as your cook. It was an honor to work for you, and I will never forget the fine woman who gave her heart and her time to those less fortunate. I will always pray for you.
Next spring, plant that flower garden that you keep talking about. When I think back on Cranberry Hill, I’ll see it full of color.
I have to move on, and tonight is as good a time as any. I’m sure you’ll find a good cook as quickly as you found me. Please thank James for his friendship. Tell him how much I enjoyed the Fourth of July and today’s fishing. I hope you two will be very happy together.
Fondly,
Hank
The train to St. Louis had left earlier today, which would have helped to add miles between him and Maime. The lonesome whistle had called to him, but with James still there and the possibility of Maime learning that he planned to leave … well, Hank couldn’t risk it. So he had no choice but to hobble on down the road at night, the same path he’d been taking for years. The difference now was the past two months with his precious wife and the rekindling of love for her had given him fond memories that would sustain him until the good Lord summoned him home.
He refused to think about the lies and deceit that he left behind. Neither did he want to consider that James might tell Maime the truth. Hank trusted his old friend would keep the secret and let life go back to where it had been before Hank arrived in Hannibal.
Hank steadied himself with his crutch, hoisted the feed sack onto his back, and blew out the candle. He touched the note to his lips and kissed it lightly, then laid it on his bed. Good-bye, my lovely Maime. May God bless you.
He crept up the stairs and out the back door without summoning any attention. No one would realize he’d left until the morning. Maime had plans for church, and Lucy always tended to the patients before making her way to the kitchen. Hank had baked biscuits after dinner for their breakfast tomorrow, and he’d pulled out the oatmeal and a huge pot to cook it.
With a heavy heart, he set his sights on leaving Hannibal and all that it meant to him. Within the hour, the lights of the town had faded. He’d taken a dirt road off the main one just in case James got wind of what happened and came after him. Writing him a letter had crossed Hank’s mind, but everything had been said today. How comforting to hear James’s words of understanding. Take good care of my Maime, my friend. I hate to leave you behind, too.
Walking out into the inky blackness seemed fitting. But feeling sorry for himself didn’t accompany each step anchored by his crutch, for now he had new fine memories to keep him smiling for a long time.
He would head south for St. Paul and then catch a train west, maybe to California. Years ago, stealing a ride had been a monstrous feat, but he’d learned a thing or two about the right moment to slip into an open boxcar. The need to survive did strange things to a man.
Chapter 8
The next morning, Maime rose to the sound of Lucy asking for help with Claudia. The older woman had not eaten much dinner last night, and this morning she was complaining of a sore throat and a headache. Then Mr. Weaver had seen Lucy up and proceeded to tell a story about a German soldier slipping through the night shadows, and he’d been up all night watching for more. While Maime assured Mr. Weaver that they were safe, Lucy administered Claudia’s medicine. The hour quickly approached for church. As though reading her thoughts, Lucy appeared at the doorway of Mr. and Mrs. Weaver’s bedroom.
“Go on to church,” Lucy said. “I’ve got things here in fine order. Everyone is feeling better, and they are all able to dress themselves. If I have any problems, Hank will help me.”
“I’ll tell him I’m leaving.” Maime adjusted her hat. Hank had been in her awake and sleeping world the night before, and she was anxious to see him.
“He isn’t here,” Mr. Weaver said. “I saw him leave in the night. Most likely chasing the enemy.”
“If he’s guarding us, then I’m sure we’re all fine.” Maime shook her head at Lucy. Poor Mr. Weaver. At times he tried the patience of them all.
She made her way down to the kitchen, but Hank was nowhere in sight. Normally the smell of coffee met her the moment she started down the stairs in the morning. The back door was slightly ajar, and she assumed he was having his Sunday devotions.
I’ll leave him alone. Besides, she would be late for church if she didn’t hurry. The walk was a good twenty minutes. James would have picked her up if she’d asked him last night, but she didn’t want to burden him. At the back door she briefly searched the yard but saw no one. She pulled the door shut behind her and made her way to the street. The Sundays she was able to attend church were like a taste of freedom.
Birds sang a little sweeter this morning, and a cloudless sky seemed to usher forth a beautiful day. Instead of thinking about Cranberry Hill and the health conditions of her residents or dealing with her fledgling feelings for Hank, she chose to focus on worshiping God.
Inside the church, greeting friends and cousins helped her settle into the service. However, an aunt let her know one more time about the dangers of living with crazy people.
“One day we will learn you and Lucy have been murdered in your sleep.” Aunt Flo cooled herself vigorously with a fan that had a picture of Jesus kneeling in the Garden of Gethsemane on one side and the Lord’s Prayer on the other.
Maime smiled. “Aunt Flo, you should visit us sometime. The residents are very sweet and do help me with chores. Claudia crochets beautifully, and Mrs. Weaver embroiders better than my own mother.”
Aunt Flo frowned. “You say the same thing every time I try to warn you about those people. I heard the other day that a one-legged man is living there. How many people does that make?”
“His name is Hank, and he’s our cook.”
“What happened to the woman you had—Emma?”
“Her husband wanted her at home.”
The tiny gray-haired woman stuck out her lower lip. “Smart man.”
Maime excused herself to find an empty pew near the front with James. The two had sat together in church for years.
“Did you get your chores finished?” she whispered.
“All of them. How’s everything at home?”
“All right. Claudia and Mr. Weaver had a rough night, but things seemed fine this morning.”
“How about Hank?”
“I didn’t see him. The back door wasn’t shut when I left. I assumed he was in the backyard. Sometimes he reads his Bible there.
Odd, though, coffee hadn’t been made.” Then she remembered he hadn’t wanted to talk the previous night. “I think yesterday wore him out. Maybe he needed to sleep.”
James frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He reached for a hymnal.
The pianist began with “Onward Christian Soldiers,” signaling to the congregation to prepare their hearts for church.
After the services, Maime hurried home. She didn’t want Lucy and Hank stuck with all of the work. Under a cloudless sky, she contemplated this morning’s sermon—Abram’s lies about claiming Sarai was his sister when a powerful Egyptian king expressed interest in her. Abram was afraid of the truth. Maime wondered if she could have been forgiving if faced with the same circumstances. The preacher said the lesson was to show us that even though Abram was known for his faith, he failed to trust God to take care of him and his wife when danger threatened.
A good sermon for everyone who ever doubted God’s providence. She’d spent a lot of years wrestling with trust, and although she’d made steady progress, it was still a struggle at times.
At the front gate, she stopped and admired the home she loved so dearly. Many folks during these hard times weren’t able to maintain their homes, but that had never been a problem with her.
The front door opened, and Lucy stepped out. From the gate, Maime saw her friend trembling. A dozen scenarios darted into her mind.
“Oh, Maime, I’m so glad you’re home.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Hank’s gone.”
Maime’s heart pounded against her chest. “What do you mean he’s gone?”
“Just that. I couldn’t find him. So finally I looked in the cellar and found this note addressed to you.” Lucy pulled a folded piece of paper from her dress pocket and walked down the front steps. “I’m so sorry.”
Now Maime trembled. She lifted the latch on the gate and walked inside. She took the letter from Lucy and quickly read it. Blinking, she read it again and pondered over every word.
“I don’t understand. I thought he was happy here.”
The Timeless Love Romance Collection Page 44