Did Mr. Hopkins feel the connection to his late wife here, in the room they had shared? Did he miss her terribly? Many men, once they were widowed, didn’t wait very long at all to remarry just to have help with the house chores and the children. Society seemed to understand and accept that many second marriages were marriages of need and convenience instead of marriages based on love and friendships, especially on the prairie. Yet Mr. Hopkins hinted he wanted a housekeeper who was older to avoid ideas of marriage. Had his love for his wife been so all-consuming that even a few years after her death, the idea of sharing his life with another woman was unthinkable?
Mr. Hopkins was kind and gentle with just the right sense of humor thrown in. He didn’t seem to be a romantic, but what did Abby know about such things? She had never been courted.
A glimpse in the mirror above Mrs. Hopkins’s dressing table revealed a disheveled girl who had thin blond hair that never conformed to the knots she fashioned at the nape of her neck and went every which way with the slightest breeze. Her face was slightly flushed with the heat of the late spring sun and the heavy work she had been doing. No wonder no one ever took notice of her.
She hurried to finish straightening out the quilt. It felt as if she were trespassing in a forbidden area. She glanced around once more to make sure everything was in place and then left, closing the door behind her.
Once she was done upstairs, she returned to the living room and found the boys lying on the floor, slowly pushing the blocks around with little interest, both scratching different appendages. For the first time, she noticed that Tommy’s cheeks were unnaturally pink and Willy had a glassy look about his eyes.
“Tommy, are you feeling all right?” she asked, anxiously watching his eyes and noting the same glassy look.
“I’m itchy. Som’pin bit me,” he complained, and Abby held her breath as she signaled him to come to her.
“Let me see.” She sank down on the davenport and reached out for the smaller boy’s shirt. He lifted it and she stared, wide-eyed, at the welts all over his torso. “Do you have these anywhere else?”
“Uh-huh, my back is itchy but I can’t see it,” Tommy whined.
“Let me take a look.” She gently turned him. Taking his shirt completely off, she studied the rash marking his back. “You’ll be getting this all over in a little while. Willy, do you have these, too?”
“Yeah. They itch!” He was close to tears and Abby groaned, wondering what kinds of medicine and herbs were at her disposal.
When she had been fourteen, she and her nieces and nephews all shared the chicken pox. While it was not any fun, she remembered the doctor telling her it wasn’t as dangerous as the smallpox. As long as they kept the fever down and the boys comfortable, they should be all right.
“Well, boys, it looks like you have the chicken pox. We’re gonna have to set you in the washtub with some oatmeal so you won’t itch so much. I want you to come out to the yard with me and we’ll see if we can’t help you feel a little better.”
“This is silly,” Tommy told Abby a little while later as he and his brother sat in the washtub in the shade of the only tree in the barnyard. Willy had been very self-conscious about bathing out in the middle of the yard in broad daylight, but once Abby promised not to look while he stripped down and got in, he quickly complied.
She dragged a stool out from the kitchen and set to mending shirts while the boys splashed each other. She let them play until they looked cool. She helped Tommy out and got him dried off and into his underwear and a large, holey shirt that had obviously once been his father’s. Someone had lopped off the sleeves at the elbows so that it would accommodate the boy’s shorter arms. Willy insisted on getting himself dressed and demanded she leave him alone. Knowing he was tired, itchy and running a fever, she didn’t argue.
Since the front room was cooler than the upstairs, she had them lie down on towels on the floor and she read to them until they were both asleep. While they slept, she checked on dinner and continued to clean the kitchen. She briefly entertained the idea of running out to the far fields to let the men know about the boys, but it wouldn’t make any difference in how fast Tommy and Willy got better. In the end she figured it would only worry Mr. Hopkins while he should be concentrating on the fields.
When the boys woke, they were as uncomfortable as they had been earlier and she prayed for patience for the next few days. She settled them to play with the blocks again in the cool of the front room and made frequent trips back to the kitchen. Each time she peeked out to see if the men had returned to the barn. Her heart skipped a beat and then sped up too fast when they finally returned. Would Mr. Hopkins be angry she hadn’t told him at once?
“Boys, I’m going to tell your father about the chicken pox. Stay in here and play nicely. I’ll be right back.” She hurried out to the barn.
“Um, good afternoon, Mr. Hopkins,” she called out, making both men spin around from taking the harnesses off the horses. “Jake.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Stewart.” Mr. Hopkins studied her carefully, his eyes then darting to the house and around the yard. “Is everything all right?” The concern in his voice matched his gaze.
“Um...yes. I was able to do the washing and dinner’s on the stove, but...” She bit her lip. How should she tell him? What if he decided to take them to the doctor and leave her at the train station on the way? She hadn’t even been in the house for a full three days!
“Is there something you need, Miss Stewart?” Mr. Hopkins’s gaze froze her in place. He knew something was afoot.
“I just wanted to tell you that the boys have chicken pox. They started itching just after lunch and now they’re covered in the rash. I gave them a bath in oatmeal and lukewarm water and then they took a nap, but I wanted you to know. I can handle this, sir. I took care of my nieces and nephews when we all got the chicken pox a few years ago. It wasn’t pleasant, but it’s not too dangerous as long as we can control the fevers and keep them from scratching.”
“Are you sure it’s chicken pox, Miss Stewart?” Mr. Hopkins quizzed her as he all but dragged her by her upper arm toward the house. His grasp was firm but not painful. “Jake, see to the horses. I’ll be out in a bit,” he called over his shoulder as an afterthought.
“Yes, sir. I remember it well from when I had it myself. And then two years ago, Katie and Peter had it and I took care of them, as well. Since I had already had it, I couldn’t get it again and I... Well, Emma was not interested in trying to keep her children comfortable.” Abby bit her top lip to stop from rambling.
“Auntie Abby, I want some more water,” a small, cranky voice called out to her as they crossed the kitchen.
“Okay, darling, I’ll get you some in just a minute,” Abby answered the child, watching Mr. Hopkins to see what his reaction was.
“Pa, Pa!” both boys chorused. They climbed to their feet with less energy than normal, but they still embraced him as he bent down and put himself at their eye level.
“Hey, boys, I heard we have some turkey pox around here,” he teased, but the look in his eyes belied his lighthearted banter.
“Auntie Abby said it was chicken pox,” Willy corrected. “Right?” he confirmed with a confused glace at Abby.
“Yes, I’m just teasing,” Mr. Hopkins reassured the boy. Nodding he turned and studied Abby. “Do they need a doctor? The nearest one is a day’s ride past Twin Oaks.”
“No, as long as we keep them cool and comfortable, they should be fine.” Abby infused her voice with confidence. She had nursed the others through this. Maybe this was the opportunity she needed to prove she was indispensable here. “Have you and Jake had it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He stood and once again towered over her. “I had it when I was a little younger than Tommy is now. Jake had it the fall before...before his parents died. I’ll go see about those chores now
. Is there anything else you need?” he asked, his attention on his boys.
“Do you have willow bark or something else to keep fevers down?”
“Yes, ma’am, although I don’t know how to use the stuff. I bought some just in case when we were in town last fall. There was a bad flu here last year. I wanted to be sure I had some on hand.”
“If you would show me where I can find it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mr. Hopkins gave Tommy’s shoulder a squeeze and ruffled Willy’s hair. “I’m going with Miss Stewart and then out to the barn to milk old Bess and the other girls. You mind Miss Stewart, now.”
* * *
Later that night, after the men had bathed the boys once more, Abby stood next to the bed and tucked the boys in their beds. She had listened from the rocking chair near the window as Mr. Hopkins read three stories before their prayer time. Dispensing hugs and kisses to the miserable boys, she had headed downstairs to go to her room when she heard the boys calling out for their father. Since he’d already gone out to the barn, she went up and found herself once again seated on the rocking chair. This time she settled it between their twin beds. She read to them and sang songs she had learned as a small girl from her mother.
When they both were finally asleep, she brought a pillow and the quilt from her own bed and settled on the floor between them so she would be able to hear them whenever they woke. As it turned out, they woke frequently. She didn’t sleep more than an hour at a time. By the time the sun was peeking over the horizon, her eyes felt gritty but she forced herself to start breakfast for the men.
The next few days were long and miserable for the boys and Abby. She tried to humor them with stories and singing. More than a few times, she spent hours just holding them on her lap in the rocking chair. Even Willy called for her the minute he woke up. She would bathe them three or four times a day and would always be ready with another glass of water and some bread or cookies. Meals had been simple soups so she could leave them simmering while she spent time with the boys.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hopkins. I made rabbit stew with potatoes again. I wish I had more time…. I’ll have a better meal for us tomorrow,” Abby blurted out as soon as Mr. Hopkins had finished saying the blessing on Wednesday night. “I haven’t had a chance yet to mop the floors or dust upstairs. I’ll get to it as soon as—”
He raised his eyebrows and looked steadily at her as if she were a stranger from another planet. “This is the best rabbit stew that has ever been served at this table and your bread fills in all the rest of the space in our empty bellies. You’ve been taking care of two sick boys. I don’t know how you got to making dinner at all. Don’t worry about the housework. It’ll still be there in a week from now.” He chuckled and returned his gaze to his plate.
That night the boys fell asleep earlier, so she took advantage of the quiet house and scrubbed the kitchen floor until it returned to its original color. Her back protested by the end. If felt as if a hundred splinters still stuck in her hands and knees, but the kitchen was finally clean enough to satisfy her just as Tommy called from upstairs again.
* * *
Will wondered what was going on inside the house as he milked the cows. There was no smoke rising from the chimney. In the week since Miss Stewart had arrived, she managed to be up and ready by the time he brought in fresh milk each day. They had all started to get used to the little touches she brought to the house. Although the boys had the chicken pox, they still were eating more than they had before. She had yet to burn anything. Even Jake commented about how nice it was to have two socks without holes and a shirt that had all its buttons.
His wonder changed to worry when he walked into the kitchen, ready to receive the cup of coffee she always had ready by then, only to find the stove still cool and no sign of his housekeeper. Had something happened to her or the boys during the night? Surely if there was something wrong with the boys, she would have alerted him.
Pacing in the kitchen didn’t get him any answer, so he quietly headed out to her room, debating if he should knock or just wait in the front room, but the problem was already resolved when he reached her door. It was open. Her bed looked as if it had not been touched and there was no sign of her in any of the other first-floor rooms or in the root cellar.
For a moment, rational thought fled, and he was left with nothing but the deep, aching fear that told him she had left. She’s just like Caroline and Auntie Shelia. His thoughts ran away, making his stomach churn with anger. She ran off already. It was what he had expected, but it still made him furious. At her, for leaving them in the lurch, and at himself for believing—even just for a few days—that he might actually have found a woman he could rely on.
But before the anger had a chance to build, common sense reasserted itself. She couldn’t have run off. Where would she have gone in the middle of the prairie? She knew no one out here. The closest neighbors were an hour’s ride away by horse, and all the horses were still in the barn.
Rushing up to the boys’ room, he held his breath and listened carefully, hoping against his better judgment to hear her soft murmuring with one of his sons, but there was only silence. Similar lumps on each of the twin beds confirmed that both boys were sound asleep and fine. Disappointment knifed him in the gut.
Where could she be? He checked his own room, Jake’s and even Matt and MaryAnn’s. Neither he nor Jake had ever cleaned out that room. Returning back to check on his boys, he stood at the doorway, wondering where she could have gone off to. Turning to retrace his steps, he halted abruptly and turned around, rubbing his eyes. Two small, shapely bare feet were sticking out past the end of Willy’s bed. Drawing closer, he couldn’t believe his eyes; she was asleep on a pallet on the floor between the twin beds. Why?
He wanted to shout for joy and yell at her for her foolishness in the same breath. How could she be sleeping on the floor? What was wrong with her bed? She could have used his bed or Jake’s if she hadn’t wanted to be on the first floor. Was she secretly scared of sleeping in the house without another adult? If she had just said something, he would have tried to find yet another solution.
He knelt down beside her and gently shook her shoulder. “Miss Stewart? What are you doing sleeping on the floor?”
It took her a minute to wake up. “Are the boys okay?” Her voice was gravelly. She rubbed her eyes and blinked at him. Something caught in his throat and he turned away for a moment. Even in her sleepy state she was obviously aware of where she was. Ignoring him, she sat up and checked one sleeping form and then the other.
Will studied the face of the young woman. Why hadn’t he noticed yesterday how tired she was? Was she getting sick herself? When she had mentioned something about not getting anything done with the boys sick, he brushed it off as something to be expected with them underfoot all the time. After all, he had plowed and planted his fields in half the time of last year and covered three times more acreage with the boys in the house. If God granted him the sunshine, rain and heat necessary, his wheat crop would be three times as large as last year’s.
But as he watched her try and force herself awake with those telling dark circles under her eyes, he realized he hadn’t been paying attention to his home. The boys had been sick and all he had done to help was oversee their bath after dinner and then help Abby...Miss Stewart get them into bed. Tommy insisted Auntie Abby be there when they said their prayers. Why hadn’t he noticed her fatigue?
“How much sleep did you get last night?” he asked, remembering the clean floor in the kitchen. Had she stayed up and scrubbed the floor on top of everything else?
“I don’t know. They slept better last night. I think the worst is probably over.” She glanced outside, and color drained from her face. She wrapped her arms around her middle and he remembered the same gesture when she was sick in the alleyway back in Twin Oaks the first day. Her eyes filled with fear.
“I’m sorry I overslept. I need to get downstairs and start breakfast. If you’ll just give me a moment—”
“No. You need a few more hours of sleep.” He reached out his large hand, placing it on her thin shoulder, and stopped her from standing. “Go sleep in your own bed for a few hours.”
Instead of looking pleased, she looked crushed. “I’m sorry. I’ll get breakfast going and then there’s all the—”
“There’s nothing wrong with needing more sleep,” he said, more gruffly than he intended to. What drove her? She was almost falling over from weariness and yet she was apologizing for not having breakfast ready.
As he watched, her eyes filled with tears and she turned her face into her hands and sniffed. She stood and fled the room. He watched her leave. “What did I say this time?” he asked himself out loud.
Minutes later, he slunk back down the stairs, careful not to make too much noise so Miss Stewart could sleep. Except he could have made as much noise as he wanted because standing in the kitchen, her feet still bare, was Abby, trying to fill the coffeepot with water from the pump. Tears streaking her face, she wiped them away quickly with the back of her hand as she turned her shoulder to him.
“Why aren’t you resting?” he asked, frustration darkening his words.
“I need to make breakfast. You can’t go out and plant on an empty stomach.”
“I’m not planting today. You need a rest. I didn’t realize how much work the boys had been, being sick and all. I’ll get breakfast ready. Don’t worry about it.”
She looked so fragile and small, trying to wake from her exhausted slumber just a few minutes before, and now barefoot and crying in the kitchen.
He had seen enough tears from Caroline to last a lifetime, but they had never made him as uncomfortable as Miss Stewart’s tears. Maybe that was due to his suspicion that Caroline’s tears had been a display to manipulate many a situation in her favor. Miss Stewart’s were obviously sincere, and the result of exhaustion. In fact, she had worked very hard since the first day she stepped across the threshold and hadn’t murmured a single complaint.
Instant Prairie Family (Love Inspired Historical) Page 8