by Janette Oke
“Hazel! Hazel Whitaker, is that you?”
The child appeared from behind a tree, her eyes downcast. “Yes, Miss Lillian.”
Hurrying forward, Lillian crouched to eye level. “Oh, Hazel, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in school? Are you hurt?”
“No, miss.”
“Was there some kind of trouble? Were you sent home?”
“No, miss.” Her brows lowered.
“Then what?”
Hazel’s face crumpled and she burst into tears. “The kids there are mean. I don’t wanna go anymore. They don’t like me and I don’t like them. I won’t go back. I won’t.”
Lillian drew the little girl forward and held her close. There had been few opportunities to show affection to the brash little Hazel. At first Lillian worried that she’d be pushed away, but Hazel didn’t resist the embrace. Instead, she let herself bend like a rag doll against Lillian and wept.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I want to know what happened. Can we sit down? Do you think you can talk about it? Do you need to go home? And see Miss Grace?”
“I don’t know.”
Lillian looked around, aware of various sets of eyes watching them curiously. “I know. Let’s get something to drink at the drugstore and sit over there on that bench. We can have a chat. Would you like that?”
Hazel nodded. She took Lillian’s hand and they walked across the street to the bench outside the drugstore. She helped Hazel slide onto the seat and drew out her fresh handkerchief, dabbing it under the girl’s eyes.
“What would you like to drink, sweetheart? A soda, maybe? What flavor?”
“A soda? Oh yes. I’d like orange, please.” Her eyes were already returning to the confident look she typically wore.
“I’ll be right back.” Lillian hesitated. “Do you promise to stay here?”
“Of course, Miss Lillian. I’ll stay here. And you’re gonna bring me an orange soda if I do?”
“Yes. Just stay right here.”
When she returned with the large glass mug foaming with orange fizz and two straws, Lillian was grateful to find that Hazel had kept her word. The little girl reached eagerly for the unusual treat.
After downing a few sips, she offered voluntarily, “I did what Miss Grace said. I told ’em that I lied. An’ I said I was sorry. But after that, when Mrs. Murphy left the room, they all started asking mean questions.”
“What kinds of questions?”
“About my mum and dad. About where I come from. About you and Miss Grace.”
Lillian reached an arm around Hazel, laying it on the back of the bench. She gently fiddled with one of Hazel’s pigtails. “Do you remember when we talked about this? You don’t need to answer their questions if you don’t want to—but it’s not something you need to worry about telling either. There’s nothing that we’re doing wrong, any of us. Nothing in the way we live that isn’t a very good thing—or that was caused by anything you did wrong, sweetheart. And certainly nothing in your past for which you need be ashamed.”
“I know but . . . I know but . . .” Hazel stumbled over how to phrase her objection. “They don’t know that—that it ain’t my fault. Or that I didn’t do nothing wrong. And, Miss Lillian, do you know what they called me?”
“No, dear, what?”
“A guttersnipe.”
Lillian cringed. “Oh, Hazel, do you know what?”
“What, Miss Lillian?”
“All of those other children, they probably have things they worry about too. Some of them might worry because they really have done things that were bad choices. But some of them might worry about something as silly as their feet looking too big and other children teasing them for it. Or maybe they struggle more with learning in school, and other children tease them about that. Everyone has things others will tease them for. But nobody deserves to be treated that way. It isn’t kind, is it?”
More slurping sounds, the straw poking up and down in the bubbly liquid. Then, at last, “I teased Lucy Schiller. That wasn’t nice, was it?”
“What did you say to her?”
“That her freckles made her look like an old man.”
“Oh, Hazel, you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry. But she said mean things first. Can’t I even tease ’em back?”
“Well . . .” Lillian wished Grace were present. She hoped she wouldn’t say the wrong thing, making matters worse. And then she thought of Mother. What would Mother have said? “Well, dear, how did you feel after you said that mean thing to Lucy?”
Hazel stopped sipping. “I didn’t like to see her face get all red.” Then she smirked. “But it was kinda funny too. And the other kids all laughed. I liked that part.”
“But are you proud that you helped children laugh at Lucy?”
She shook her head.
“Do you think it will help you make friends?”
She paused thoughtfully, then shook her head even more slowly.
“Hazel, you’re a lovely girl. You have a lovely smile, and you’re very bright. You make people laugh by saying clever things and you help out with a good attitude—usually. I think you’re very special. And nothing that happened to you in the past can change any of those true things about you. You also have a God up in heaven who made you, who made you to be different from anybody else who ever lived. And He knows you better than anyone at all. So I think if you give the other children a little time, they’ll figure out the things about you that make you a really good friend. And they’ll be glad to get to know you.”
More sipping.
“But if you’re mean—even sometimes—they’ll come to believe that you wouldn’t be a very good friend. And they might not take the time to get to know who you really are.”
“I’m done,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I’m full. But I’ll go back to school now—if you take me. I just don’t wanna go by myself.”
“Sweetheart, I’ll be glad to walk you back to school. I’m proud for people to know we’re—we’re family.”
Hazel turned her face upward with a puzzled expression. “Are we family, Miss Lillian?”
Lillian smoothed back the wisps of hair that had come loose from Hazel’s bow and smiled. “I heard it from a very wise person that some family sticks with you for your whole life—like you and George. And some family loves you along the way—like Miss Grace and me—but all of those people who love you make up your family.”
Hazel slid off the bench, handed the glass to Lillian, and straightened her little flounced dress. “I like being in your family. You and Miss Grace. I like you.”
“I like you too, dear. In fact, I love you very much.”
Hazel smiled and reached for Lillian’s hand. They placed the glass mug on a table inside the drugstore and walked toward the school. Hazel chatted about squirrels and hair ribbons and steely marbles. She seemed to have pushed the worries behind her.
CHAPTER 11
Guests
Children, we want you to meet someone new, someone who’ll be living with us from now on—at least for a while.” Grace addressed their little crew over the Saturday morning breakfast table. Her unexpected words stilled all activity around her for a moment. They watched her set a plate of bacon on the table and sit back down in her chair before anyone spoke again.
“Another kid?”
“No, George. Another adult, actually. Someone who’ll live with us and help to take care of us. Her name is Mrs. Tillden—Tillen-did.”
Lillian corrected softly, “Tillendynd.”
“Yes, that’s it. She’ll stay here in order to help with the cooking and the cleaning. That doesn’t mean we won’t still have chores to do and ways to share the work, but she’ll make it much easier on Miss Lillian and me.”
Harrison reached with his fingers for a slice of bacon, dropping it quickly when he realized it was still far too hot.
“Use your fork, please.”
Reaching again with a fork, he asked, “What’s she like?”
“She’s a woman who has already raised her family. She had seven children and they’re all grown up now—living on their own.”
“She’s old, ya mean.”
“Well, Hazel,” Grace explained evenly, “she might seem old to you, but not old to me. Being old depends on who you compare someone to. You seem old to a toddler. But it isn’t really the kind of word we’d like you to use anyway. It might hurt someone’s feelings. They might think that what you mean is that they’re too old to be useful. And, on the contrary, Mrs. Tilldenid will be very useful to us.”
“Does she like kids? She better like kids if she’s gonna live here.”
Lillian laughed. “Well, she raised seven of them, so I suppose she does. And she probably knows a lot about keeping children in line.” She glanced toward Harrison, who answered with a broad smile, half of the bacon slice still hanging out from between his teeth.
“Where’s she gonna stay? With you, Miss Lillian?”
“No, she’s going to bring her own bed along and put it in the workroom, right over there.” She motioned to the door just off the kitchen.
“That ain’t a bedroom.”
Grace answered, “No, it isn’t a proper bedroom, but we’ve fixed it up a little for her and she decided it’ll suit her just fine. We’ll need to be sure to respect her privacy there. So we won’t open that door or go in any longer without asking permission first.”
“Can I move up to the attic? There’s lotsa room up there.”
Lillian shook her head firmly. “No, George, we aren’t going to use the attic, remember? I explained that it wouldn’t be safe if there were a fire. The room you share with Harrison has a good-sized window and a porch roof you could crawl out on to escape, if need be.” And then she added even more seriously, “And only if need be.”
“When’s she comin’?”
Grace squinted toward the window. “This morning. She went back to the house where she’s been living to gather her things, and Mr. Thompson is going to bring her here with his wagon.”
“I could sweep out the workroom,” Lemuel suggested. “I could take those old barrels out to the barn, or down to the basement.”
“That’s thoughtful of you, son, but Miss Lillian and I worked late last night to get the room ready. We did put the barrels in the basement. And you should have seen us doing it. I’m surprised we didn’t wake all of you with the racket we made bumping them down the steps.”
“When I get my cast off, I can do all that stuff for you. I don’t mind.”
“Thanks, Lemuel. I’ll be glad to ask for your help soon. And there’s a task we’re going to assign to all three of you boys later today. I’m sorry, it won’t be pleasant. I’m afraid we found a bin of rotten potatoes in the cellar that needs to be taken outside and buried. But we’ll talk more about that later.”
Lemuel groaned.
There was a knock at the door. Lillian looked up at Grace, then toward the foyer. “I guess she’s early.”
“I’ll get it, miss.”
“No, sweetheart, you’d better let me.” Lillian rose from the table, brushing a few toast crumbs from her hands, then wiping her oily fingers on her apron already soiled from preparing breakfast. She was still shaking out the folds as she opened the front door.
“Good morning.”
It was not Mrs. Tillendynd. It was Walter, hat in hand, looking rather uncomfortable.
“Walter?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask if I could drop by, Lillian. I heard you weren’t able to come to the Gardners’ today, and I had something I wanted to give you. I’d have telephoned, if I could. But . . . I didn’t think you had a telephone. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t interrupt your morning too badly.”
“No . . .” Lillian struggled to put together an intelligible answer. “We were just eating breakfast.” Two deep breaths. “Would you like to come in? Have you eaten? You can meet my sister, Grace—and the children.”
He smiled broadly. “I’d like that. Am I ready, do you think?”
His banter and his gentle eyes had always made Lillian feel at home with Walter, made it easier to be herself around him. “I think you’ll survive it.”
He stepped into the foyer. His words came more slowly than usual. “I brought back a book you loaned me. It was years ago now, but it always bothered me that I still had it. I know it was expensive.” Large hands produced a thick reference book.
Lillian’s heart fluttered uncomfortably. Did he contrive an excuse to visit? Aloud she said, “Thank you. I remember it.” But I certainly haven’t missed it. She took the book from him and laid it on the entryway table. “Please come this way. I’ll make the introductions.”
Walter dropped his hat onto a coat hook and followed Lillian. The low timbre of his voice had already informed Grace and the children that Mrs. Tillendynd wasn’t the guest who’d just arrived.
“Everyone, this is an old friend from my school days, Walter Norberg. You may call him Mr. Norberg. And Walter, this is my family.”
Grace rose with a wide grin. Lillian cast a covert threat in her direction should she decide to be playful with their unexpected guest. “Hi, I’m Grace—the long-lost sister.” She laughed effortlessly. “Lillian told me about sharing tea with you and your sister the other morning.”
“I’m glad she was willing to give us a little time on her one morning off. I’m sure that kind of alone time is pretty hard to come by.”
Lillian shook her head earnestly. “I’m not sure Grace has taken any time to be alone for ages.”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” She chuckled. “And, truthfully, I’ve never found that being alone in my own company was terribly exciting.”
George had pulled another chair from the corner of the room so that Walter could take a seat at the table in the center of the kitchen. They had chatted for only a few moments when the door knocker thumped again.
“I’ll get it!”
“Sit down, please.” Grace intercepted Harrison’s quick offer once more. “I prefer that Miss Lillian or I be the ones who get the door. Let’s just have that be a rule unless you’re given special instructions.”
When Lillian looked across the table, Walter was already showing a magic trick to Bryony and Hazel. Bryony, so terribly shy, was sitting as still as a stone, allowing him to lift a lock of her hair so that he could draw a penny from behind her ear. Her laugh of delight was like hearing birds sing on an early spring morning.
The boys moved in closer as he repeated the trick using Hazel’s ear. They were trying to discover where he was really hiding the wayward coin. Lillian laughed to see how quickly he’d taken them into his circle of friends. Walter, though relatively quiet, had always been the center of attention, witty and playful and unexpected—whenever Maeve was not around. Lillian fixed him a breakfast plate and set it on the table in front of him.
“For me?”
Rolling her eyes in a way that was a little too emblematic of Maeve, Lillian answered, “Of course. Only the women should ever do the serving.”
He flashed her a look of feigned fear. “I’ll get in trouble if I agree about that, won’t I?”
“Oh goodness, Walter. Let it go. I know my place.” Another eye roll for emphasis.
Grace returned, leading Mrs. Tillendynd and Mr. Thompson into the crowded kitchen. “She’s here, our dear new friend, Mrs. Tillerdan.”
Harrison was out of his chair in a flash. “So pleased ta meet ya, Mrs. Tilderban. I’m ’Arrison Boyd.”
The gracious woman’s smile was a little forced. Yet as she looked over the crowded kitchen, the clutter of preparation mess on the counter, and even a strange man at the table with them, none of the chaos seemed to ruffle her at all.
However, Mr. Thompson recognized Walter at once, and a curious expression crossed his face. “What a lucky thing you’re here, young man. You can help me bring in Mrs. Tilldenad’s—sorry, Mrs. Tillenden’s things.”
“Let’s just stop right there,” poor
Mrs. Tillendynd announced, gesturing widely with quick hands. “My silly old name! Why don’t all of ya just call me Miss Tilly and leave it be? Simple ’nough even for you young’uns, eh?”
“Miss Tilly. Yes, it suits you.” One arm going around the woman’s shoulders, Grace gave her a squeeze. “Oh, you’re going to fit in just fine. We like you already.”
In no time Mrs. Tillendynd’s few possessions were unloaded from Mr. Thompson’s wagon, carried by the men and boys into the room that Miss Grace and Miss Lillian had prepared. Lemuel spoke quietly to ask, “Is there anything else we can do for you, Mrs. Tillendynd?”
“Miss Tilly’s enough, child.”
He slid a toe across the floor, his eyes avoiding hers. “If ya don’t mind, I kind of like fer people to keep their real names.”
She patted his arm. “I see. Yer Lemuel, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s all I need fer now, Lemuel. But I ’magine we’ll be spendin’ lots of time gettin’ to know one another. Ya put me in mind’a my son Gary. He’s a jolly helper too. He’s west’a here now, cuttin’ timber.”
Lemuel began to move away.
“What’d ya do ta yer arm, Lemuel?”
“Kicked by a horse.”
“How much more ya gotta be in yer cast?”
“Four more weeks, maybe more. But I hope less.”
“I heard it said, ‘We get stronger in our broken places.’ I think yer quite strong, ain’t ya?”
He shrugged and nodded, turned away with a half smile. She seemed very kind too.
The other children, however, were gathering outdoors around the huge gray Percheron horse hitched to the farm wagon. Miss Grace started to object, to call them away, but Mr. Thompson assured her that his steady mare was perfectly harmless. He was confident the children would be safe, though he added a warning not to be unkind in any way. Lemuel noted that he was looking toward Harrison as he spoke.
However, the younger boy was already in a world of his own, reaching up to stroke the velvety black muzzle, whispering softly. “Well ’ello, ain’t ya fine, missus?”