As she undressed later, smiling to herself in the dark, she planned how she’d tell Al about it. “I didn’t know I could read that fast,” she’d tell him. It always felt so good to laugh together.
On Wednesday, Emma thought a lot about the sisters in the book. When the children napped, she read a few more pages, but it wasn’t nearly as much fun to read it herself as it had been to listen to Jenny. She put the book down with a sigh. How did Jenny learn to read without ever stumbling over a word?
Each time Emma went to do chores knowing the children were safe with Jenny, her thankfulness grew. Wednesday night she nearly wept with relief when she looked out of the barn window at the pale light from the cabin and thought of the children laughing and secure while she worked. I don’t deserve it. But will it last? Maybe she’ll have to go back to Grandpa’s, if she keeps having trouble getting the fire started.
When Emma came in, Jenny had the children ready for bed. She was sitting in the rocker with Ellie in one arm, Georgie in the other, and the boys at her feet, singing a silly little song Emma had never heard. I can’t wait to tell Al how happy the little ones are, she thought as she washed her hands.
When the children were in bed, Jenny sat down close to the lamp with two books. “Emma, I’ve been thinking. Wouldn’t it be good if we read the Bible, too, each evening?”
“Yes. . . Yes, I suppose so,” Emma faltered.
“Would you like to begin with the Gospels, or go on to one of the Epistles?”
“I—I don’t know.” Emma lowered her eyes. “I mean, I don’t know what they are.”
“The Gospels are Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—the story of Jesus’ life here on earth, His crucifixion and resurrection,” Jenny explained without a hint of reproach in her voice. “The Epistles are letters that the apostles wrote to the early churches.”
Emma still didn’t look up. “I don’t know much about the Bible. The only time we went to church was a few times when we lived in Phillips and, before I was ten, when we lived in Oshkosh.” She sighed. “I tried to read it once, but I never got farther than Numbers. It was hard to read that tiny print by lamplight ... and all those funny names.”
“We’ll read from the New Testament. That’s easier, and there aren’t so many names. We’ll find things that will mean something to us for right now—things we can use! Wait’ll you hear!” Jenny flipped through the pages, holding the Bible close to the light. “Listen to this, from Paul’s letter to the Philippians, chapter four, verse four: ‘Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say, Rejoice. Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand. Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts
Jenny smiled at Emma. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
Emma looked puzzled. ‘Will you read that first part again—about not being careful about anything? I don’t understand.”
“Let’s see. That’s verse six: ‘Be careful for nothing, but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.”
“Why aren’t we supposed to do things carefully?”
“It doesn’t mean that. It means we aren’t supposed to be full of care— anxious—about anything. We’re not supposed to worry.”
“Oh, my goodness! I didn’t know that!”
Jenny’s eyes glowed. “Isn’t that wonderful. We don’t have to be concerned and fearful. All we have to do is bring our worry to God in prayer!”
Emma didn’t answer. That sounded real nice, for people God wasn’t angry with. “Did you go to church a lot?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“Oh, yes! Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesday night. And sometimes we had prayer meetings on Friday nights.”
“Prayer meetings?”
“Didn’t you ever go to a prayer meeting?”
Emma shook her head. “Didn’t you get tired of going to church?”
“When I was little I did, and when I was in my teens I didn’t want to go to church at all. I wanted to live my life the way I wanted to live it, and I was afraid if I let God take it over, He’d take away all my fun.”
“What happened? Did He?”
Jenny laughed. “No. He certainly didn’t. It seemed that during those years when I was holding out, the harder I tried to have fun and do things my way, the worse I felt. I tried to act like I was happy, but I wasn’t fooling anybody. I found out later that my grandparents, my parents, and especially my brother Peter, were praying for me all the while. Finally, one Sunday night, I started to cry in church. I couldn’t stop until I told God I was tired of trying to run my own life, and if He wanted me He could be boss—I mean the Lord of my life.”
“Were you ever sorry you gave in?”
Jenny beamed at Emma. “Never! He didn’t take my fun away. I found out that God never takes anything away, unless He replaces it with something much better. The things I thought were fun weren’t important anymore. I started to like different things.”
“I gave my life to Jesus when I was a little girl In Oshkosh.”
Jenny squeezed Emma’s hand. “Oh, Emma! I’m so glad you did.”
Jenny closed the Bible and began to read from Little Women, but Emma wasn’t concentrating. She was trying to imagine Jenny fighting God, but all she could see was Jenny the way she was now, her eyes full of love.
Thursday was a long day. Albert waited impatiently for Miss Clark to bring the slate. Even though there was a cold wind, Emma finally bundled him up and let him play outside while he waited. “Don’t go any farther than the bend!” she warned him.
Of course Jenny was later than usual, because she had to stop at Grandpa Verleger’s to get the slate. Albert must have run from the house to the bend fifty times before he came puffing in behind Miss Clark.
“See,” Jenny explained when they got their coats off, “I’ve printed your name on the top. Now you can print it below.”
She handed him the slate pencil and winked at Emma. “That’ll keep him busy,” she whispered. “Fred! Ellie! Come here! Tell me what you did today. Can you sing the song we sang last night?”
How did I ever manage alone? Emma asked herself as she put wood in the stove.
When the children were in bed, Jenny read a chapter from Matthew. They talked about what she had read for a few minutes. Then she said “Do you mind if I don’t read any more tonight? My throat is a little sore.” Jenny cleared her throat. “I would like to talk awhile, though.”
“Did you get the fire started faster this morning?” Emma asked.
“A little faster, but the room was still terribly cold when I had a visitor—Mrs. Gross.”
“Oh, dear!”
“She stormed in and shook her fist at me! You know how big she is. I was so shocked; I guess I just stood there with my mouth open.”
“What was she mad about?”
The cold schoolroom. She reminded me that her husband is on the school board, and he’d see that I got fired if I didn’t have it warm by the time the children got there tomorrow.”
“Did you tell her about the kindling and green wood?”
Jenny shook her head. “I didn’t have a chance. She shouted some more and stomped out.” Jenny’s voice was soft when she continued. “I’ve been praying that Grandpa Verleger will have a change of heart and help me. He has plenty of kindling wood. He could give some to the school.” She smiled shyly. “I’m even praying that he’ll offer to start the fire for me. He’s always up early.”
Later, snuggled deep under the covers, Jenny’s words came back to Emma. She hadn’t wanted to discourage Jenny, but Emma couldn’t imagine Grandpa giving kindling wood to the school, much less starting the fire. I’d never even think of praying for something so impossible. Hope she isn’t too disappointed when God doesn’t do it.
When the clock struck ten, she was still worrying. Then she re
membered what Jenny had read about not worrying, but praying instead. It didn’t help her a bit. How long would it take, Emma wondered, until she felt free to pray again? The only comfort she could find was knowing that Al would be home in two days. She hugged his pillow and fell asleep.
Thirteen
Unspoken Prayers
It was Fred who discovered the winter wonderland Friday morning. “Mama, yook!” he called. “The trees is all fwowered!”
Emma chuckled as she peered out of the window where Fred had melted the frost with his hand. “It sure is!” She beckoned to Jenny. “Fred says it’s ‘floured’ out there. He sees me sift flour when I bake.”
Jenny took a peek and said, “Oh, let’s go look!”
She pulled on her coat and helped Fred with his, while Emma threw a shawl around herself and Ellie.
At the door of the lean-to, they huddled a moment in rapt silence.
“It’s so beautiful. . .” Jenny whispered. “I’ve never seen frost like this before. It’s a fairyland!” She beamed an ecstatic smile at Emma.
“It is beautiful,” Emma said, returning Jenny’s smile as best she could. But as she turned to go in, she saw a hint of disappointment dim Jenny’s smile. She had realized that Emma wasn’t sharing her ecstasy.
Later, as Emma washed breakfast dishes, she thought, What’s the matter with me? I had that, same cover-on-the-jar feeling. My eyes tell me it’s beautiful, but the sight doesn’t make me feel good down inside.
All week she had tried to ignore the emptiness she felt in spite of all the good things that had happened.
Carefully she listed as many blessings as she could think of: Al really cared about the children. He had proved that.
The children loved Jenny and were safe while she did chores.
It was exciting and fun to have Jenny around—in spite of her onion breath.
Al was earning money for the team and other needs. They were all healthy.
It would soon be spring.
Her back was almost well.
But, instead of brightening her mood, the reminder of all the things she had to be thankful for made her feel guiltier than ever. You should be so happy! she scolded herself.
Dishes done, Emma put water in the small tub to bathe Georgie. When she splashed water on his tummy, he laughed out loud and waved his chubby little arms.
“You are so precious,” she told him. Holding his wiggly little body close in the towel, she recalled a conversation with Jenny yesterday.
Emma had confessed that she felt a twinge of envy when she watched Jenny hike off for school in the morning, and Jenny had laughed and said, “Isn’t that the way! The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. I walk away thinking how nice it must be to stay in the cozy warm house with your own children and look forward to seeing your man every weekend.”
She sighed longingly. “I’ll never forget Mr. Verleger’s voice when he told us how concerned he was about leaving you alone with the children, and how proud he was of how you had managed those days after you hurt your back.” She lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “I thought, If a man ever loves me like that, I’ll be completely happy!
“I will be happy,” Emma said aloud now, as she patted Georgie dry. Determinedly she set her mind on all she could do to make the days Al was home as pleasant as possible.
Emma heard Jenny coughing when she came home from school before she even opened the door. Oh, dear! That cold room! What if she gets pneumonia? Fear, swept over her. Maybe she will have to go back to Grandpa’s.
“I sound worse than I feel,” Jenny insisted when Emma asked about her health. “The weather will change. We’re due for a thaw. That will help.”
Sure, and you’ll have wet, cold feet instead of cold, wet feet, Emma thought. But she mustered a smile as she sliced bread.
“Don’t look so glum!” Jenny said cheerily as she warmed her hands over the stove. “Grandpa’s going to change his mind and help me. You’ll see!”
Emma bit her tongue and didn’t reply. Sometimes she acts like a child. A person has to face things as they are, not go on dreaming they’re going to change.
“Would you like to take a bath down here in my bedroom where it’s warmer?” Emma asked Jenny as she dished up their supper. “You can use the big washtub.”
“That would be lovely. Grandma Verleger informed me that a sponge bath was good enough, so I haven’t had a tub bath since fall.” Quickly she added, “I’ll watch the little ones when I’m done, and you can have your bath.”
Of course the children clamored for baths when Emma carried the tub into the bedroom and Jenny began to fill it with water.
“Not tonight,” Emma said. “I can’t heat enough water for all of us. Tomorrow night is your bath night.”
Even though she had a scant four inches of water in the tub and had to sit with her knees up to her chin, it felt good to wring the washcloth and let the warm water run down her body while the children squealed delightedly with Jenny in the other room.
If only Al could be home tonight.
By Saturday morning, Albert could print his name without a pattern to look at. He danced around with the slate, chanting, “I can’t wait till Papa comes home! I can’t wait till Papa comes home!”
He was making too much noise to hear Jenny ask Emma if she could take him along to Grandpa Verleger’s to get the rest of her things.
When Emma agreed, Jenny added, “I’ll wait until Fred and Ellie are asleep. Fred’s little legs are just too short to keep up with us.”
“Are you sure you should go out with that cough? Maybe if you stayed in until Monday, you’d—”
“Emma! I’m all right! Stop fussing over me.” Her voice softened. “I think that goose grease you gave me last night really helped.”
Jenny and Albert had been gone about half an hour when Emma heard footsteps. They couldn’t be back already.
There in the doorway stood Al, a big grin on his face.
Emma flashed him a smile. “Sh-h. The little ones are asleep, and Jenny took Albert with her to get the rest of her things.”
He pulled off his knapsack, hung up his coat, and rubbed his hands over the stove. “So it’s ‘Jenny,’ is it? Sounds like you two are kinda chummy.”
“Oh, yes. But I don’t call her Jenny in front of the children,” Emma assured him as she put water in the coffeepot.
Before she could add the coffee, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly. “Oh, Emma, it’s good to be home! You feeling all right?”
She nodded, still clinging to him in spite of the camp odor in his shirt.
He released her gently, knowing she didn’t appreciate his whiskers. “I’ll shave while the coffee cooks,” he whispered. “How long have they been gone?”
Emma glanced at the clock. “Close to an hour. They could be back any minute, so you can get that gleam out of your eye!”
Al grinned at her, shrugged, and started mixing his shaving soap. “So, how is it going with Miss Clark—Jenny?”
“Good! Really good. She has a special way with the children, and she and I get along fine. She reads out loud while I knit or sew in the evening. I like that. But I don’t like it when she wants me to read a page or two before we stop.”
“What’s wrong with you reading a little?”
Emma giggled. “It isn’t the reading I mind, I do stumble over a lot of words. But every night she comes home from school, she makes herself a big, raw onion sandwich.... So when she leans over to help me sound out words ... whew!”
Al’s grin spread, and he choked back his laughter so he wouldn’t wake the little ones.
Emma made a face. “She said her grandmother told her it would ward off colds. That I believe! No one’ll get close enough to give her one.”
“Well, if that’s all. . .”
“What do you mean, ‘if that’s all,” Emma said in mock indignation. “You should have her breathing down your neck with onion breath!”
/> He raised his eyebrows. “If Jenny breathed down my neck, I wouldn’t even notice the onion breath,” he teased.
“She is pretty, isn’t she?” Emma said wistfully.
Al looked up from mixing his shaving lather. “Yeah, she’s pretty all right. I don’t mind looking at her. But I don’t mind looking at you, either.”
He took two long steps toward her, tilted her chin up with one finger, and kissed her tenderly. “I love you,” he said and stepped back to the washstand.
“It’s a wonder the roof stays on!” Emma said to Jenny, as Al roughhoused with the children while they cooked supper.
Of course, he had to admire Albert’s printing.
“I’m gonna learn, too,” Fred assured him, his blond locks bobbing as he nodded.
When Al began to pray at the table, Fred giggled and poked Albert. Al stopped and gave him a stern look, and Fred’s smile vanished. He folded his hands.
When Al had finished, he looked sternly at Fred again and said, “Is that the way you behave while your Mama prays when I’m gone?”
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