Olivia stared at the binding around the edge of the blanket. The baby’s name and date of birth were stitched in block letters. She could read it clearly at the moment, but the fear of word blindness haunted her daily. “Yes, I can imagine that.”
“Must be pride that keeps people from asking for help when they need it.”
“Pride... yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“We are all wretchedly prideful though, so none of us can blame one another, can we?”
Olivia traced a finger along the stitched letters. “No, we cannot.”
Marian’s gaze moved to someone behind Olivia. Before Olivia could turn to see who it was, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Miss Owens.” Mrs. Roberts sniffled into a scallop-edged handkerchief. “This is a sobering reminder of the fragility of life, is it not?”
“Um, yes ma’am.”
Mrs. Roberts dabbed her crying eyes. “Olivia, I fear I treated you quite rudely the other day. Would you forgive me?”
Olivia thought back to how Mrs. Roberts had been whispering with Mrs. Cotter the day after the elder meeting and had given her a mean look. It didn’t seem to matter now. “Yes, of course, I forgive you.”
Mrs. Roberts thanked her and walked on to Mrs. Colburn where she began another apology, but Olivia couldn’t hear the details.
The chapel pews were filling up as more people arrived. Those who had been aggravated with each other hours before were now embracing and praying together. Olivia wondered if Mrs. Cotter would make any requests for forgiveness. She looked back at Marian. “I wanted to tell you about Mrs. Vestal, but I was told not to.”
Marian gave a short nod. “Don’t feel badly.”
The light caught Marian’s eye for an instant. Something caused her delight even amidst this grief. Olivia followed her line of sight. Gabe was walking toward them. He put a hand to both of their backs. “My father went to get the Fosters and my family isn’t here yet. May I pray with you?” he asked as he glanced from Olivia to Marian and back.
“Please do,” Marian replied. She turned in so the sleeping baby was at the center of their little huddle.
Gabe bowed his head and began to pray. “Holy Father, thank You for hearing our prayer. Thank You for being our salvation, our comforter, our provider, and our healer. You are good and we are humbly grateful. We know that all things work together for good to them that love You. We do love You, Lord. With hearts submitted to Your will, we pray You heal Mrs. Vestal. Please give her comfort and peace and remove this illness from her body. We don’t want to lose a member of our community in death, and we pray You allow Mrs. Vestal more time on this earth for our benefit and for her children. But if it is Your will to end her illness through death, we know nothing can separate her from Your love, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. You promised us Your peace, which passes all understanding. Comfort our hearts with the knowledge that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. We pray for Christopher Vestal to have courage and peace in this time of agony and for the Vestal children to trust You even as they face the possibility of losing their mother. Please bind this community together with hearts that long to glorify You.”
As Gabe prayed, Olivia’s heart filled with peace she’d never known. It was quickly followed by a surge of sweet and pleasant affection, beyond admiration, for Gabriel McIntosh. She opened her eyes, still wet with grief, and watched him as he continued beseeching God on behalf of the Vestals and the community.
He knew the scriptures and loved his Lord. He lifted their prayer in a way she’d previously only witnessed in ministers. His faith awakened something in her heart, something she did not know it was capable of.
It did no good to tell her eyes to close; they were fixed on this man beside her. He had his hand on her back and his heart before the Lord. How had she not noticed his faith and leadership before? What else had she missed while her heart had been hardened? Or had God waited for the right time to soften her heart toward the right man?
Gabe ended his prayer and his father motioned for him to join their family. Olivia wanted him to stay beside her. He wouldn’t know that. He wouldn’t know about any of the new and exquisite feelings that were crackling inside her awakening heart.
Reverend Colburn called the room’s attention, and Olivia and Marian slid into the nearest pew to sit. The reverend gave what few details he had of Mrs. Vestal’s condition. Having witnessed Susanna’s decline first hand, Olivia knew more about the situation than the reverend. When he completed his announcement, hushed murmurs rippled across the pews as concerned conversations began throughout the chapel.
Olivia leaned close to Marian’s ear. “Remember what we talked about when we were collecting seashells before the campfire last month?”
“Yes,” Marian whispered.
“You asked me to tell you when I knew… how I felt.”
Marian’s eyes shot to hers. She mouthed, “Now?”
“Yes, while he was praying. I couldn’t help it. I felt my heart might burst out of my chest with its next beat. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I wasn’t even thinking about such things. It is most inappropriate to fall in love now, considering the circumstances.”
The edge of Marian’s mouth curved faintly. “Love rarely waits for ideal circumstances.”
Olivia tried to keep from continually looking at Gabe. “You once pitied me because I’d never been in love.”
“I no longer pity you… only your timing.”
Olivia scanned the worried villagers. Most were forming little groups and praying. The baby stirred in Marian’s arms. Olivia held out the extra blanket. “Is he cold?”
Marian shook her head. “Just a restless sleeper.”
“Me too.”
Olivia checked the window to the north. Jonah was walking briskly down the road toward the chapel. “He’s coming with news.”
“Oh, thank God.”
The gray overcast sky met the gray leaf trees in a cold and monochrome landscape outside. Dismal as it appeared in winter, tea made from the gray leaf tree once saved Marian’s life. It gave Olivia an idea. “Do you think Jonah and Doctor Ashton would consider giving Mrs. Vestal the gray leaf tea?”
Marian shook her head rapidly. “They never were convinced the tea healed me and they believe it was the cause of my coma. They have forbidden its consumption until it is proven to have medicinal value.”
“How can they prove it if they don’t try it again?”
“I agree with you, but I won’t suggest it to Jonah.”
“Why?”
“It is important to my marriage that I respect my husband’s decisions.”
Jonah removed his hat as he came through the chapel doors. The church fell silent. He loosened the green scarf at his neck as he walked the side aisle to the front of the chapel and spoke privately to Reverend Colburn.
The reverend closed his eyes and blew out a breath through pursed lips. Finally, he looked out at the waiting congregation. “Mrs. Susanna Vestal has gone to be with the Lord.”
Chapter Ten
Long lines of white clouds puffed like lambs wool in the cold afternoon sky. Olivia ambled through the settlement toward the Vestals’ property. As the road dwindled to a footpath near the meadow by the orchard, she slowed her pace even more. The ache of losing a member of the community was still as fresh as Susanna Vestal’s grave. The tombstone was too far from the road to see, but it was there on the mowed earth beyond the incline.
What could she possibly say to the Vestal children on the first lesson after their mother’s passing? She didn’t have proper lessons planned. She’d brought a storybook to read to them if they wanted her to, and if her eyes would cooperate. She’d cut and folded little cards for them to write things about their mother, to keep for when they grew up and forgot her face. And she planned to listen to them if they wanted to talk about their loss, but she still felt ill prepared.
Christopher Vestal was raking the ground between the trees
at the edge of his orchard near the house. His rake swiped the same piece of ground over and over. His yellow dog was lying in the sun behind him as if they had been there a long while.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Vestal,” she said as she approached.
The dog lifted its head from the ground.
Christopher glanced up. The brim of his straw hat concealed his brow. “Hello, Miss Owens. Is it afternoon already?”
“My first lessons were canceled this morning, so I might be a bit early. Is it all right that I came today?”
Christopher leaned on his rake. “Yes, of course. The children were hoping you would come. They are all in the house, except David is in the barn. He wanted to be alone.”
The dog strolled over to Olivia and began sniffing her fingertips. She opened her hand to pet its wide head. “I didn’t plan on teaching today, just being with the children and helping out around the house if they need me.”
“Your kindness is most appreciated.” He cast his gaze toward the meadow, no doubt toward the tombstone just out of view. “It still feels frightfully lonely in the house without...” He returned his gaze to her then. “The children will be glad to have you with them for a few hours.” His lips moved slightly as though he had more words to say, but hadn’t decided whether or not to speak them.
She wished she had the effusion of encouragement Marian possessed or Gabe’s lighthearted humor or Jonah’s wealth of knowledge. No helpful words came to mind. A grieving person stood before her with something to say. She could only listen. She stepped closer and waited in the shadow of Christopher’s silence.
The dog moved toward its master and leaned against his leg. Christopher looked down at the dog but didn’t offer it affection. He raised his hat with a knuckle. “My mother died when I was ten—the age Wade is now. My siblings and I had to take on the housework and cooking. I remember working constantly to try to distract myself from grief, but still feeling hopelessly forlorn. We were happy when my father quickly remarried.” He turned his sad eyes back to the meadow. “Susanna was sick for so long. I didn’t expect her passing to be the shock that it has been to me. I thought I would feel relief for her and for myself. But the grief comes in sudden pulses. It suffocates my soul without warning. My only hope is in knowing she is with the Lord and no longer suffering. Now I wait for God to rescue my heart from this pit.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her heart hurt too, but not as severely as he described. She’d never experienced that kind of pain. “What can I do?”
Christopher pressed his lips together. “You are here. That is the most any person can do. The children are looking forward to your visit.”
“I brought activities for them if they need a diversion. Mostly, I thought they might like some company.”
“Quite right.”
“Is there anything you need done around the house? Shall I bake something?”
He shook his head. “The village ladies have brought us more food than we can eat. And plenty of help too, thank the Lord. Rebecca McIntosh minded the twins this morning and said she would each Monday as long as we need her to. Hannah was grateful to have the time so she could do the washing without worrying about the little ones. And Catherine Foster will be keeping them on Thursdays.”
“How gracious.”
“Indeed.” The light briefly hit his eyes. “Your own mother said she’d keep them on Saturdays so Hannah could rest. She said a fourteen-year-old girl shouldn’t have to mind five siblings all day every day.”
Olivia had often helped with her five siblings when she was that young, but never without their mother nearby. She offered a slight smile. “I look forward to seeing the twins in our home on Saturdays then.”
Little Doris stepped out the back door of the house and the twins toddled behind her. The girls’ voices carried across the yard to the edge of the orchard. “Miss Owens! Miss Owens!”
“And hearing them?” Christopher grinned at her. “You will certainly hear them.”
“Yes, that too.” She chuckled at his humor, and his kind expression warmed. A laugh amidst sadness felt like a shooting star on the blackest night. Even in his grief, Christopher Vestal was easy to talk to.
Olivia waved at the girls then looked back at him. “I should go in. Would you like to join us?”
He shook his head. “I have work to do.”
“Of course,” she said as she started for the house. “Do come inside if you change your mind. And let David know he is welcome to join us too.”
Christopher nodded then returned to his mindless raking.
Doris ran across the yard and wrapped her arms around Olivia’s waist, hugging tightly in the way children do when they don’t yet know their own strength. Olivia let her cling a moment then smoothed Doris’s hair. “Let’s go inside. I brought a storybook.”
Hannah stepped onto the stoop and pinned the last of her laundry to a line strung from the porch to a gray leaf tree in the middle of the yard. The twins peeked out from behind her. She opened the door for Olivia. “Hello, Miss Owens. Wade ran upstairs to get his reader.” Though only fourteen, Hannah resembled her mother, same high cheekbones and long lashes. “I’ll be putting these two down for their nap soon, so you shouldn’t be disturbed while you teach.”
Olivia climbed the two stairs from the mudroom into the kitchen with Doris still holding onto her waist. “Thank you, Hannah, but I wasn’t planning to teach today unless the children want lessons.”
One of the twins whimpered for Hannah to pick her up. She hoisted the small child to her hip and followed Olivia into the kitchen. “Whatever you think is best.”
Olivia opened her satchel and pulled the storybook out. She offered it to Doris. “Take this into the parlor and pick out a story for me to read you in a few minutes, all right?”
Doris let go of her. She accepted the hardbound storybook and dashed into the parlor. One of the toddlers followed her, squealing, unaffected by the haze of tragedy in the air.
Hannah was in the corner of the mudroom. She still had the other twin on her hip and was trying to slide a laundry board into its place with her free hand.
Olivia hurried to help her. “Let me get that.”
“Oh, thank you.” Hannah pointed between the shelves. “No, it goes there. At least that’s where mother keeps it… kept it.” Her chin wrinkled and she squeezed her eyes shut. “We’re almost out of soap,” she slurred while holding back a sob.
Olivia glanced about the shelves. “Pardon?”
“Soap. Mother made our soap for the year every fall and she didn’t this year. I never learned how. We only have enough for another few weeks.”
She touched Hannah’s arm. “I can teach you how to make soap. I know it’s not the same as your—”
“You can?” She opened her eyes. “You would?”
“Of course. Did your mother save grease drippings?”
“Always. I still do.”
“And ashes from the hearth?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll talk to your father about soaking the ashes for lye. I’m sure he has a barrel in the barn. How about next week when I come for lessons? We will ask Mrs. McIntosh to mind the twins for the afternoon, and instead of book lessons, Doris and Wade can watch and learn how to make soap too.”
“That would be helpful.”
“Then it’s settled.”
The Vestal children needed to learn a certain practical skill and Olivia needed to prove the value of education to the settlement. If she incorporated writing the instructions and calculating the recipe into the demonstration, teaching the children to make soap might be the kind of relevant lesson the students of Good Springs needed.
Olivia held out her hands, offering to take the toddler from Hannah. “Would you like me to put the twins in bed for their nap?”
“No, no,” Hannah sniffled. “They won’t stay in bed unless I do it. They are used to me tending to them. Mother was sick since soon after they were born, so I’ve done it all.
”
“How can I help?”
Hannah wiped her tears with her sleeve. Her grieving face looked more mature than fourteen yet innocent with childhood all at once. “Just stay, if you don’t mind, till I come back down.”
“I will.” Olivia glanced into the parlor, where Wade was joining Doris, awaiting their lessons. “While you put the twins down to nap, I’ll get Wade and Doris started on a story. Then we can talk.”
While Hannah took the youngest of the Vestal brood upstairs, Olivia flipped through the storybook with Doris and Wade. Wade wasn’t interested in it and asked if he could study his reader instead. Olivia read the titles from the storybook to Doris, letting her pick a story, but she only wanted to look at the pictures.
“Keep the storybook here this week and look at it all you like, Doris. Next week our lesson will be outside.”
“Outside?” Wade perked up. “We get to learn something outside?”
“That’s right.” Olivia smiled. “We’re going to take our tablets outside and you will learn to write notes as I teach you and Hannah a very important process that you will use for the rest of your life.”
Doris and Wade gazed at each other with eyes widening with curiosity.
Chapter Eleven
Olivia lingered in the chapel with the crowd long after the Sunday service had ended. Though past lunchtime, no one seemed to be in a hurry to go home. She hummed The Doxology to herself and wished it were warm enough outside for a picnic so all the church families could spend the afternoon in leisure together. Winter had not yet settled on the land, and she was already aching for spring.
The loss of Susanna Vestal had tightened the bonds of the community, and a chorus of conversations filled the high-ceilinged room. Some people were still sitting in pews; some were clustered in the aisles and near the door, hats and shawls in hand. Occasional laughter rose from one pocket of conversation or another, proving time would thin their grief.
Olivia stood with her mother at the back of the chapel as Mrs. Colburn told them about her baby’s development. “He’s already rolling over,” the reverend’s wife said, beaming at her infant son. Then she looked at Olivia’s mother. “Oh, Mary, he is going to be a smart one.”
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