Forevermore Page 2

Something’s a-goin’ on and she don’t want me to know. Well, I don’t gotta know. She’ll tell me when she’s good and ready. Hope decided to change the topic. “That Emmy-Lou, she’s a comely child. Her hair puts me in a mind of duck down. Is it just as soft?”

  Relief flashed in Mrs. Erickson’s eyes. She nodded.

  “How old is she?”

  “Four. Almost five.” When Hope nodded encouragement, Mrs. Erickson hesitantly added, “They cut her hair when she had the fever.”

  “Long hair drains a sick gal’s vital energy.” Hope straightened her apron. “Lopping it off probably saved her life.”

  Mrs. Erickson bobbed her head—a tiny jerk of a movement.

  Either this lady’s painfully shy, or she don’t want to get too friendly in case they decide not to keep me on. Well, won’t be the first time I had to prove myself. “If’n you don’t mind, I’d shorely like to bake up a batch of cookies for her. Young’uns have a habit of taking a thought and turnin’ it into a promise.”

  “We can do that.”

  “Mrs. Erickson, ma’am, do you mind me askin’ on whether you can read?”

  “Yes.” Hastily she tacked on, “I’m sorry. I don’t mind you asking. Yes, I read.”

  “Dandy! Then, how about me gettin’ the lay of the kitchen whilst you read them recommendin’ letters?”

  Hope refilled Mrs. Erickson’s coffee cup, then mixed up a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies. As she dropped spoonfuls of cookie dough onto the baking sheet, she asked, “Do y’all have a springhouse?” Blop.

  “What do you need?”

  “That cream’s about gone, and so’s the butter.” Blop. “Reckoned I’d go fetch some.” Blop. “What with Emmy-Lou nappin’ ”— blop—“I’m shore you”—blop—“don’t want her”—blop—“wakin’ up to a stranger.” Blop.

  “You do that so fast!”

  Hope grinned. “You know the sayin’, ‘Strike while the oven’s hot.’ ”

  “Iron.” The woman barely mumbled the request and couldn’t even look Hope in the eye as she made it.

  “I’d be glad to iron.” She popped the cookies into the oven, banged the flatiron on the stove, and asked again, “So where’s that springhouse?”

  Jakob’s gait slowed as he walked past the garden. Dark pockmarks in the soil abounded where weeds once thrived— freshly tilled spots that accused him of not having seen to the garden as he ought. Oh, he’d had every intention of weeding the garden, but urgent things kept popping up. So had weeds.

  A few items fluttered out on the clothesline—even though it wasn’t laundry day.

  Knocking some of the earth off his boots on the edge of the lowest porch step, Jakob wrinkled his nose. Vinegar. Odd. Unsettling, even. As he approached the door, the scent made sense. Someone had cleaned the windows. He corrected himself. Window. Only the one to the left of the door had been cleaned. Dust still coated the right one.

  He spied Miss Ladley through the clean window. Standing in profile to him, she ironed Annie’s Sunday-best dress. She’d been wearing a straw hat earlier—a battered one that hid her hair. In fact, if she hadn’t cut holes for the mule’s ears in the other hat, she should have traded the beast and worn the better one. At any rate, he could see her hair now. The color of ripe wheat and braided to resemble the same, her hair was pinned in a large circle around the back of her head, and dozens of small wisps coiled around her face and nape.

  As women went, she was ordinary enough—neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, pretty nor homely. Upon meeting her, he’d absently noticed the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and the directness in her hazel gaze. The former made her look young; the latter lent an air of maturity. Jakob rubbed the back of his neck. He’d talk with his sister and ask how the day had gone. Annie needed help, but she didn’t need anyone prodding her or prying into things.

  Pulling his gaze from the woman, Jakob opened the door. The mouth-watering aroma of meat and potatoes filled the house. Miss Ladley glanced at him from the other side of the ironing board and motioned toward the washstand. “Do y’all like your water cool after a hot day, or warmed up a mite?”

  “It’s fine the way it is.” He hung his hat on the peg by the door, then paused at the washstand and went through his usual ablutions—but it felt odd, having a strange woman in the kitchen while he did so.

  “Your daughter’s out on the back veranda with her auntie. Soon as your hired hand comes in, I’ll put supper on the table.”

  “All right.” He walked past her, through the kitchen. Ever since Naomi died, he’d stopped coming through the back door at suppertime. It grieved him too much to come in and not see her standing by the stove. She’d always stop her humming just long enough to welcome him. Eight jars sat back by the sink—each filled with string beans. Who bothered to can only eight jars? It made no more sense than only one clean window. Brooding, he shoved open the back door.

  “Daddy!” Emmy-Lou sprang into his arms. “I’ve been good! Will you take me to see Milky and the kitties now?”

  “After supper.” He pressed a kiss on her forehead and turned toward his sister. “Annie?”

  Annie continued to whirl the hand crank on the Daisy paddlewheel butter churn. It was a light chore, to be sure, but he still frowned. Annie was fragile, and he didn’t want her working so much. She cast a glance toward the house and whispered, “Her letters—they all praise her. Lavishly praise her. Twenty-three of them, and I read them all. Do you remember Lionel Volkner?”

  He nodded. “Leopold’s oldest brother.”

  “One recommendation is from him. He said he’s never seen a woman work harder.”

  “Is that so?” Lionel Volkner was a man of few words, and most of them were harsh.

  “Daddy?” Completely oblivious to how her father and aunt had been whispering, Emmy-Lou said loudly, “She baked me big, big, big cookies. Do I getta eat one while we see the kitties?”

  “Have you already eaten one?”

  Emmy-Lou wrinkled her nose and turned to Annie. “I didn’t.

  Did I?”

  “We all shared one after you woke up from your nap.”

  The door opened. Miss Ladley laughed. “Milk and cookie then, and after supper, Emmy-Lou wants Milky and a cookie again.”

  Emmy-Lou giggled as she galloped to the door. “That was funny. You could see Milky with me and have your own cookie.”

  “We’ll see. Your pa worked hard all day. First off, we’ve gotta feed him.” She’d leaned down to talk to Emmy-Lou, but now Miss Ladley straightened up. “Lookee here, Emmy-Lou!” She took the butter churn from Annie. “Your auntie done went and churned butter, and she made you buttermilk to go with your supper. Wasn’t that nice of her?”

  “Uh-huh!”

  Pulling herself out of the chair, Annie reached for the churn. “I’m sorry I took so long. I should have had that butter rinsed and pressed by now.”

  Before he could say anything, Miss Ladley responded. “Weren’t no hurry. And cream can be stubborn. It takes a notion how long it wants you to churn afore it gives up the butter. What say I rinse and press this whilst you help your niece spruce up and get to the table?”

  Jakob held the door open. Miss Ladley waited until Annie and Emmy-Lou entered, then slid past him and went directly to work. As he pulled the door shut, something caught his eye: Annie’s dress, his white shirt, and Emmy-Lou’s tiny dress—their Sunday-best clothes—freshly ironed and ready to be carried upstairs. Jakob’s initial rush of gratitude changed to astonishment as he looked a little higher to see how she’d managed to hang the clothes. That crazy woman created a peg by wedging a table knife between the top of the pantry door and lintel.

  One hand barely closed around the hangers before the other yanked out the knife. Almost desperately, he studied the spot and reassured himself she hadn’t damaged the wood or paint. Perfect. The knife hadn’t marred it at all. He’d painted the kitchen one Thursday as a surprise when Naomi went to market. He’d worked like a madman to get it
all done before she returned, and the memory of her delight washed over him in a bittersweet wave.

  “Daddy’s got the clothes.”

  “Ain’t that nice of you to take the clothes upstairs, Mr. Stauffer?” The tin pitcher tinkled as Miss Ladley poured the buttermilk into it. “ ’Tis always grand to see a family that pitches in and helps out.”

  Annie looked terror-stricken. “I’ll do it, Jakob. I—I should have taken them up sooner.”

  Annie needs to see I’m willing to pitch in—that I’m not like Konrad and won’t lose my temper. “You’re helping Emmy-Lou. I’ll take care of this.”

  “Mind your steps once you get to the upstairs hallway.” Miss Ladley turned back toward the stove and said over her shoulder, “We threw a rug over a floorboard ’cuz the nail took a mind to pop up its head and look around. After supper, I’ll take a skillet and pound it back in place.”

  Jakob’s guilt, doubts, and worries mounted as he climbed the stairs. He’d seen that nail and forgotten about it. I should have taken care of it. But he feared Annie or Emmy-Lou could slip on the rug. Annie needed assistance since she’d grown heavy with child, and she certainly needed dawn-to-dark help during the harvesting and canning. Miss Ladley seemed busy enough, but she apparently didn’t finish anything. His mind ticked off what chores he’d seen her abandon only partway through the job . . . laundry, window washing, ironing, and canning. I’ll bet her cookies are only half-baked, too.

  But the only alternative he could come up with was to hire two of the Richardson girls. They were capable farm gals who knew what to do, and they’d gotten better about not blurting out the first thing that crossed their minds—thanks to Tim Creighton’s wife’s lessons. But the Richardson girls were far more interested in catching a husband than in cooking and cleaning. Jakob hung the dresses in the armoire and suppressed a groan. He’d rather suffer an invasion of locusts than fend off those girls after they got the mistaken notion that this was a bridal interview instead of temporary help.

  With twenty-three letters, this Hope Ladley has wanderlust. I won’t have to trouble myself over her making matrimonial plots. He went to his bedchamber and strode past the bed without looking at it. Glimpses of the wedding-ring quilt Naomi had so lovingly made while they were courting brought memories he couldn’t entertain right now. He hung his shirt on the knob to his armoire. Even a year and four months after he’d lost her, opening the armoire hurt—the empty space inside drove home that she was gone. No one could ever fill the void in his heart and life. No one. In that respect, Hope Ladley was probably the best candidate for the helping out around here. Unlike the Richardson girls, she’d wander on to the next town when her work was done.

  Organization had been Naomi’s gift. She could put anything into order and keep it that way, and their home had always been a haven. Since her death, the household had been chaotic, the inner turmoil Jakob suffered matching the disarray surrounding him. He craved the serenity he’d once known—but Naomi was gone. If the housekeeper could bring things back to order, that would help a little.

  Phineas shouted, “I’m going to say grace and start eating all on my lonesome if you don’t shake a leg!”

  “Coming.” As Jakob descended the stairs, he overheard Hope telling a story about somewhere else she’d been.

  “No doubt about it,” Miss Ladley said, “that Latimer boy ain’t gonna try a crazy stunt like that again!”

  Phineas belted out a laugh, but Jakob’s blood ran cold. What if she left here and talked? One slip of her tongue, and all would be lost.

  Two

  I can’t decide whether supper smells better than it looks.” Phineas stared at the food.

  I “I reckon how it tastes is most important.” Miss Ladley put a large pot of water on the stove.

  Cucumber salad and watermelon on the table looked cool and refreshing. A steaming gravy boat sat near Jakob’s place. Shepherd’s pie with the mashed potatoes crust baked just the way he liked it—not pale golden brown, but deep, dark crispy brown . . . just the way Naomi always made it. Suddenly Jakob’s appetite fled.

  “ ’Tis easier for me to hop up from the table, Mrs. Erickson. Do you mind if’n I take that seat there?”

  “No . . . I . . . no, not at all.”

  Jakob seated his sister while Miss Ladley took the spot on the other side of his daughter, closest to the stove. Phineas scooted in her chair. “Thankee kindly,” she said.

  Multiple thoughts spun through Jakob’s head—but if he prayed, he might speak them aloud and make matters worse.

  “Phineas, go on and ask the blessing.” Jakob folded his hands and bowed his head.

  Phineas said grace. As soon as he said amen, Emmy-Lou drew in a breath and plunged into the prayer she’d been taught. “Komm, Herr Jesu, sei unser Gast, und segne, was Du uns bescheret hast. Amen.”

  “Nice to hear a young’un talkin’ to the Almighty.” Miss Ladley gently tucked one of Emmy-Lou’s pale blond curls behind her ear. “That was the first prayer my mama taught me.”

  “Auf Deutsch?” Phineas looked as surprised as Jakob felt.

  “Nope.” Miss Ladley scooped a tiny serving of cucumber salad onto Emmy-Lou’s plate. “I learnt it in English. It rhymes thataway, too. ‘Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest and may these gifts to us be blest.’ Ain’t it something, how the love of God don’t depend on the words of man? The feelin’s the same, no matter whate’er tongue you use.”

  “I only got one.” Emmy-Lou opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue.

  “And you used it to thank Jesus. God loves a cheerful heart. I’m shore He must be a-sittin’ on His throne in heaven, just a-smilin’ down on you right this very minute.”

  Miss Ladley neither laughed at nor scolded his daughter for her action. Emmy-Lou befriended everyone, but it did Jakob’s heart good to see how Miss Ladley took note of her pure intent. Emmy-Lou beamed back at her.

  Miss Ladley lifted her chin toward Annie. “You got the server o’er by you, ma’am. The menfolk are lookin’ hungry as can be.”

  Annie’s gaze dropped along with her voice. “You prepared the meal.”

  “Nonsense! You peeled the ’tatoes and onion. Cut ’em up, too. The meat we used—I bet you put that up when one of them fine cows of yours got butchered.”

  “Ja, she did.” Jakob picked up his plate, stuck it out, and waggled it a little at his sister. “Smells great. Let’s eat.” Even if Miss Ladley jumped from one chore to another like a mindless grasshopper, she treated his sister and daughter well. That counted for a lot. I’ll get Annie alone for a few minutes and see what she thinks. It’s hard for her to make up her mind about things, so I’ll have to be sure to let her know I can let Hope go anytime if Annie feels things aren’t working out or if she feels too uncomfortable around the housekeeper.

  Assuming Annie says it’s okay, I’ll ask Miss Ladley to stay. But someone with her recommendations—she might charge more than I can afford. Money was tight. Jakob mentally juggled finances and tried to find ways to scrape together an offer she’d accept.

  Emmy-Lou jabbered during the meal. Phineas teased her by saying a few things about Milky, yet he refused to answer her questions. Miss Ladley popped up from the table to grab the coffeepot and refill their mugs, and she subtly scooted Emmy-Lou’s cup so it wouldn’t get knocked over. Suddenly a trill of laughter flowed out of her. “Mr. Phineas, you got me ev’ry bit as curious as Emmy-Lou ’bout that litter.”

  “When your daddy was a boy,” Annie said softly, “he had a gray striped cat that followed him like a dog.”

  Her comment took Jakob by surprise. Timid as she was, she didn’t tend to say more than she had to. Was she talking because she was nervous around Miss Ladley, or because Miss Ladley made her feel . . . safer? More comfortable? Jakob gave his sister a smile and bobbed his head. “That is true. That cat—he got me into big trouble.”

  “He did?” Emmy-Lou’s eyes grew huge.

  “We had a big old cottonwood by our house. In th
e summer when it was hot, I’d leave my window open. Fleck—I named him that because he was gray with a black smear down his back and Fleck means smudge—Fleck climbed the tree, jumped to the house, and curled up at the foot of my bed. Mama or Dad would find him there.” He shook his head. “They said even if he didn’t know better, I did.”

  Phineas cleared his throat and eyed the shepherds’ pie.

  “I’m sorry. I should have offered you more. Here.” Annie hurriedly gave him a third serving, then held the server over the last of the shepherd’s pie. “Jakob?”

  He accepted with alacrity.

  Once he took the first bite, Emmy-Lou said in a tearful tone, “It’s all gone and I wanted more.”

  “Here.” He shoveled his fork under a hefty bite.

  “Hold your horses.” Miss Ladley tipped her head down and asked in a loud whisper, “Did you remember to save room for a cookie?”

  “I forgot.” Emmy-Lou sat up straighter. “Daddy, I’m almost all full-up.”

  Annie sighed softly. “I’ll be sure to give you more next time.”

  “Okay.” Emmy-Lou held up two fingers. “Daddy, they made two of those. I helped carry the other one out to the springhouse.”

  Knowing there’d be another of these fine dinners didn’t disappoint him in the least. Jakob smiled at his daughter. “It is gut, you helping.”

  “Emmy-Lou’s a good weeder, too.” Miss Ladley picked up a wedge of watermelon. “Your daughter’s a fine worker.”

  A few minutes later, Jakob looked about the table. Every last plate was clean—even Annie’s, which didn’t happen often. A small thread of relief darted through him. She didn’t eat much at mealtime, and as far as he could tell, she didn’t nibble all day long the way Naomi had when she was expecting. When Naomi had only a month to go, she’d needed to leave some of her buttons open beneath the cover of her apron; Annie’s belly bulged, but not with the same abundance that bespoke a fat, healthy child. If he hired Miss Ladley, maybe she could coax Annie into eating more.