Forevermore Page 7
Emmy-Lou let out a shriek; then only her sniffles broke the ominous silence.
“I’m sorry.” Annie bowed her head and whispered, “I shouldn’t have let her play like that.” She tugged Emmy-Lou over and sidled in front of the child. Annie turned into a magpie all of a sudden. “I’ll sweep this up. I will. Right away. You men go ahead and eat while supper’s hot. Emmy-Lou—”
“I’ll help her wash her hands.” Phineas picked up the child.
Mr. Stauffer had gone pale beneath his tan. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he stepped forward. “It was an accident.” His voice sounded just as brittle and gritty as the broken glass. “I-I’ll clean it up,” Annie insisted.
“No.” He cleared his throat, then said in a measured, almost soothing tone, “Sit down, Annie. Eat your supper.”
“He’s right, Annie. I’m cleanin’ it, and that’s that.” Hope bustled over. “What’s a housekeeper for? All ya’ll go take the load off and dig in.” She grabbed the broom and reached for the broken frame.
Mr. Stauffer’s hand closed over it first. The corner of the picture bent inward, hiding the image of Mrs. Stauffer’s face. With exacting care, Jakob’s big thumb lifted the flap. A crease now marred the photograph—it angled right through his wife’s hair.
Reverently, he grazed the likeness of his wife, almost as if the touch would erase the crease in the same way it would coax back an errant wisp of hair—but it didn’t repair the damage. An impossibly long, utterly silent sigh slid from between his taut lips. Anguish turned his eyes the same shade as pewter. For just an instant, he closed them.
Lord, this man’s a-hurtin’ something fierce. Could you comfort him?
Mr. Stauffer opened his eyes. He said nothing, but straightened up and carried the picture upstairs. Each step he took echoed with grief; then his bedroom door shut. The oh-so-quiet click was the final, lonely sound she heard.
“Mr. Stauffer?”
Jakob didn’t turn around. Instead, he stood by the barn stall and murmured under his breath to Josephine. He’d been silent at supper. What happened was an accident. That didn’t change the pain wrenching his heart.
Jakob cherished that picture. On their wedding trip, they’d dressed up in their wedding finery and gone to a photographer. The photographer kept trying to get Naomi to face forward, but she’d insisted she couldn’t take her eyes off her handsome husband.
Now the picture was ruined. A white line creased the corner, angling through Naomi’s hair. Reason told him the photograph wasn’t destroyed and anyone else would consider the damage inconsequential, but all the logic in the world didn’t erase the savage stab of grief that blindsided him. Hoping to minimize the fold, Jakob had carefully placed the photograph between the pages of his Bible—but when he’d opened his Bible, it had fallen open to Proverbs Thirty-one. Of all the passages, why that one? It described the attributes of a good wife. No other passage could have left him feeling more desolate.
He’d come out here to be alone, to have a chance to grieve. Phineas was smart enough to leave him alone. The last thing Jakob wanted was to talk with Hope.
“Ain’t that something?” Oblivious to the fact that he hadn’t even turned to acknowledge her, Hope approached the stall. “You done a smart thing, puttin’ Hattie and Jo as neighbors tonight. Let ’em get better acquainted.”
He grunted.
Cocking her head to the side, Hope studied Nicodemus. “How’s your gelding?”
Realizing she wasn’t going away, Jakob grudgingly replied, “I expect he’ll be better in a few days.”
“Like you said the day I drove up, you take good care of your livestock. Been right nice to my mule, too. She’s gotta memory long as her ears. Come mornin’, you’ll find her eager to show her appreciation.”
He made no reply as he checked the bolt to be sure Josephine wouldn’t get out of her stall. She seemed to have a talent for that. About once a week she’d be out of her stall and visiting one of the other beasts when Jakob opened the barn door. In times past, he’d thought Naomi or Phineas was playing a joke on him, but they weren’t.
“That’s some bolt you got on that stall. Never seen such a big ’un.”
“Josephine’s an escape artist. Even now, she lips this one until it slides free every so often.”
“Spirit. That’s a good quality. Whether it be in a critter or a child, it makes for a few headaches; but in the long run, ’tis the spirited ones what got the spark and the smarts that make ’em a cut above the best.”
“A cut above the rest.” As soon as he corrected her, Jakob wondered why he bothered. In a way, her mangled cliché held some truth. The best and brightest often required more of an investment, but they invariably paid dividends.
“Rest. Ain’t gonna be much more of that round here. Not with harvest upon us. Maybe God’s givin’ Nicodemus a few days to store up all the oomph it’ll take for him to pull his weight. Long as I’m here, though, you’re welcome to Hattie’s help.”
“He’ll be better.” He has to be. The timing couldn’t be worse. Besides, Hope won’t be here much longer at all—a week at most. Annie had said Hope figured she’d move on and help at least five more families this season. Jakob moved toward Nicodemus’s stall and looked at the huge bay gelding. Nicodemus allowed the hoof on his sore leg to still make full contact with the ground. That was a good sign. “Before I go to bed, I’ll take off his mud wrap. Might rub on some liniment.”
“I could mix you up a liniment if ’n you don’t have one.”
“I’ve got McLeans Volcanic.”
“Hoo-ooo-ie! If that don’t cure it, nothin’ will.”
Her emphatic reaction made him finally look at her.
Hope wrinkled her freckled nose. “That stuff stinks so bad, the hurt runs off begging for mercy.”
Even in his foul mood, her words forced Jakob to stop frowning. “It does smell bad.”
“Bad?”
A recollection of the pungent odor forced him to admit, “Terrible. It smells terrible.”
Hope crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “It rivals a skunk.”
She had a point, but more than what she said, it was her tone of voice that transmitted her opinion. Jakob’s lips twitched.
Hope’s eyes twinkled. “In an outhouse.”
The crazy woman had a way with words. When she didn’t intend to be amusing, she was, but now when she was trying, her humor sparkled. Almost against his will, Jakob felt an unaccustomed grin stretch his sunburned face.
Her brows went up, and she leaned the slightest bit toward him and tacked on, “In a wind—a stiff wind.”
A chuckle bubbled out of him.
Her laughter joined his. “I’m gonna be a stinker myself. If ’n you decide to use the liniment, I’m gonna run t’other way and let Phineas help you out. ’Bout the onliest help I’ll be is to offer you each a clothespin for your nose.” She gave her head a sorrowful shake. “Not that a clothespin would do much good. The fumes from that bottle of McLeans is still liable to make your eyes tear up and your nose run.”
“It’s strong.”
Her hazel eyes looked almost golden in the lantern light. “I’m thinkin’ on the way a simple bottle holds the powerful smell and fire of that liniment. Reminds me that it ain’t the vessel that counts, but what fills it.”
“The same can be said of man.”
“You shore said a mouthful there.” Rocking from heels to toes, Hope grinned at him. The hem of her skirt swayed back and forth, fanning bits of straw to flutter around her. “The abundance of the Lord God Almighty a-fillin’ us spills over. ’Tis a blessing and a joy. But that bottle’s somethin’ else entirely. Knowin’ what it holds makes me glad you’re the sorta man who’s mindful enough to check the lid to be sure it’s on right snug.”
“I’ll be sure it’s secure.” Her confidence in him—even though it regarded something that paltry—still counted as a compliment.
Hope caressed Hattie’s muzzle. “Jo ain’t
the kind to be jealous, is she?”
“Jealous of what?”
“Hattie’s straw hat, of course.” Hope continued to baby her animal.
“Her hat.” The woman’s mind skipped from one subject to the next, just as crazily as she jumped from one chore to another. It made no sense to him. “What made you think of her hat?”
“We’re talkin’ bout lids. Caps, hats, bonnets—”
No. Oh no. It was one thing for a woman to parade around with a decorated mule, but a man had his dignity. “Your mule won’t be wearing that hat while I’m working her.”
“You’ll be wearin’ your straw hat.”
Incredulous, Jakob stared at Hope. “That’s different.”
Hope nodded. “Yep.”
Relief flooded him. He’d made her see reason.
“Your ears don’t stick outta the top.”
A while later, Jakob sat at the dining table once again, only this time he’d read his Bible to Annie and Hope. He closed his Bible, taking care that the photograph stayed securely within the pages. “It is getting late.”
As if to punctuate his assertion, the clock struck ten. Annie set aside the tiny gown she’d been sewing.
“Thankee for reading to us.” Hope wiped the top of a jar. “Can’t you just ’magine how Balaam felt when that ass of his started talkin’? If ’n God ever started tellin’ me things through Hattie, I’d be scairt outta my skin. Smart as she is, she still don’t have nothin’ to say to me.”
If she could talk, she’d tell you to stop sticking that hat on her. Jakob’s chair scraped the floor as he stood. “God had a purpose.”
“Yup. Guess Balaam’s partly to blame that God ended up making the donkey talk. Imagine that Balaam feller beatin’ on that poor critter. Once the man saw the angel for himself, he understood, though. Reckon ’tis an important story, seein’ as it’s in the Bible, but it sorta settles poorly on me. Never could abide violence, though—not even in a story.”
Jakob asserted, “It was a long time ago.”
Annie took a lantern from the table and started toward the door. The room dimmed. “Ready, Hope?”
“You go on ahead, Annie. I got me a second breath of fresh air.”
“Almost every night, you get a second wind.” Annie sounded almost guilty.
“Hearing Mr. Stauffer read from the Good Book—well, it fills my heart so full, I gotta stay up and savor the words. Either that, or the story niggles at me, so I gotta figure out why it’s weighin’ on my mind. No use in me lying in bed, starin’ at the ceiling.”
“Mama was like that.” Annie’s voice held the softness of a treasured memory.
“If Mama were here, she’d shoo you off to bed.” Jakob took the kerosene lamp from his sister. Her shadow on the wall outlined her maternal condition. “You don’t need to go outside.”
She blushed.
“Mercy sakes, no.” Hope waggled her finger at Annie. “If Balaam’s donkey were here, he’d tell you to exercise your horse sense. Yep, he would. No one rides a horse at night when he’s got a roof over his head.”
A smile flickered across Annie’s face. “The man has the roof, or the horse?”
Jakob looked at his sister and marveled. He didn’t know how Hope did it, but she had managed to make Annie comfortable— comfortable enough to indulge in that teasing question. He’d noticed a change in his sister—she’d warmed up to the housekeeper, and Hope now called Annie by her first name. Those things gave Jakob a glimmer of hope for his sister. With time and loving care, perhaps she could recover.
Laughter bubbled out of Hope. “This here farm’s so fine, man and beasts all have roofs over their heads.” Her brow knit. “That made it sound like y’all have a bunch of heads apiece. Well, don’t make no never mind. Even with one head, you’re smart enough not to risk fallin’ and hurtin’ yourself out there in the dark.”
“Daddy?” Emmy-Lou whimpered from upstairs.
“Ja.” Jakob hastily set the lamp on the table and bolted up the stairs two at a time. “Ja, I’m right here.”
Emmy-Lou stood in the door to her room, afraid to step away from the shaft of moonlight and into the dark of the hallway. One hand curled around the doorframe, and she reached out for him. Small and shaking, her hand barely connected with his before she desperately curled her fingers around his.
Jakob scooped her up and clutched her to his chest. “See? I am here.”
“I was all alone.”
He wasn’t sure whether she meant she’d been alone in the room or was referring to the time last year when she’d fallen into the wellhole. The memory still haunted them both. “You aren’t alone. I’m here, and Aunt Annie is here.”
“And Miss Hope?”
“Yes. And Jesus.” She clung to him, as if she wanted to burrow into his shirt and stay buttoned against him forever. Jakob bent his head, kissed her temple, and murmured soft reassurances to her. The tension in her quivering muscles began to ease.
“How is she, Jakob?” Annie called up to him.
“It’s been hot as can be. I bet lil’ Emmy-Lou would like a nice, cool sip of water.” Hope stood at the foot of the stairs. Jakob noticed how she’d wound her arm around his sister, as if to share Annie’s concerns. “Would you like me to bring up a dipper, or do all y’all wanna come down here?”
“Daddy,” Emmy-Lou whispered against his neck, “I gotta go.”
Jakob carried her downstairs. Annie took her to the study where they now kept a chamber pot. When they came back out, Hope knelt down and swiped a cool dishrag over Emmy-Lou’s face and hands. “Didja listen to the music all them crickets are a-makin’? Sounds to me like the Lord Jesus gave ’em all teeny-tiny, itty-bitty fiddles, and all of ’em are playing songs to tell Him how they love Him.”
Emmy-Lou cocked her head to the side and listened. She whispered, “There’s lots of them!”
“Yup. I reckon there’s a star in the sky for every last one of them crickets. Betcha they start a-twinkling when the music gets a-goin’ so they can shine out their glory just like they did the night Baby Jesus got borned. Don’t you think so, Annie?”
“Ja. Bright and pretty.”
He didn’t know what the women discussed when he wasn’t around, but Jakob knew Hope understood his daughter was afraid of the dark. Whether or not she knew why . . . that didn’t matter at the moment. Her matter-of-fact approach and comforting thoughts erased some of the fear in Emmy-Lou’s wide eyes.
Hope set aside the dishcloth and pressed a little tin cup into Emmy-Lou’s hands. Emmy-Lou drank the water. “Thank you.” She yawned.
Hope took back the cup. “Did you say your night-night prayer tonight?”
Emmy-Lou whispered, “Yes.”
“No better way to end the day than to put yourself in God’s hands.” Hope gave her a hug. “You can snuggle up and listen to the crickets sing ’til you fall asleep.”
“Aunt Annie is tired, too. She’ll stay with you upstairs. Won’t you, Annie?” Jakob looked at his sister.
“I am tired.”
Annie and Emmy-Lou went upstairs. Jakob emptied the chamber pot and returned it to the corner of his office. When he came back out, he stopped cold and stared at the housekeeper. Anger pulsed through him. “What are you doing?”
Eight
When you went to go fetch your daughter, your Bible slipped from the edge of the table. Didn’t seem right, the Holy Bible layin’ on the floor. That picture fell out, too. Though the glass from the frame busted all over creation, I tacked the wood back, good as new.” Hope wandered to the far side of the dining table and hung the frame with the picture back inside it. “Come Wednesday, when you or Phineas take the butter, eggs, and milk to town, you can replace the glass.”
Relief sprouted in him—a small seed that grew and flowered the longer he gazed at the picture. It wasn’t ruined, after all. Throughout dinner, the empty spot on the wall where the picture had hung tore at him. Seeing Naomi there again felt right. Comforting.
For almost a year and a half, no one mentioned Naomi. Hope’s words felt like rain after a ten-year drought. “Naomi—” His voice caught. He hadn’t said her name aloud in ages. Emotion welled up, and he cleared his throat. “My wife was a good woman.”
Hope went back to the stove and stirred something. “What was your most favoritest thing ’bout her?”
The way she always hummed. Her serenity. The gentleness of her kiss.
But those all seemed so personal. “Her . . .” He paused. “She made everything better, brighter.”
Nodding, the housekeeper continued to stir the pot. “Contentment. It fills a home and heart. Leaves memories to treasure. From the grand coop you have, I betcha Naomi loved chickens.”
“She named the hens.” The admission surprised him. He hadn’t thought of that in years, not since he’d first heard her do it. The memory didn’t hurt like he expected . . . or maybe it was simply that Hope was easy to talk to.
“People names, or animal names?” She fished jars from the stove’s water reservoir.
“Names from the Bible to start with, but she ran out. There aren’t that many women in the Bible.”
“So what did she do next?”
Jakob drank the last of the coffee as Hope canned stewed tomatoes. He found himself telling her about Naomi. Nothing personal—but little things, recollections, bits and pieces of the life he’d once shared with the woman of his heart. Hope laughed at the right times and asked questions that led him down memory’s path. He’d missed Naomi so, and sharing her with Hope allowed him to savor what he’d had.
Hope treated the cans in a water bath to seal them properly and washed the pot and ladle. When she pumped water into the coffeepot and ground coffee beans for tomorrow’s breakfast, Jakob rinsed out his mug. “It’s late.”