Forevermore

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “I’ll make breakfast.” Annie cast a glance at the stove, and her face fell. “You already started.”

  “Yup. But tell you what: If ’n y’all go on ahead and make shore the oatmeal don’t burn and maybe set the milk and buttermilk on the table, I’ll see to a few other chores.”

  “Hope is right. It’s early yet. Do I have time to milk the cows before breakfast?”

  “I can set the oatmeal aside and leave the lid on so it stays hot.” Annie chewed on her lower lip for an instant—one of the habits she’d never had until she’d married Konrad. The action tattled on how uncertain and easily flustered she’d become.

  “Better still, why don’t Phineas and I each milk a cow? That way, everything should be done about the same time. He can muck the stable while I go to town.”

  “Aunt Annie? Miss Hope? Daddy?” Emmy-Lou’s tone grew more shrill with each name.

  Jakob called, “We’re already downstairs, Liebling. Come down to us.”

  “Daddy?” Near panic still quavered in her tone.

  “I’m comin’ to fetch you.” Hope sounded easygoing, yet she mounted the stairs with notable speed. “Fact is, I needed to come grab my hairpins. I clean forgot ’em.” A second later, her voice drifted down the stairs to Jakob. “Now, lookee at that. See that purdy little wren out there?”

  “It’s too dark. I don’t see him.”

  Jakob tensed, ready to go up and soothe his daughter’s fears.

  “He hopped behind that branch, but you can still hear him.

  Betcha he heard the rooster and decided to make up a mornin’ song for hisself. You wanna sing a tune whilst we get you dressed and I pin up my hair?”

  “I shouldn’t have left her all by herself up there.” Distress twisted Annie’s features.

  “What will we sing?” Emmy-Lou asked.

  Jakob relaxed at how eagerness replaced the fearful tone in his daughter’s voice. “Emmy-Lou is fine, Annie. Hope is good with her. Listen . . . she’s already singing. It will take time, but she will get over her fears.” Jakob wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince his sister or himself. His cousin Miriam had been minding Emmy-Lou when the accident happened. Though no one else blamed her, Miriam couldn’t forgive herself or forget. She’d been every bit as anxious as Emmy-Lou—which was why she eventually left.

  Snatches of a ditty drifted down to him. Hope didn’t dwell on Emmy-Lou’s fear, but instead diverted her attention toward something fun. I should remember that trick.

  “She is singing.” Annie’s shoulders melted with relief.

  Jakob smiled at his sister. “See? All is well. I’m going to do the milking.” How many times had he reassured her about things since he’d brought her home? He’d smooth over whatever he thought concerned her, then let her know where he’d be. Lord, my daughter and sister are so . . . scared. So fragile. Surely you sent us Hope. I don’t know who needs her the most—Emmy-Lou or Annie. Almighty Father, help me now to keep Hope.

  Nine

  A nnie, the rosebush is gonna be bribin’ the dog if ’n it don’t get watered today.”

  “I’ll water it.” Annie set down her spoon and started to rise from the breakfast table.

  Hope motioned her to sit back down. “Thankee. I keep forgettin’ it. I reckoned on getting a bunch of things done ahead of time. Your brother says he’s hoping to hurry things up a bit and have harvest start tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” Annie looked horrified. “I’m not ready!”

  Concern shot through Jakob as he detected the frightened edge in her voice.

  Hope laughed. “Show me a woman who is! I ain’t ever seen one. But you and me—we’re a good team.” She nodded her head. “Yup. We work right fine together, don’tcha think?”

  “Yesss . . .” Annie stretched out the single syllable, testing what Hope asserted. “We do.”

  From the way a timid smile appeared on his sister’s face, Jakob knew Hope’s response was perfect. Gratitude filled him. “Hope, you’re right. Annie, you and Mama used to run around like chickens without their heads when Dad said harvest was upon us.”

  Annie nodded.

  “Women take care of their own farm and help out with the neighbors’ harvests. Hope’s probably done more harvest meals in one year than most women do in ten.” Jakob had no trouble sounding confident of that fact.

  “I’ve got a way of going about getting prepared and makin’ shore things get done. Annie, do y’all mind too much if ’n I get bossy and take over? I reckon I will anyway, but havin’ you agree would make me feel better.”

  “I don’t mind.” In fact, Annie sounded relieved.

  “Good. I wanna earn my keep. No use in your brother hirin’ me if ’n I don’t do a bang-up good job. Ain’t that right, Mr. Stauffer?”

  His mouth full, he mumbled, “Uh-huh.”

  “Goin’ from pillar to roast like I do—”

  “It’s from pillar to post,” Phineas corrected.

  Hope blinked at him, then threw back her head and laughed. “For true? I just always figured folks said it on account of women having to rush from the porch to the kitchen.”

  “Pillar to post is the cliché, but your version—it makes just as much sense.” Annie smiled.

  “Bless your heart, Annie, you gotta be one of the most kindest souls God ever made.”

  “She’s right.” Phineas stared over the rim of his mug at Annie.

  Annie swallowed hard and dipped her head.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass y’all with my words, Annie. ’Twas just that ya got a rare kindness in your heart, and I ’preciate it. Mr. Stauffer, how’s about you givin’ your sis them raisins for her oatmeal? She needs to build up her blood.”

  “No!” Annie went white, then flushed and stammered, “The men should have them.”

  “I already poured maple syrup on mine.” Phineas dug into his bowl for another bite. “No raisins for me.”

  “I got raisins already.” Emmy-Lou took a bite. “Mmmm-mmm!”

  Though he didn’t care whether he added anything other than a sizable plop of butter to his oatmeal, Jakob took a spoonful and passed the bowl to his sister. “Hope’s right, Annie. You need to eat a lot of these. Is there anything else you think Annie should eat, Hope?”

  “Liver, blackstrap molasses, and plenty of milk or cheese. Speaking of cheese, Annie, I thought we’d make farm cheese today. It’ll keep in the springhouse just fine. And we can use it to make kasenophla or to stuff bierocks. I’ll whip up a few batches of noodles today, and y’all can cut ’em. If ’n we keep ’em in the springhouse, they’ll still be nice and fresh so we can serve the men chicken and noodles. I like to measure all the dry ingredients for corn bread and cakes and drop biscuits, then store ’em in jars. Thataway, we can add the eggs and such and whip up gracious plenty real quick.”

  “Okay.” Annie scooped three paltry raisins into her bowl.

  “Lookee at what your auntie is doin’.” Hope tapped Emmy-Lou’s arm. “She made eyes and a nose. Do y’all think she’ll make a smile or a frown to go with ’em?”

  “Make a smile, please!”

  “A big one,” Jakob said. “Right, Hope?”

  “No other kind. I used to do that when I was a girl.”

  “You still are a girl.” Emmy-Lou wrinkled her nose and looked at Hope.

  Phineas started to laugh.

  Hope didn’t. She dipped her face and rested her forehead against Emmy-Lou’s. “Yup. But let me tell you a little secret: Deep inside of any grown-up is still a little piece of a child. Sometimes we get silly or scared, too.”

  “You do?” Emmy-Lou twisted to face him. “Do you, Daddy?”

  What man wanted to admit he couldn’t face life on his own— especially when his little daughter depended on him . . . and when his sister lived in such fear? A denial sprang to his lips, but his heart suddenly changed what came out of his mouth. “I have a heavenly Father. Just as you call for me when you are upset, I go to Him when I need help. In
the Bible, David did that a lot.”

  “Now, there’s a fact.” Hope subtly scooted Emmy-Lou’s cup so she wouldn’t spill her milk. “All of them psalms are David goin’ to God when he was happy or sad or ascairt.”

  Annie didn’t say anything, but she carefully made a small mouth on her oatmeal.

  Jakob plucked two raisins from the dish and poked them into her bowl. “Ears.”

  Annie gave him a startled look.

  Hope stood up, grabbed more, and leaned across the table. “I’m fixin’ to add dimples.”

  Phineas added eyebrows, and Emmy-Lou decided the mouth wasn’t big enough. Jakob couldn’t recall the last time they’d had such fun at the table. Annie laughed. Laughed! And she ate, too.

  The conversation drifted back to plans for the day. Hope announced, “Whilst you water the rose and Emmy-Lou helps you collect the eggs, I figured on picking vegetables and watering the garden.”

  “The hens hide their eggs in hard places. I can’t find a lot of them.” Emmy-Lou swirled her spoon in her oatmeal.

  “That’s why Aunt Annie and you work as a team.” It hadn’t escaped Jakob’s notice that Hope assigned the easy chores to his sister and kept the physically demanding ones for herself.

  “Them raisins—they make me think we could whip up a few pies. Raisin sour cream. Shoofly pie. Golden carrot pie. What else do all y’all like?”

  “Annie’s peach pie.” As soon as he spoke, Phineas cleared his throat and grabbed his coffee.

  “Along with cool water to drink, Naomi always brought a bushel basket of fresh peaches out to the field at midmorning.” Much to Jakob’s surprise, the memory didn’t bring pain this time. “I would like you to bring peaches, too.”

  “Emmy-Lou, you’ll remind us.” Hope smiled at his daughter. “That should be your job.”

  “I can do that!”

  Hope mentioned a few more tasks—assigning the easy ones to Annie again. She also got Phineas to pledge that he’d bring out the sawhorses and planks so they’d have several makeshift tables.

  Annie set down her spoon. “I’m not doing my fair share.”

  “That’s where you’re dead wrong.” Hope stretched far across the table and pressed her fingers down on Annie’s fingertips. The contact looked strangely intimate—strong, yet gentle. Tenderness whispered in Hope’s voice. “Every minute of every hour of every day, you’re a-weavin’ a miracle inside you. Ain’t no more important work than that. Ain’t nothin’ more sacred. Any of us could do these chores, but you—God’s trustin’ you to cradle that babe. Don’t get so caught up in the gotta-do-it-now’s that you forget you’re workin’ on something timeless.”

  Tears filled Annie’s eyes. “You’re too good to me.”

  Hope patted her hand. “Tell me that tonight, after I’ve bossed you around and worked you silly.”

  A sense of longing rushed through Jakob as he watched the exchange. What Hope did for his daughter, alone, was wonderful; but she was magnificent with his downtrodden sister. What would it take to get Hope to stay? And how long would she be willing to remain here instead of living her rootless existence, chasing employment from one place to the next? Jakob opened his mouth to ask Hope to stay, but he thought better of it. Hope’s contentment with her wandering life could lead her to refuse his offer. If she turned him down, his sister and daughter would be crushed.

  “I think Hope wants to get rid of us so they can start working.” Phineas wiped his mouth.

  They recited their after-meal prayer; then Jakob went out to hitch up the buckboard for his trip to town. He didn’t know when the right opportunity would emerge for him to ask Hope to stay after the harvest. But I must. Annie and Emmy-Lou need her so.

  “Someone’s coming.” Annie tried to brush a powdery clump of flour from her cuff as a buckboard drove up. She didn’t sound excited in the least. In fact, from the look in her eyes, Annie didn’t want anyone dropping in.

  “I’ll answer the door.” Hope dried her hands off on the hem of her apron. Never once had Annie mentioned her husband, yet she wasn’t wearing mourning attire. If her husband had passed on more than a year ago, she wouldn’t be with child. Nothing added up. Most of all, Annie seemed uncertain, jumpy . . . fearful.

  Hope opened the door and spied Phineas jogging over to the buckboard. He called to her, “It’s the ladies from Forsaken!”

  Hope turned back. “Didja hear that, Annie? It’s Velma and that English lady. I don’t recollect her name.”

  “Sydney.” Relief colored Annie’s voice. “Sydney Creighton.”

  Emmy-Lou let out a squeal. “She’s the one who saved me from the dark wellhole!”

  The two women came in, and the older one planted her hands on her ample hips. “We ran into Jakob in town. Had we known they’d be starting the harvest tomorrow, we would have been here yesterday!”

  “Hope is doing so much already, but it is nice to see you.”

  “Hmpf. You need to be an octopus to get everything done.” Velma shook her finger at Annie. “And I ordered you to rest more. Well, while I’m here, let’s go on upstairs and have a look at you.”

  Sydney Creighton walked through the kitchen and took an apron off a peg. “I’ll help with the pies while you’re doing that.”

  “I’m baking, too!” Emmy-Lou proudly showed the scraps of pie crust that she’d rolled out and dusted with cinnamon sugar.

  “Ohhh,” Sydney said. “Do you think maybe I could cut that into strips and we could bake them so we ladies could have tea together?”

  “Can we? Please?”

  “I think so, don’t you, Hope?” Annie looked to her.

  “ ’Tis a dandy notion. I reckon Miss Velma should go on up and check you out, Annie. Miss Velma, I’d take it kindly if ’n y’all would come back down and tell me what Annie needs. We wanna make shore to do all we can to help her out. Gotta tell you, it does my heart good, knowin’ you’re round to call upon when our Annie’s time of need arrives.”

  Velma and Annie went upstairs. Velma called over her shoulder, “We’re not going to have tea and leave. We’re staying through lunch and most of the afternoon.”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Creighton straightened her apron. “The first thing I ever learned to bake was pie.”

  Velma’s snickers reverberated in the stairwell.

  Sydney’s eyes twinkled. “To everyone’s relief, I’ve gotten much better at it. What kind are we making today?”

  Hours later, when they stood on the porch and waved goodbye, Hope wrapped her arm around Annie’s shoulders and squeezed. “Wasn’t it just like God to send them ladies here?

  Velma knew just what all the other ladies’ll be bringin’, so that saved us a bunch of time.”

  Annie scanned the kitchen and nodded.

  I’ve got ’til Saturday to get her through the harvest. Sunday at church, could be someone else’ll wanna hire me to help at their place. Leavin’ here’ll be hard, though.

  “I worry. There’s so much to be done, and I’ll probably forget something important.”

  Hope crossed her eyes and huffed. “That’s why I’m here. I’ll take care of things, and when I forget something, you’ll remind me. We work together right good—like a hand in love.”

  Concern painted Annie’s face. “Do you truly think we’re ready for tomorrow?”

  “Yep. This is gonna be a fine harvest dinner the farm’ll lay out. We got more done today than a whole army of ants.”

  “We would have gotten more done if I hadn’t taken a nap.”

  Hope giggled. “We woulda gotten less done, on account of me and Velma woulda taken turns sittin’ on you to make you stay put.”

  Emmy-Lou gasped. “Would you really sit on her?”

  “If ’n I did, it would be her fault.” Hope felt Annie go stiff. Immediately regretting her comment, she tacked on, “But your auntie is a very good woman. We won’t ever have to worry ’bout that. Annie, you shore got some fine neighbors, don’tcha?”

  Annie sta
mmered, “I’m glad you thought to offer them some peaches.”

  “That made Velma happy ’nuff, but Sydney’s tickled pink you gave her that peach pie. She claims her man’s got a fearsome sweet tooth.”

  “I should get back to work.” Annie scanned the kitchen. “What do you want me to do?”

  Hope played with Emmy-Lou’s curls. “ ’Member how you helped sweep the floor the other day? After all our work today, that floor shore could use it. How ’bout you bein’ a big girl and seein’ to that?”

  “Okay!” Emmy-Lou dashed inside.

  When Annie turned to follow, Hope stopped her. “I know Velma says you’re doin’ fine, but that don’t mean you gotta work ’til you pop.” She glanced meaningfully at Annie’s tummy. “And since ’tis just you an’ me out here, I’ll tell you, it looks like you’ll pop right soon.”

  Annie’s features tightened. “No. Not for a while. I can still work. Really. What do you want me to do? Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”

  Hope tried to think of something minor. Simple. Easy. “We’ve been real busy with all the cookin’. Seein’ as we’ll have neighbor women droppin’ in to help at noon tomorrow, maybe someone will play the piano. Rubbin’ them ivory keys with a cloth you dampen with milk sure makes them shine. Little things like that are good finishin’ touches, don’tcha think?”

  Annie nodded. “I’ll do it. Right away.” Only she wouldn’t meet Hope’s gaze.

  Some folks were timid. Shy and unsure of themselves. It was the temperament God gave them. It could be that Annie Erickson fell into that category. Hope tried to tell herself Annie was just hot and tired. Then, too, most women grew anxious about feeding all the harvesters. They wanted to put on an ample, tasty spread to thank the men and entice them back again the next season.

  None of those facts explained everything, though. Annie apologizes for every little thing. When Emmy-Lou spilled her milk, and when the picture frame fell and broke, Annie got jumpy and looked ready to burst into tears. Women who are with child tend to be emotional but . . . Hope shook her head.