Forevermore

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Phineas rode alongside him. “I hope we didn’t pass up supper at the Smiths’ only to go without. Don’t suppose Hope thought she’d have to fix a meal, not with us staying so late.”

  Shrugging, Jakob said, “There’ll be enough leftovers to tide us through.”

  “The way the men gobbled up everything in sight, I’d be surprised if there’s a bite left.” Phineas took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Good thing we all ate such a hearty lunch.”

  “Ja.” Neither of them mentioned the skimpy sandwiches “Gramma” served them late in the afternoon. She’d served them the best she could. Everyone knew the Smith larder was low. Because of that, the men proclaimed supper would be waiting back at their own homes.

  Phineas chuckled softly. “Did you see Leopold’s face when you told Gramma not to feed us supper?”

  “No,” Jakob said wryly, “but I heard him ask Richardson if Marcella was cooking tonight.”

  “For Marcella’s sake, I hope she’s as good a cook as Sydney Creighton claims.”

  Jakob guided his mount to the side a little to avoid a gopher hole. “Mrs. Creighton was a godsend—not just for Big Tim, but for Richardson’s daughters. I don’t know what she’s been teaching them, but it’s obviously working. Who would have thought one of his daughters would catch a beau, let alone two of them?”

  “Whoa!” Phineas stopped dead in his tracks. “You? You want Marcella, too?”

  “Nein!” Jakob halted his mount and gaped at Phineas. “What gave you that cockeyed notion?”

  “You said Marcella had caught two beaux.”

  Emphatically shaking his head, Jakob hurried to correct his hired hand’s misconception. “I meant two of the daughters had each caught her own beau.”

  “Phew.” Phineas jostled the reins to start back into motion. “You had me scared there.”

  “I don’t figure I’ll marry again. There was only woman for me.”

  Silence hovered between them as the shadows deepened. For a moment, the light ahead of them went out, then shone again. Phineas cleared his throat. “Konrad—does he know? About the baby?”

  “No.”

  “So.” Phineas said the single syllable only as a German male could—with finality. It carried no question, no challenge—only acknowledgment.

  “Annie’s staying here. Forever.” As far as Jakob was concerned, all that needed to be said was said. He continued to stare straight ahead at the beacon shining from the dining room window.

  “I saw the bruises, and the fear in her eyes. . . .” Phineas let out a tortured sound. “The day you brought her home, I saw her.”

  They’d never spoken of it. Such a matter was intensely private. Surprised that his hired hand broached the subject now, Jakob remained silent.

  Phineas drew in a deep breath. His voice shook. “When Annie was a girl, I held a special place in my heart for her. Now she is another man’s wife—but I would lay down my life before I let Konrad take her back.”

  It was not a boastful proclamation; it was a promise of protection. Jakob appreciated the vow, but he also owed it to Phineas to reassure him the matter was settled.

  “He can’t take her back. I still own the family farm. I allow him to use the land and keep the profit, but only so long as he stays away from Annie.”

  “Annie is worth more than the land, but Konrad—he is a greedy man, Jakob. The time will come when he won’t be satisfied.” When Jakob made no reply, Phineas growled, “He’s already wanting more, isn’t he?”

  “The harvest—it was good. I can pay him a little once I sell the wheat.” Until then, Jakob would barely eke by. Clark at the mercantile and Vaughn at the feedstore would extend him credit, but he’d managed to remain debt-free until now. Phineas was right, though. Konrad’s greed had already surfaced and strained matters.

  “Pay him; don’t pay me.”

  Jakob shot him a startled look. “It shouldn’t come to that.

  The laborer is worthy of his hire. You—”

  “I have food in my belly, a roof over my head, and clothes on my back. What kind of man would I be, what kind of friend or Christian brother, if I took money I don’t need and put a woman in jeopardy?”

  “Annie is here. Safe.”

  “But for how long?” Phineas halted his horse. “Konrad will push for more. Use my pay to help buy your sister’s freedom.”

  “It shouldn’t come to that. I’ve been careful.” Jakob jostled the reins to make his horse move forward again. They rode in complete silence until reaching the barnyard. Jakob ordered in an undertone, “We’re done—understand?”

  The moon cast a bluish tone over the earth, leaving half of Phineas’s face in shadow. The other half showed icy resolve as the hired hand curtly nodded once.

  Hope sat out on the front porch in a wicker chair, crocheting. Beyond a shadow of doubt, Jakob knew this was the first time in days she’d rested. Her everyday dress looked like a damp brown dishcloth, and a plethora of tiny curls sprung free from her coiled braid. A lamp next to her illuminated them into a nimbus. It reminded him of the dandelion she’d held up to the first rays of sunlight and gently blown upon.

  Imbedded in that memory was the understanding that once Annie had the baby and was back on her feet, Hope would leave. The thought hit hard—harder than it ought. Maybe it was because under Hope’s tender care, his sister seemed less timid, less frightened. Hope built up his sister with honest praise. This morning, she’d come running when he called and protected his sister with her own unique brand of humor and bossiness.

  The same hand that shook a ladle at him this morning now wielded a tiny steel hook and a filament of the stringy stuff women used to crochet. A delicate, lacy little pair of rows didn’t give a hint as to what she’d started to make. She didn’t pause working, but jutted her chin to their left. “Saw you men a-comin’. Wash bucket’s yonder. Annie’s takin’ her Saturday bath, so I reckoned you’d appreciate a quick cool down to spruce up ’til you get your turn and before you eat.” Her voice didn’t carry its usual lilt of happiness, but tired as she was, that seemed understandable.

  “Reckon you men are hungry ’nuff to eat the north end of a possum headin’ south, so I fixed y’all plates. They’re under the towel on that other bench.”

  The door opened a crack. “Hope?”

  Hope set aside her handiwork. “I’m a-comin’.” As she rose, she said, “Hot as it got and hard as you worked, you gotta be miserable. I’ll be stayin’ inside now to help Annie rinse out her hair, so if ’n the both of you wanna strip off your shirts ain’t no reason you can’t.”

  The soft, indistinguishable sounds of the women talking in the house drove home how Hope had brought serenity with her—an odd variety of peace, to be sure. Instead of it being a thick wool blanket, it was a crazy quilt that still enveloped them all. My thinking—it is fanciful. Just because she’s eased Annie’s life is no reason to start imagining things that aren’t to be.

  “Are you thinking what I am?” Phineas shrugged out of his shirt.

  Jakob gave him a wary look. “What are you thinking?”

  “Hope—she twisted another saying around. It’s supposed to be the south end of an animal going north. She mixed it up, but . . .” He grinned. “It still made sense. I don’t know how she does it.”

  “She has her own ways.” After sluicing the water over himself, Jakob briskly tumbled the bar of Pears soap round and round in his hands to work up a suds. In no time at all, he and Phineas sank down onto the chairs and whisked back the covering to get to the food.

  “Mmmm.” Phineas grabbed for a plate.

  Jakob stared at his. Slices of melon ringed the edge, then four drumsticks formed a box around a small bowl of ricotta cheese. Only Hope would take the time and trouble to serve food in a pretty arrangement. It all looked appealing and refreshing and generous. Ten short minutes later, the food had more than fulfilled its promise to sate his hunger. Something didn’t feel right, though. Maybe i
t was because he and Phineas had discussed Annie’s predicament.

  “It’s odd, the cows not bawling.” Phineas set down his plate and tilted his head to the side. “Do you think—”

  “Hope must have milked them.” There’s no telling what else she’s done. There she was again, doing, solving, making all his worries easier.

  Phineas rose. “I’ll go unsaddle and stable the horses.”

  “I’m so filthy, I could shake off an acre of dirt.” Jakob stretched. “It’s a good thing we have Sunday tomorrow. If it weren’t normal time for a bath, I’d still shove you into a tub. You smell worse than a sick billy goat.”

  “And you”—Phineas headed down the steps—“smell like a dead billy goat. Hurry up in the tub so I’ll still have warm water, will you?”

  “Ja.” He knocked on the door.

  “The coach is clear,” Hope called out.

  A smile tugged at his mouth. Hope and her slaughtered sayings. Jakob grabbed the plates and went inside. He set them down by the sink and looked at the enormous aluminum washtub in the center of the kitchen. Big pots of water sat on the stove, promising the luxury of a hot soak for his tired muscles. For the first time, Hope didn’t meet his gaze.

  “Hope, Phineas and I—we’re filthy. You should bathe first.”

  She looked up and swallowed hard. Instead of the joy that normally sparkled in her warm hazel eyes, aching misery shimmered there.

  “What is it?”

  “We gotta talk. I’m not shore, but I’m pretty shore—well, I ain’t a doctor or nothin’, so what I think ain’t really—”

  “What is it?” he repeated, his voice sharp.

  “It’s Emmy-Lou. I think you need to take her to a doctor right away. First thing tomorrow.”

  The acrid taste of fear filled his mouth. “Why?”

  “It’s her eyes. She can’t hardly see nothin’ at all.”

  “What makes you think there’s something the matter with her eyes?”

  “Lotta things. She’s ascairt of the dark.”

  Relief started to trickle through him. “All children are. She’s doing much better—especially since you taught her that song.”

  Sadly shaking her head, Hope sagged against the cupboard. “Ain’t just that. She’s always losin’ her dolly, even when it’s close by.”

  “Carelessness.”

  “When she’s outside the house, she always stays beside someone.”

  “Because I’ve admonished her to.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “See? It’s nothing.”

  “I thought so, too. And I thought when she tripped or bumped into things and when she banged into your weddin’ picture and broke it—them was all accidents or clumsiness. But it’s more. I wish with all my heart it wasn’t nothin’ more, Mr. Stauffer, but wishin’ don’t make things true.”

  “You’re tired.” Every woman was after feeding all the harvest hands. And Hope’s been getting up extra early and going to bed late ever since she arrived, just to get more done. When I got home, I saw she was tired, but I didn’t realize just how exhausted she’s become. A weary woman’s liable to notice something minor and let her fears grow rampant. Naomi had been that way, and he’d learned to listen and calmly point out that matters weren’t so bad after all. A few reassurances, some sleep, and Naomi did fine. Hope was every bit as resilient. Jakob felt sure he knew how to handle her. “A good night’s sleep, and everything will look different in the morning.”

  Hope rubbed her forehead and made a small sound. When her hand dropped, tears turned her eyes into molten gold. “I wisht all this would be a bad dream and a little sleep would make it go away, but it won’t.”

  Compassion filled him. She’d worked herself silly and wouldn’t rest until she let out her worries. He’d listen and let her speak her piece, then soothe her fears. “What makes you so sure something’s wrong, Hope? Annie and I haven’t noticed anything.”

  “Neither did I. Not really. Not ’til today. This mornin’, she couldn’t see dandelion fluff.”

  When he’d called to Hope this morning, he’d seen her showing his daughter the “wishy.” How could Emmy-Lou have missed seeing the white flecks glowing and glittering in the morning light? He’d spotted them even from the porch.

  Distress grew in Hope’s tone. “This afternoon, she couldn’t see the pictures in the big storybook, even though all the other kids saw ’em without any trouble.”

  “Maybe someone was in her way.” Jakob searched for a simple explanation, only now he was trying not only to reassure Hope, but also himself. Each thing she’d said was minor, but put together, the facts became unsettling. Very unsettling. “My Emmy-Lou—she’s small.”

  “When Emmy-Lou woke up from her nap, she couldn’t even see the mice in the book, and her little nose—it was practically touchin’ the page. Somethin’s sore wrong, Mr. Stauffer.”

  Alarm poured through him. “Show me the book. Maybe the picture was blurry or something else was bigger. Or more interesting.”

  With leaden steps, Hope went to the parlor. She picked up a large, thin book. “I’ll show you the page.” Fingers made awkward by worry, Hope fumbled to open the middle of the front of the book, then leafed past a few pages before flopping the storybook wide for him to inspect the whole scene. “Do y’all see any mice, Mr. Stauffer?”

  He barely heard her question. The illustration showed several mice. They weren’t faintly sketched in or hidden among several other objects where an unobservant or distracted child would miss them. Taking the book into his own hands, Jakob stared at the picture. “My Emmy-Lou—you say she did not see these mice?”

  Sixteen

  Nary a one.” Hope’s voice trembled. “I didn’t say nothin’ to Annie. Your sister—she’s got plenty enough to worry over without me addin’ to the burden on her mind. Besides, you bein’ Emmy-Lou’s pa, I reckoned it was best to talk to you first.”

  He nodded somberly.

  “But once I started a-watchin’ close-like, so many little things walloped me in the eye. Didja know Emmy-Lou says ’tis hard to find eggs here and ’tis easier at the other places? Your Dominiques lay brown eggs. Most everybody else’s hens lay white eggs. And ever notice how the toes of her shoes are scuffed dead straight on? She bumps into the first step on the stairs before she picks up her foot.”

  She’s right. Emmy-Lou does that. Jakob felt as if he’d been kicked in the chest by Hattie. All he could do was stare at the book. The mice in the picture seemed to mock him. His daughter couldn’t see well enough to enjoy the simple pleasure of the illustration. His gaze dropped—and the words of the story enclosed in scroll-like boxes toward the bottom of the page drove home another awful truth. “If what you say is true, she won’t see the letters. My daughter can’t learn to read.”

  “I thought on that.” Hope gently tugged the book from him, closed it, and set it aside on the parlor table. “Maybe eyeglasses would help. Could be, a doctor could fix her up with spectacles.”

  Grasping at that possibility, he nodded once, emphatically. “Yes. Spectacles.”

  “But if ’n the doctor says eyeglasses won’t help, ’twon’t be the end of the world.” Hope lifted her chin and finally met his gaze. “You been a-readin’ to me, and so has Annie. Emmy-Lou will have y’all to read ’loud to her. She won’t lack because you’ll meet her need.”

  Denial sprang to his lips, but Jakob caught himself just before speaking. Hope couldn’t read, and if he bemoaned the horrid void illiteracy would cause, Hope might think he was ridiculing her.

  “I reckoned you oughtta be told, but I figured a man should eat his supper in peace first.” Regret filled Hope’s eyes and voice. “Ain’t right for me to keep anything back from you—’specially ’bout your loved ones. I got to thinkin’ on how Jesus didn’t mind healin’ folks on the Sabbath and knew you’d wanna carry Emmy-Lou to the doctor soon as the rooster rose.”

  Raking his hand through his hair, Jakob grimaced. “I wouldn’t let the doctor here treat a ha
ngnail.”

  “Velma said somethin’ ’bout him bein’ a quack. I hoped ’twas just about birthin’ and not ’bout other things.”

  “I try to give a man a chance. Doctors—they can’t fix everything. Even their best isn’t always going to make things better. The Tyson kid—Doc set his broken leg.”

  Hope winced. “The one what hobbles, and his foot goes out cockeyed?”

  Jakob nodded. “It was a bad break. At the time, the doc boasted he’d done well not to amputate. But then he rubbed goose grease and ashes into Slim Garner’s burned arm, and the whole thing putrified. Velma barely kept Slim alive. Since then, he’s done other things that prove he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I won’t trust Doc with my daughter.”

  “Where’ll you take her?”

  He searched his mind for someplace that might have a decent physician. “Abilene. Fuller over on Forsaken went to Abilene to take a cure for his rheumatism. He said the doctor there was good.”

  Hope crammed her fists into the pockets of her apron. “Good.” She cast a quick glance at the tub. “I’ll go on out and crochet more. You take yourself a nice hot soak.”

  “After you.”

  She shook her head. “Mr. Stauffer, sir, you need to get yourself to bed so’s you can head out first thing in the mornin’. I’ve got some deep thinkin’ and prayin’ that’ll keep me up.”

  “Pray hard.”

  Later, Jakob lay in bed and peered through the dark. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than his beloved, motherless daughter going blind. Terrified of the dark, how would Emmy-Lou ever survive without her sight? Lord, please don’t rob Emmy-Lou of her sight.

  Dozens of memories surfaced where Emmy-Lou had bumped into something, spilled her milk, or rubbed her eyes. I should have realized it. What if it’s too late to save what vision she has left because I didn’t pay attention?

  He heard rustling downstairs. It was long past the time that Hope had taken her bath, so he knew it was safe to descend the stairs. Needing to escape his jumbled thoughts, Jakob headed for the kitchen.