Forevermore Read Online Free Page B

conditions he set.
    Hope slipped the last plate into the cupboard as she heard them returning, grateful she’d finished the dishes before Mrs. Erickson got back. The poor woman looked like a wrung-out mop. Throughout the day, Hope witnessed how little it took to tucker her out. Mr. Stauffer now wore the look of a man determined about something—only Hope couldn’t be sure whether he intended to hire her or send her packing. Well, even if he sent her packing, then God had allowed her one day’s worth of helping out a nice lady.
    The door opened, and Mrs. Erickson gasped. “You’ve done all of the dishes!”
    “There wasn’t many. ’Member how we already done that bunch after we made the shepherd’s pies? So what about them kitties?”
    “There are five!” Emmy-Lou clapped her hands delightedly. “Milky is hiding with them.”
    “And you are to leave her alone.” Mr. Stauffer tilted his daughter’s shining face up toward his. “New mamas don’t like everyone to bother their babies.”
    “So when Milky’s babies get bigger, can I hold them?”
    Mr. Stauffer cleared his throat. “We won’t keep all of them. One. I’ll let you keep one.”
    “Do I getta pick which one?”
    Hope glanced out the window. She’d forgotten the few things fluttering on the line. “I’d best bring them things in. They oughtta be dry by now.”
    Emmy-Lou piped up, “I’ll come with you.”
    Mr. Stauffer rested his hand on Emmy-Lou’s shoulder. “ Nein . You will stay in the house.”
    Guess that’s my answer. If’n he wanted to keep me on, he wouldn’t mind his little girl skippin’ ’long. Well, Lord, I’ll trust you to show me where to go next. Hope draped the dishcloth over a dowel to dry and walked out the back door.
    She’d hung her own quilt out to air. First off, she’d fold it up and put it in her cart. Afterward she’d take down the other things, carry in the wicker laundry basket, and say good-bye. Leaving the crazy quilt on the line, she took one side and folded it toward the other. Once again, she folded it, then lifted and dragged the warm, thick piece off the line.
    The textures of her quilt never ceased to bring pleasure. Feedsack cotton took on a special softness, but it was different than the downy nap of the occasional patches of velvet. Twenty-five thumb-sized yellow silk stars dotted the willy-nilly kaleidoscope of colors. One more fold, and—
    “Miss Ladley.”
    “Yes?” She finished her task.
    “Your letters . . .”
    “Oh. Hold on.” She walked to her cart and tucked the quilt along one side.
    Mr. Stauffer followed her, a frown plowing furrows across his forehead. She took the letters from him and tucked them beneath the quilt.
    “Mr. Stauffer, you don’t gotta say nothing. I understand.” Staring him straight in the eye would be rude—like she was challenging his decision, so she focused on the shirt button playing peek-a-boo with his red bandana. “I gotta say, that sister of yours—she’s dreadful tired. Them neighbors you mentioned, you’d best better fetch ’em straight off.”
    An odd sound curled out of him, forcing her to look up. The rows in his forehead deepened.
    “Mrs. Erickson—well, she’s hangin’ on by the thread of her teeth.”
    “Hanging . . .” He looked bewildered.
    “I was a-feared of that. What with you bein’ out and doin’ all your chores, you probably don’t see how hard it is for Mrs. Erickson to get stuff done. Just a few minutes of workin’, and she went white as a sheep.”
    “Don’t you mean white as a sheet?”
    “Nope. Sheep are white. You work with cattle so much, you forget what they look like? Okay, then, pale as a goat.”
    “I’ve seen plenty of sheep,” he muttered. “It’s supposed to be pale as a ghost.”
    “I’ve never seen a ghost. Hope I never do. How would I know how pale one is? Seems mighty wicked that a God-fearing body would truck with ghosts.”
    “It’s just a saying!”
    “Well, if it’s just a saying,