Woman of Grace Read Online Free Page B

just wanted to make it clear who her real mother is.”
    “Oh, you did, Mr. MacKay,” Hannah said through gritted teeth as she walked from the kitchen. “You most certainly did.”

    The next week passed in a crazy, frantic haze of activity. Three more hands came down with the influenza, as did Conor’s ten-year-old daughter, Beth. Save for the most minimal of maintenance duties, such as feeding and watering the livestock, work at Culdee Creek virtually ground to a halt. Those not stricken were called into caring for those who were.
    Though Ella improved a bit each day, her condition was still too precarious to risk her catching the dreaded influenza. Devlin—one of the few still healthy workers—tried to do his part by limiting contact with his wife, even going so far as to bed down at night in the kitchen. As much as she could Hannah also tried, for Ella’s sake, to avoid Culdee Creek’s other residents—Evan included. Though she wrote him a short, daily note to cheer him up as he recovered from his own bout of influenza, his return missives made it clear he missed her sorely.
    For Hannah, time not required preparing meals, washing clothes, and caring for the children was spent talking with and reading to Ella in her and Devlin’s bedroom. She helped the other woman when she needed it and played games with Jackson and Ella’s two older children when she didn’t. From time to time, the confined quarters became too close, and Hannah would bundle up Devlin Jr. and Mary to play outside in the snow.
    She also continued to nurse Bonnie, for Ella’s milk had indeed dried up. Each time the infant was finally sated, however, Hannah quickly changed her, then laid her in her mother’s arms. It was a time Hannah came to cherish. The two women talked of many things. As the days passed, the cordial relationship that had been slowly developing over the past year grew into a deeper trust and friendship.
    “You know,” Ella said one particularly overcast, windy day as she rested in her bed with Bonnie sleeping contentedly at her side, “I used to think she’d have my red hair, but now I’m not so sure. It’s already”—she fingered the fuzzy thatch on her daughter’s head—“much darker than mine.”
    Hannah glanced up from the embroidery work she was applying to a hand-stitched, lace-edged table runner. She leaned forward in the rocker she had pulled up close to Ella’s bed and studied Bonnie’s hair. “Yes, it is darker, but I still see glints of red. Perhaps she’ll have auburn hair.”
    Ella smiled. “That’d be nice. A pleasing combination, at long last, of Devlin’s and my hair colors after my carrot-topped son and brown-haired little Mary.”
    “They’ll make a pretty trio, won’t they,” Hannah observed, “all lined up and ready for school?”
    “Yes, they will.”
    The conversation eased then into a comfortable silence. Hannah resumed her careful stitching. The rose and ivy motif was filling in nicely. She was quite pleased with the various shades of vermilion she had chosen for the flowers. Combined with the vibrant blooms, the rich emerald and forest green threads of the ivy leaves made a striking contrast against the ivory linen cloth.
    “You’ve really a talent with the needle,” Ella commented from beside her. “I’ve never seen such even, delicate stitches, or such a flair for design and color.”
    Hannah could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She still found it hard to accept, much less believe, a compliment. “I learned from a true artist,” she replied finally. “My dear friend, Hu Yung, taught me how to sew. It passed the long hours after we were both finally free from our night’s work, filling the day with a semblance of refinement and beauty.
    “Or at least so it seemed to us.” Hannah smiled in sad remembrance. “We were deluding ourselves, of course, but at least it helped us endure the nightmares to come each night. We always had each other and our beautiful sewing