Enchanted Spring by Peggy Gaddis Read Free Book Online

voice. Then a stout, middle-aged woman, who wore a clean snowy apron over her rustling black frock, bustled out of the group about the door and seemed literally to envelop Carey in her warm, friendly welcome. “These folks are all neighbors of yours, but ‘twouldn’t do a mite o’ good for me to introduce ‘em all now. You couldn’t remember all the names, anyway. Just take it that they’re friends and welcome you home. And come and have some supper. I know you must be mighty near starved.”
    And without a chance to say a word, Carey felt herself drawn into the wide, old-fashioned hall, where a huge fire roared up a wide chimney. She saw smiling faces all about her; heard murmurs of friendly voices; was drawn into a vast dining room where a long table had been spread with a spotless cloth and where plates had been laid for more than a dozen. Carey’s eyes widened as she saw the food on the table; three elaborate cakes beautifully iced; dozens of small bowls and jars of pickles and preserves and jellies; a platter of cold roast ham; another of hot fried chicken, a vast bowl of thick cream gravy, plates of piping hot biscuits — she had never seen so much food at one time or in one place in her life.
    “Sit down, dearie,” said the friendly woman who was obviously the self-elected head of the welcoming committee. She took Carey’s gray coat and helped the girl into a chair. “Everybody find places and set. I know this child is starved. There ain’t no diner on that train they was on until six o’clock, and they ain’t had a mouthful of victuals since noon.”
    There was a general rustling and movement as the others found chairs. Then Joel and the nurse came in, supporting between them an eager, excited Silas.
    “I tried to put him to bed,” Joel explained to Carey, “but he threatened to run a temperature on me if I did.”
    “I insist on seeing my neighbors,” Silas said eagerly. “And by the way, I never before realized how beautiful that old word was. And I don’t know how to thank you for — this welcome home.”
    “Well, sakes alive,” said the self-elected head of the welcoming committee, “it’d be a fine thing if Midvale’s most famous citizen come home to a cold, empty house and with no food on the table.”
    She studied Silas for a long moment and then she grinned impishly, a grin that made her look years younger as she said, “You ain’t changed much, Si, since the days when I used to switch your little legs for running away from home to go swimming in the creek.”
    Silas stared at her and suddenly he cried,
“Ellen!
But it can’t be — not Ellen Watkins, who was the prettiest girl in town — ” He caught himself up and colored painfully, then said awkwardly, “I — well, Ellen, it’s good to see you again.”
    Ellen grinned cheerfully. “Ellen Watkins that was, Si,” she told him comfortably. “Ellen Hogan that is. I was sixteen when I worked for your mother that summer, mostly keeping you from getting drowned in the creek. I married Bob Hogan the next fall.”
    Silas looked swiftly about the table and said, “But where is Ed?”
    “He — died nearly nine years ago, Si,” Ellen said after the faintest possible hesitation.
    Carey set her teeth hard against the resentment that swept over her at hearing her father called by any such ridiculous name. She was worn out, nervous, strained — and she felt as though she hated these people. She didn’t want to be welcomed and warmed and fed and surrounded by a lot of middle-aged strangers whose eyes were friendly and warm — but avid with sharp curiosity, too. She felt as though their eyes were prying, prodding, trying to ferret out her innermost secrets. She wanted nothing in the world but to be let alone.
    She shivered as she looked about her. The dining room was a big, square room. Its walls were of unpainted pine that had merely darkened and mellowed with age without acquiring the slightest shred of charm. The huge