Forevermore by Cathy Marie Hake Read Free Book Online

Well, almost. She curled her toes on the smooth planks for a moment before cramming them into her boots. Across the barnyard, the rooster started warming up.
    G’morning, Lord. I shorely do love the way you start the day—with all them purdy gold and pink ribbons streamin’ ’cross the sky as it turns lavender. ’Tis like you got yourself a paint box to fix up a new picture every mornin’. Takes my breath away, how each one is different from the last. I gotta praise you for that. And, God, ’tis plain to see why you sent me here. These folks—they need a helpin’ hand. Ain’t just a hand, neither—leastways, not just mine. They’re sore in need of your touch. The Good Book says you walked in the garden with Adam and Eve. Ain’t my farm, but I’m givin’ you the invite to come walk this garden with me. Make my heart still so I can hear what you want me to say and do for these folks.
    The door opened. “Miss Ladley? You are up early again.”
    Hope turned. “Dawn’s my most favoritest time of the day. Sky’s so beautiful, it makes me wanna reach up and touch each of them streaks.” She stood and dusted off the back of her dress.
    If he hadn’t crooked his brow slightly, she might have thought he hadn’t heard her.
    “You didn’t answer me last night ’bout the peaches. You gonna take most of ’em to town or ship ’em off by rail? Could earn yourself a purdy penny thataway.”
    “Monday.” He strode past her and out to the barn.
    Well, his plan made sense. By the time he picked and packed bushels of peaches today, he’d have to wait ’til early tomorrow to take them off—and shipping food on Saturday would be foolish.
    “Oh!” Hope chased after him. “Mr. Stauffer!”
    He turned.
    She stopped a few feet away. “I wanted to ask—well, that office of yours is a wondrous place, and I don’t mean you no insult, but that sis of yours . . .” She took a deep breath. “A woman in her last months uses the necessary a dreadful lot. Nighttime trips to the outhouse are wearin’ her out. I’d be careful to empty out a chamber pot straightaway each mornin’ if’n you wouldn’t mind me tuckin’ it in that study at bedtime each night for her.”
    A curt nod, then he turned and continued on.
    Hope scanned the yard and scuffed her toe in irritation. “If’n I find the cat, I’ll bet she got that man’s tongue.”
    “I’ve been thinkin’ on what we can fix ahead for the menfolk to eat, come harvest.” Hope settled the last screen of peaches atop the large stack and covered the whole affair with netting to keep out insects. “I reckoned we could make a big ol’ mess of noodles and dry ’em. Whaddya think?”
    “That would be smart.”
    “Dandy. We’ll need eggs to make noodles, but that henhouse is brimming with ’em. Do y’all want Emmy-Lou to come with me whilst I feed the chickens and go work the garden, or do y’all want her to help you gather the eggs?”
    “I can feed the chickens. They’re good scratchers. We don’t have to feed them as much as some of the new, fancy breeds.” Mrs. Erickson took Emmy-Lou’s hand.
    “Uh-huh. Dominiques are fine chickens. Hearty and lay mighty tasty brown eggs. I always like the brown eggs better.” Hope walked alongside them toward the coop. “You’ll never imagine what I heard early in the spring this year.”
    Emmy-Lou continued to trot along. “What?”
    “There’s a feller named Wilson clear back in New Jersey.
    He built hisself an incubator that handles four hundred eggs at a time. Well, newborn chicks don’t gotta eat or drink for a day and a half, so he’s taken to shipping day-old chicks by rail express clear to Chicago!”
    “You don’t say!” Mrs. Erickson’s face clouded over. “Those poor chickies.”
    “You’ve been to Chicago?” Emmy-Lou wrinkled her nose. “Is that way, way far away like Dallas?”
    “I’ve been to Dallas, but not to Chicago. It’s much, much farther away; but a farmer’s wife came back