Pearl by Lauraine Snelling Read Free Book Online Page B

change then.’’ Belle, amber eyes lined with kohl, lips red as raspberries, and with the hauteur of a foreign royalty, entered the dining room, even the door staying open longer, as if timid about wrinkling her skirt.
    She better wear something less . . . less . . . Ruby struggled for the proper word. Flamboyant, provocative, brazen. Why didn’t I reprimand her for her tardiness? Bring her to task for her rudeness?
    Why don’t I do a lot of things?
    Because I get tired of being Mother Superior or headmistress. The bickering, the lack of enough help, my stars, how can I complain about having so many guests? We need more help.
    Some days one needed . . . She paused in her mental ruminations and castigations to listen to the lovely harmony coming from the dining room.
    ‘‘Don’t they sing pretty?’’ Milly paused in bringing ironed linens from the storeroom where Daisy spent most of her time with a flatiron and its cousin the ironing board. Table linens were stored in a cupboard off the dining room and bed linens at the end of the second-floor hall. Charlie had built the cupboards last fall, much to everyone’s delight. Especially Cat who liked nothing better than sleeping on a stack of starched tablecloths or pillowcases, if anyone made the mistake of leaving a cupboard door open. Cat took her job as mouse hunter seriously and had become such an adept hunter that news to stay away from Dove House must have spread about the local mouse population.
    ‘‘Why didn’t you sing with them?’’
    Milly shook her head. ‘‘Can’t carry a tune in a rain barrel.’’
    ‘‘Who told you that? I’ve heard you humming when you work, and you do just fine.’’
    ‘‘Really?’’
    It was always amazing to Ruby how a bit of encouragement and a smile could change Milly from a washed-out mouse to a glowing marigold.
    ‘‘Ah, Milly, why didn’t I think of encouraging you sooner? I’m sorry.’’
    ‘‘Maybe next time. Opal, now, she can sing like the meadowlarks in the summer.’’
    Ruby listened more closely. All the voices blended so perfectly, one would think they’d been singing together for years instead of days. Perhaps the girls had. It was so seldom she thought of them as ‘‘the girls’’ any longer. In the year since she’d inherited the hotel, many things had changed, most importantly, the lives of the women who’d once been known as soiled doves and who now worked with and for her, more as friends than hired help. Until someone caused a ruckus, and as she’d slowly learned, the culprit was more often than not, Belle.
    ‘‘No, no.’’ Belle bellowed as the piano stopped midnote. ‘‘Cimarron, pick it up on the second beat. You’re coming in too soon.’’
    ‘‘I thought I counted it.’’
    ‘‘Let’s take it from the beginning again. Opal, honey, take a deep breath and let that high note soar.’’ The piano picked up again with Belle counting, ‘‘One, two, and . . .’’
    ‘‘Up from the grave he arose. . . .’’
    They’d have lovely music, the rolls were baked and ready to reheat in the morning, invitations had gone out to everyone in Little Missouri and the surrounding area, the dining room gleamed from all the scrubbing, Charlie would read the Scriptures, and Opal had carefully printed fifteen copies of the hymns they would sing. They had no preacher, but there would be worship and celebration of Christ’s victory over death.
    Ruby deliberately kept her mind on today. Thinking back to former Easters, in real churches with real families, brought nothing but a desire to throw herself across her bed and let the tears flow.
    ‘‘Ruby Signe Torvald, forget the pity production and be grateful for what you have. After all, God wants a cheerful heart. He says that’s better than medicine. So think of things to be thankful for.’’ She pulled another pan of sweet rolls from the oven. ‘‘I am thankful for this kitchen, the wood for the fire, the food we have, for enough