Romancing Olive by Holly Bush Read Free Book Online Page B

readjusted her skirts and flew to the giant’s side as he stared at his doorway. There, Peg and Luke stood staring back at their father and the looks on their faces must surely been the reason he stopped quickly.
    “Is Miss Wilkins goin’ ta leave?” Luke asked.
    “Daddy?” Peg sobbed. “Do I have ta give back my dress?”
    “Yes, Peg,” he said.
    Peg’s eyes glistened with tears.
    “Mr. Butler, please,” Olive began, “don’t make her give the dress back.”
    * * *
    Jacob watched the children run to Olive Wilkins and huddle in her skirts. He felt his heart breaking as he listened to their sobs. He stepped into the kitchen and found Mary holding Mark in her arms with a look of pure hatred on her face.
    “It’s plain mean to take that dress from Peg. You don’t know what it’s like when folks stare and point at ya. Whether it’s ‘cause your dress is three years too small or your pants come up to yer knees or . . . maybe ‘cause of who yer ma was.” Mary’s voice quivered in anger and she shoved Mark into his arms. “Here, he’s all peed through.”
    Jacob sat the infant in his crib and lowered himself into the rocker as the cries on the porch wound down. Peg’s old dress lay in a heap on the floor in front of him and he supposed this is the spot she had stood when she pulled the new dress over her head. Stepping out of the old one and letting it fall to the floor. Jacob picked up the threadbare garment and rested his elbows on his knees as he looked at the faded print and stains on the fabric. His head dropped in shame. He had not noticed or tried not to notice how small and worn it was. But there was no extra money and certainly no money for fabric. Jacob barely had enough for the mortgage and food. He scowled thinking of the wagon piled high with supplies that Miss Wilkins had bought. I don’t want help, Jacob thought, I don’t need help. A small hand, Luke’s hand, rested on Jacob’s shoulder and he turned to his son standing beside him. Luke had put on his old pants and fought valiantly to smile.
    “It’s alright, Daddy. This year’s crop will be better. Miss Wilkins said that we don’t always know why things turn out like they do but we can always be sure of one thing. That our Mama loved us and I know you love us too.”
    Jacob’s head hung and he hated that his son bore the grief of his failures. He looked down at the boy’s legs and saw bony white knees sticking out of patched pants. Jacob grabbed Luke and squeezed and Luke hugged him back with all his might.
    “Does Miss Wilkins have to leave?” Luke whispered into his father’s ear.
    “Why, son? Do you want her to leave?” Jacob asked looking into Luke’s eyes.
    The slim shoulders shrugged and he tilted his head. Jacob wondered what was going through his boy’s mind.
    “She’s nothing like Ma,” the child replied.
    “No, she’s not.”
    “But,” Luke began and looked down at his hands as they twisted in his father’s shirt, “but it was kind of nice having her here today. We sang songs and she cut cloth and showed us the slates she bought each of us to learn our letters.”
    Jacob knew guilt gripped the boy, admitting that he had warmed to the woman, not his mother. How lonely are these young ones for the feminine touch that even spindly old Miss Wilkins had in her hands. He pictured Peg’s face as she ran to the woman’s arms. Bony arms without a doubt, but gentle arms reeled his daughter in with a hug. And Jacob recalled the little things Margaret had done for the children that he would have never thought of. Things that would have never occurred to him. Kissing every skinned knee. Smiling with encouragement at the smallest victory. The things mother’s do without conscious thought. The reasons that God in his wisdom had made women, mothers. Mary’s rebuke stung the most, though. The girl barely spoke, half afraid she’d lose her bed and board. She must have felt the children’s shame in the pit of her being