“When she sits up, will this problem end?”
“It may still be an issue, but not as much. It’s one of the reasons why helping her learn to swallow again is important.”
“So.” He said the single word with the same finality a few of Paw-Paw’s generation used to say, “So be it.” With that one word, he showed he’d begun to accept things were different.
They soon left Mrs. Crewel’s room, and Mr. Valmer stopped. “I’m obliged for all you’ve done for Ma. You need only ask for the exchange you feel is fair.” The tips of his ears went red. “Tilling soil fills the heart but not the pocket.”
He’s embarrassed, and for no reason at all. I can take care of that right quick. She shrugged. “Southern hospitality. You, on the other hand, have been working your fingers to the bone.”
He held up big, square, callused hands. “It would be impossible for me to dwindle to skin-and-bones eating at your table.” He cracked his knuckles. “Sitting idle, I get antsy.”
They’d both downplayed what they brought to the exchange – striking a deal without a big to-do. She flashed a smile. “I’d best get some laundry done while your mama is sleeping. I want to have plenty of time in the kitchen for supper so the only skin-and-bones thing around here is the ugly-as-sin warthog’s head at the Flinn twins’ house.”
“How did they get such a thing?”
“They traded a whole fresh deer. Which accounts for why I do the bartering around here. Trading comes naturally to me as breathing.” Breathing brought to mind his scarf, which reminded her, “I’d best hie on over to Uncle Bo’s to do the wash.”
“Work’s calling me, too.” He turned to go, then pivoted back around. “Miss Rose? I wish to leave my scarf with you in case you need to go out in the storm today.”
“I can’t think of anything that would bring me more comfort.” She silently tacked on, than washing it.
While Mr. Valmer went back out to work, Maggie slipped over to Uncle Bo’s. Weather being so bad, she used his cabin as a laundry.
Even if she hadn’t planned on washing today, laundering bedding was necessary. Mr. Valmer had offered to sit up with his ma last night, but Maggie wouldn’t hear of it. Had he understood her when she said his ma needed care that a son oughtn’t render? Bright-minded as he was, the truth should have registered; but in her experience, family members could be blind to obvious facts until she specifically pointed them out. Like the drooling. Upset as that minor inconvenience made him, she’d have to nudge facts in one at a time.
How could he smell so wonderful, yet his scarf reek? Out of sheer self-preservation, she dunked it first.
Uncle Bo came in. “Looked in on Mrs. Crewel. Sleeping sound and snug as a babe.”
“Well, then, I’m calling you at your word. I want to hear the story about Aunt Maude and the bagpipes.”
“Knew you’d nab me.” He straddled a chair. “It all goes back to the Arrangement.”
The Arrangement. She loved hearing Carver Holler’s own happily-ever-after fairy tale of arranged marriages. “ ’Twas well past time for the youngsters to marry up,” Maggie began.
“Aye. And so the lassies were invited to list a few bucks they respected. The lads put in for three possibilities they’d gladly take to wife. Then the fathers prayed and got to work. Nine matches came out of it, and every last one was a marriage made in heaven. I’m the luckiest man in the world, because I got Maude.”
“Seven were from heaven,” Maggie said for the first time. She wobbled her brows. “Daddy admitted he’d already claimed Mama. You can tell me the truth, too. It’s every bit as romantic as having the elders match you.”
Combing his fingers through his beard, Uncle Bo let out a rueful chuckle. “I was bullheaded enough to think the elders took leave of their senses when they concocted the Arrangement, but Paw-Paw pointed out the Bible is full of marriage agreements