Wings of a Dream (14 page)

“Tell me what’s happened.” Mrs. Latham lifted her cup to her lips, eyes full of concern.

So I told her about Dan’s cut head and Mr. Culpepper coming by while I was dressing on the porch and even her husband catching me in my nightclothes.

When I finished my tales, Mrs. Latham blinked twice. Her lips twitched, and then she threw back her head and howled laughter.

I stared into my cup, uncertain, at first, how to respond. But after a moment my mouth curved upward, and I found myself laughing with her. And oh, how good it felt. Not just to laugh. To laugh with someone. Arthur had made me laugh. I missed that.

“Those boys are quite a handful.” Mrs. Latham wiped tears from her eyes as she shook her head. “But at least Ollie Elizabeth’s a help. I told your aunt she had the patience of a saint with them.”

I wasn’t sure I quite agreed with her about Ollie not being a handful, but I pushed that thought aside, greedy for information about these kids and this place. “Can you tell me a little about their mother?”

The humor left Mrs. Latham’s face. She sipped her coffee, her eyes staring holes into the table.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

Mrs. Latham reached out and clasped my fingers in hers. “Yes, you should. It’s just been such a trying time. For everyone. So much loss. So much grief.” She squeezed my hand and let it go before pushing her empty cup my way.

“More?” I asked.

“Please.”

Thankful for a task to do, I didn’t hurry. By the time I returned a full cup to her, she seemed ready to talk again.

“Clara was a sickly thing. Honestly, I’m surprised she made it through three deliveries. They weren’t small ones, those kids. But she didn’t mind. She loved her children, wanted as many as she could have. Adabelle came to help out not long after Ollie arrived. Clara didn’t have the strength to manage the cooking and housework and a baby all at once.”

My breath had caught while she spoke. Now it streamed out again. Aunt Adabelle had been around long before these children’s mama died. Had that made bearing her death harder for them?

Mrs. Latham smiled at me again, a bit of joy wrinkling the corners of her eyes. “Adabelle loved this place as much as she did those kids. She’s the one that put in the flowers and tended them. And the garden. On top of taking care of the house and the children—and Clara.”

I opened my mouth to ask about Frank, but the children burst through the door. James threw himself at Mrs. Latham with such vigor I felt a jealous prick at my heart. It surprised me. I ought to have been happy knowing he could find affection for another woman, but it gnawed at me all the same.

She gathered each child to her, looking into upturned faces, tweaking a nose, kissing a cheek. Their easy smiles told me they knew her well, but my hands still fidgeted unaccountably in my lap as my stomach jumped and lurched like an old bull with a cowboy on its back.

“Y’all giving Miss Rebekah much trouble?”

James toed the floor. Ollie averted her eyes.

Only Dan piped up with an answer. “See my head?” He pulled back the hair from his scab. “It’s mostly better now.”

Mrs. Latham laughed again. “I should hope so.” She drank down the last of her coffee and pushed from the bench.

“Must you go already?” I heard my own desperation, the pleading whine of a child, but I didn’t care. In spite of my twinge of jealousy over the children’s easy way with her, I realized I’d missed having a woman to talk to.

She picked up her empty basket. “Too many chores piled up at home for me to visit anymore today. But I’ll come around again soon. I promise.”

The whoosh and whinny of a horse outside caught my ear.

“My husband. Always right on time.” Mrs. Latham swept out the door more gracefully than I imagined so substantial a woman could move.

I followed. Brother Latham stood at the porch. He took his wife’s hand and led her down the steps as if she were royalty. After her feet reached the ground, he turned to me.

“The danger seems to have passed. No new cases in almost a week, Doc says.”

“How is the doc?” I asked.

Brother Latham’s mouth turned down at one corner. “Whether it’s influenza or exhaustion that has him down, we don’t know for sure.” Brother Latham helped his wife into the buggy before climbing in himself. “We’ll meet for church tomorrow. And school will open again on Monday.”

Mrs. Latham peered around her husband. “How about we come by for you in the morning, around ten?”

Church. And school. Finally, something normal.

Oh, what a glorious thing to be back among the people of God. Even with the graveyard hugging the side of the small building, the fear that marauded the entire town seemed to melt away as we sang hymns and listened to Brother Latham preach on heaven. I figured his sermon encompassed all he’d wanted to say at all the quick funerals but didn’t have the chance. He described us as being sojourners in this world and true citizens of the New Jerusalem. He talked of mansions built on streets of gold and of eyes wiped dry. I tried to picture my aunt there, singing with the angels, a smile fixed on her face as she beheld the throne of God.

But as pretty and peaceful a picture as he painted, it still didn’t make me want to go there anytime soon. I had my life to live first. My life with Arthur. I hugged the thought to myself as we bowed our heads to pray, asking God to be with Mama and Will and to bring Arthur to me soon.

The women spread dinner on the grounds between services. I hated that Mrs. Latham hadn’t told me to bring something. She just patted my hand and laughed, told me there would be plenty more times I could help.

Once the children and the men had eaten their fill, the women settled down around a plank table, enjoying the warm afternoon sun. Voices buzzed up and down the table, among young women and old. Obviously they’d all missed contact with their friends during the battle with influenza.

“Tell me more about yourself,” Mrs. Latham said. She seemed truly interested. So I told her about Mama’s illness and Daddy’s farm. About Downington and my soldier brother.

Then her eyes took on a merry look. “What about your beau? Is he back home or ‘over there’?”

“Not back home.” I ducked my head like a shy schoolgirl.

She coaxed Arthur from me with more questions. I recounted his dreams of flying and living in a big city, but also the corn silk hair that waved above jovial blue eyes, the face that beamed with pleasure at most everything. I stopped before I told her about his lips, how they had pressed into mine. How I relived the warmth of them every night before I fell asleep. But I think she knew anyway. When she raised her eyebrows and laughed, I looked away, sure she could read my mind.

So I changed the subject to Frank Gresham. “Why did he go off to fight? Surely his age could have kept him here. Especially with a sickly wife and small children.”

She motioned me to follow her from the table, which I did. We sorted her dishes into a pile for her boys to load back in their wagon. “He’s not as old as you might expect,” she said as we worked. “He and Clara came here mighty young—and already married. Besides—”

A throat cleared behind us. We both turned. Sheriff Jeffries’s fingers fidgeted with his hat. He nodded at Mrs. Latham, and then his gaze locked on me. “Would you care to take a walk before the evening service, Rebekah?”

I looked past him, toward the group of children playing tag, then to the babies, Janie included, asleep on a blanket in the shade under the watchful eye of a gray-haired lady. “I think I’d better stay near. For the children.”

“Of course. The children.” A faint blush spread across his cheeks, as if he’d forgotten my purpose here. “Another time, then.” He settled his hat back on his head and strode away without giving me a chance to reply.

I glanced at Mrs. Latham. My face heated at the merriment in her eyes.

“Mrs. Latham, I—”

She patted my hand. “Call me Irene, honey. You’re plenty old enough, and we’re friends, aren’t we?”

I pressed my hand to my chest as tears filled my eyes. Friends. I really had a friend here—and an older friend at that. It made me feel grown up, even more than caring for the children did. “Thank you . . . Irene.”

S
top it, Dan. I told you not to scratch.” Ollie’s voice from the kitchen met me as I toted an armload of laundry down the stairs Monday morning. Dan’s head showed all the signs of healing, but keeping his grimy hands away from the spot proved difficult.

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Dan yelled back.

A shuffle of bodies. A scream.

“No! Let him go!” James had apparently joined the fray.

“If you don’t listen to me, God will send you to the bad place, with the devil.”

I charged into the kitchen, dropping the dirty clothes and grabbing Ollie’s arm. “You are not his mother.”

James stuck out his tongue at her. I reached out and snagged James with my free hand and marched them both up the stairs, their howls filling the house. I sent Ollie into the children’s room to put on her school dress while I left James writhing on my freshly made bed. Then I returned to the woeful Dan, coddling him and Janie until their tears melted into smiles.

When Ollie finally raced from the house, braids flying, eager to be off to school, relief and sadness tugged at either side of my heart. Had Mama felt this way when she put me on the train nearly three weeks ago? I suspected she did. Probably more so, for I wouldn’t return later that afternoon to sit at the table, drink a glass of milk, and tell her about my day.

I didn’t have time to ponder the strange motherly feelings. A full day of chores awaited. I scooped the laundry back into my arms and followed the boys outside.

When I pulled the envelope from the mailbox that afternoon, Frank’s familiar handwriting stared up at me, but it was the address that stopped me cold.

Miss Rebekah Hendricks, Prater’s Junction, Texas.

My mouth dropped open. I turned the envelope over and stared at the flap. Thankful that Ollie hadn’t arrived home from school yet, I slit the envelope with my hairpin. The paper shook as I drew it out. I leaned against the thick trunk of the half-bare oak tree.

Miss Hendricks,