Patchwork christmas, p.15
Patchwork Christmas, page 15
Mr. Gruber’s rumbling voice caught Jane off guard. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said. “Mutti had me bring in another lamp.”
Anna ducked beneath the tent, lamp in hand, and asked Molly to open wide.
Molly shook her head. “It hurts.”
“Ja.” Anna’s voice was gentle. “This I know. If you let me see, I will know how to help it not hurt so much. Peter will hold the lamp high, and your Mutti can still hold you. Is gut, ja?”
Molly looked up at Jane. She nodded reassurance. With a sigh, Molly agreed.
Mr. Gruber appeared on the side of the bed where only the handsome side of his face would be reflected in the lamplight. Anna reached forward to cup Molly’s face in her hands, then directed Molly to lift her chin while she inspected the swelling. Jane couldn’t interpret the old woman’s expression. She wasn’t certain she wanted to. While Mr. Gruber held the lamp high, Anna produced a mirror. Molly opened her mouth wide, and Anna peered inside, all the while using the mirror to reflect light so that she could get a better view.
Red tonsils. Gray membrane. Dear God … don’t let her see a gray membrane … please.
Anna put the mirror away and motioned for Mr. Gruber to withdraw. Jane thought her heart might pound out of her chest while she waited to hear what the old woman had to say.
Anna smiled down at Molly. “Red is why it hurts so much. And spots. You have spots.”
Molly raised her hands, as if looking for spots on her skin.
“Nein,” Anna said, and took Molly’s hands in hers. “Not on skin. Inside. I can make it better, but that medicine tastes even worse. Still, you must take, ja?”
Molly swallowed, grimaced, and nodded.
Anna smiled then and looked at Jane. She brushed her own throat with the tips of her fingers. “You must to stay with us until Fräulein Molly is better.”
Jane’s voice wavered as she asked, “Did you see—is there—her throat. It’s only red?”
Anna nodded and said something about God answering prayer and sparing them the worst. She also said that Molly needed at least a few days of bed rest before she and Jane continued on their journey.
Of course Anna was right, but still, Jane felt tears gathering. She hated feeling so helpless. It was one thing to accept overnight lodging when a blizzard stopped a train in the middle of nowhere, and quite another to impose on strangers for—how long? How long would it be until Molly could travel? And what of Mr. Huggins? Would he wait? Would he understand? And yet, what could she do? Nothing.
Anna put one hand on Jane’s shoulder and gave it a little pat. “She sleeps,” she said, and nodded at Molly.
Jane slid out of bed, and Anna helped her elevate Molly’s head with pillows.
Putting her finger to her lips to indicate silence, Anna handed Jane a blanket to wrap up in and motioned for her to come out into the other room. Once there, she waved Jane into a chair and said, “I make tea.”
“No, I’ll make tea while you sit,” Jane said, but just as she moved to lay the blanket aside, the door opened and Mr. Gruber appeared, bearing yet another huge tub of snow to melt atop the stove. Jane clutched the blanket around her nightgown and stayed put.
Ducking beneath the canvas tent, Peter replenished the steaming water and paused to look down at the sleeping child, thankful that her breathing seemed to have eased a bit. They would have to stay for at least a few days, of course. That would be awkward, especially once the child started feeling well enough to pay attention to—things. He reached up and traced the worst scar with his fingertips, wondering what it would have been like if he and Priscilla … if Priscilla hadn’t— The child began to murmur in her sleep. She was dreaming, talking about something pleasant. She smiled and murmured the name Katie. Katie again. Who was Katie?
As Peter stood gazing down at the sleeping child, it hit him. He could have had a daughter just this age by now. Would she have had dark hair like his, or would it have been blond like Priscilla’s? A shadow played across the surface of the tent around the bed, bringing Peter back to the moment. Mutti’s voice sounded from the other side of the canvas. “Is everything all right?”
Peter ducked back into the room. “It’s fine. She’s dreaming. Murmured something about her friend Katie.”
“Her doll,” Mutti said. “Left on the train. Twice she has asked now.”
Back in the other room, Peter avoided making eye contact with Mrs. McClure as he headed for his own room.
“We are having tea,” Mutti called softly. “You should join us.”
Peter shook his head. He didn’t want to have tea with a beautiful woman tonight. Not when she was trapped and when good manners would require her to pretend that she wasn’t revolted by the sight of him.
“Thank you,” he said, “but I want to get an early start in the morning. I’ll hitch the sleigh and head to the train first thing.” He paused in the doorway, speaking over his shoulder. “If you’ll write out a message, Mrs. McClure, I’ll ask the porter to see that it’s sent on to Denver as soon as they reach the next station. So your family won’t worry. Just leave it on the table. I’ll leave at first light.” He didn’t wait for her to answer. But once in his room and out of sight, he stood at the window for a while, looking out on the landscape, listening to her voice as Mrs. McClure and Mutti talked. Mutti reassured her that she didn’t think they were fighting diphtheria, and that she and Peter counted it a blessing to help others.
A blessing to help others. Mutti said it with such conviction. Of course she believed it with all of her gentle, God-fearing heart. Peter had believed it once, too. Before the “blessing” of helping others had cost him the chance to build a life with Priscilla.
Chapter 7
In spite of Anna’s reassurances and remedies, the night wore its way through one episode after another of Molly waking, coughing, crying, needing more steam and more of whatever it was in Anna’s brown bottle, and finally, in the gray light of dawn, a newly prepared poultice. Weariness creased Anna’s already-wrinkled face as she spread the warm goo. Jane began to worry for the old woman’s well-being, but when she pleaded with Anna to please rest for a while and let Jane tend Molly, Anna shook her head.
“A mother should not be alone when her child suffers.”
“At least sit down for a while,” Jane pleaded. As soon as Molly was resting comfortably, she followed Anna into the main room, pleased when the older woman pulled her rocking chair close to the doorway and sat down with a sigh.
“Do not forget,” Anna said, pointing to the table where a piece of paper and a pencil waited. “Peter will need your message for Mr. Huggins.”
Anna leaned her head back and closed her eyes, and Jane settled at the table. Composing a telegram that displayed just the right sentiment proved difficult. She must not hint at the near-panic she felt when she wondered if Mr. Huggins’s interest would wane if they didn’t meet again soon. She wanted to show interest. But how to do so without appearing shamefully forward? Finally she wrote a letter across the top half of the page Anna had torn from her household ledger book, knowing that the process of writing it out would help her compose the shorter version Mr. Gruber would telegraph to Denver.
Dear Mr. Huggins,
By now you have received word that the train is snowbound. We have been assured that all appropriate measures are to be taken to clear the tracks as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Molly has taken ill, and I am advised by the kind woman who has taken us in that she should not travel for a few days. While I at first feared diphtheria,—just writing the word makes me shudder—Mrs. Gruber assures me that Molly’s symptoms will continue to improve, and that we should be able to take up the journey in a few days.
Please know that Molly and I are desperately disappointed at this unfortunate turn of events. We sincerely hope that the delay will not force a change in your plans. While we will miss the pleasure of spending Christmas in Denver, we hope that the idea of welcoming the New Year with us is anticipated with the same warmth displayed in your invitation for Christmas.
Jane read the letter over and over again. If only she could send that. It sounded so much more positive in tone. Taking a deep breath, she underlined the essential information and ended up with the telegram.
MOLLY ILL Stop FEARED THE WORST BUT NURSE ASSURES SHE WILL RECOVER SOON Stop HOPE TO ARRIVE IN A FEW DAYS Stop ANTICIPATING OUR TIME TOGETHER Stop
Jane stared at the last line. Was it too forward? Is it even true? A twinge of guilt raised its head. I am anticipating it. Just because it isn’t a romantic anticipation doesn’t mean it’s a lie. She decided to leave the last sentence. Next came the matter of how to sign the thing, and that caused more than a little consternation. Finally she decided to use her Christian name, hoping that Mr. Huggins would take note of that, too. He had yet to depart from addressing her as Mrs. McClure. Perhaps he needed permission. She would give it. Jane.
She set the pencil down and sat back, looking over at Anna and smiling at the image of the older woman fast asleep in the rocking chair. Rising with a soft grunt, Jane hobbled past Anna’s sleeping form and into the bedroom. When Molly stirred and whimpered, Jane climbed up beside her. Beneath the pile of comforters, with her arms around Molly and the child’s head on her shoulder, she closed her eyes and fell instantly asleep.
Jane woke with a start to the aromas of coffee and fresh-baked bread. Molly stirred when she slipped out of bed, then settled back into a deep sleep. When Jane put her palm to Molly’s forehead, relief washed over her. She might still have a slight fever, but slight was a good word. And while rumbles and rattles still accompanied each breath, Molly wasn’t struggling like she had in the night. Jane closed her eyes for a moment and listened, then sent a fleeting thanks toward heaven.
When she ducked beneath the canvas tent and looked out the window, she realized that someone had put the lamp out. A band of gray light shone below the hem of the embroidered curtains. What time was it? Just as she reached for the blanket draped across the foot of the bed, she heard it. The train whistle. What could that mean? Surely a crew hadn’t reached the train yet. They couldn’t possibly be ready to leave.
The telegram! Clutching the blanket around her, Jane hurried into the other room. A blast of warm air greeted her as Anna opened the oven door. When Jane glanced at the table, Anna said, “The note Peter has taken to the train.” She hoisted a loaf of bread out of the oven and inverted the pan over a plate. “The whistle is for to say all is well. He has delivered your message and is on his way back.” Wrapping the fresh loaf of bread in a towel, she placed it on the open oven door. She crossed the room and donned her cape. “I go for eggs. Peter will be hungry when he returns.” And with that, she hurried outside.
Jane got dressed, then returned to the main room where she set the table and sliced the warm bread, pausing often to step into the bedroom and listen for Molly. Finally, when she’d done everything she knew to help prepare for breakfast, she lingered in the doorway between the two rooms, noticing for the first time that the framed needlework above the table really was lovely, and wondering what it said. The only word she recognized was Gott. She knew that German word because one of Mrs. Abernathy’s boarders had a penchant for profanity. She smiled in spite of herself, remembering the confrontation one day when Mrs. Abernathy stood, hands on hips, glaring up at the lumbering boarder and telling him in no uncertain terms that if he insisted on using the Lord’s name in vain in any language, he could find another place to live.
The needlework featured what looked like a castle tower. Pink and burgundy flowers gathered along the base of the stone wall and then meandered around the edge of the sampler. Now that she thought about it, as Jane gazed around the room, she realized that the soddy epitomized the word cozy. It was so different from Mrs. Abernathy’s drafty, two-story frame boardinghouse. Different, too, from the rooms Mr. Huggins had described over his mercantile store in Denver.
Anna returned in a swirl of cold air, her blue eyes bright as she produced several eggs from the pocket of her cape. “It snows more,” she said, closing the door and scurrying over to stand by the stove while she took off her cape and mittens. She thanked Jane for setting the table and had just gone into the next room to check on Molly when Mr. Gruber returned. At least Jane thought it must be Mr. Gruber, although from all appearances it could have been anyone, so encased in crusted snow was the person who staggered in the door.
Jane glanced out the window. Another wall of white. “You drove into that?”
Mr. Gruber nodded once. He stepped closer to the stove but then hesitated and turned into his room instead.
“Wait,” Jane said. When he looked back her way, she shrugged. “Please. You’ve been so kind to us. Stay by the stove where it’s warm.”
Anna bustled in and, grabbing her son’s coat sleeve, pulled him closer to the stove, muttering like a hen clucking over a wounded chick. She dragged the rocking chair over, and as soon as Mr. Gruber had shrugged out of his coat, she directed him to sit down. Jane took her own coat off the hook and hung Mr. Gruber’s where it would dry more quickly, then headed into the bedroom to deposit her coat over the sewing rocker by the bedroom window.
When she returned to the main room, Mr. Gruber was leaning toward the oven, soaking up the warmth as his mother unwrapped the stiff scarf wrapped around his head and neck. Once again he’d positioned himself so that only the handsome side of his face was in view. His cheeks were so red Jane wondered aloud at frostbite. She poured coffee. Mr. Gruber cupped the mug in his huge hands, then took a sip and sighed with pleasure.
“Sit back,” Anna said, kneeling before him while she helped with his boots.
“They hope to be dug out by the end of the day,” he said. “This round of snow shouldn’t last long. There’s a thin line of blue far to the west.” He glanced up at Jane. “The porter promised to send the telegram as soon as they reach the next stop.” He smiled down at his mother. “And they said to thank you for the meal.” He paused. “I was in such a hurry to get inside, I left your baskets in the sleigh.”
“Is no matter,” Anna said as she set her son’s boots on the open oven door. “Soon we have bread, eggs, and griddle cakes. Is gut, ja?” She moved to the rustic narrow table positioned beneath her medicine shelf and began to mix batter for griddle cakes.
Mr. Gruber stood up and stretched, then crossed the room in his stocking feet, talking to Jane over his shoulder as he reached inside his coat. “Your Molly talks in her sleep,” he said and held up the rag doll he’d tucked in the inside pocket. “I heard mention of a Katie.”
The look on Jane McClure’s face as she took Katie from his hands was something Peter would savor for some time to come. Somehow he got the courage to actually turn around and look at her. If he was testing her, she received high marks, because she looked him in the eye and smiled. A real smile, not one of those conjured expressions people managed out of a sense of duty to not notice.
She held his gaze for a moment before glancing down at the well-loved doll and then back up at him. “Thank you. So much.”
She paused. “I’ve been dreading having to tell her that Katie was on her way to Denver without us. You have no idea how relieved I am that that won’t be necessary. You’re very kind to have remembered.”
Kind. No one had said that of him for a long while. And for some reason, it made him want to retreat before the inevitable happened and she could no longer stomach looking him in the eye. He nodded and headed for his own room, pausing at the door just long enough to say, “The porter said that your Mr. Huggins would likely be reading the telegram by Christmas Day.”
“Will they deliver a telegram on Christmas Day?”
“He seemed to think so, especially in light of the train getting stranded.”
“Mama!”
All eyes looked toward the bedroom where Molly lay.
“I’m here,” Jane called back, limping into the room, the doll in hand.
Mutti stood still for a moment, her head tilted. At the child’s joyous exclamation over the doll, she smiled at Peter. He nodded at the room. “Go and see after her. I can fry griddle cakes.” Mutti headed in to check on the child, and he slathered butter on a slice of bread, eating it while he used his free hand to flip griddle cakes, stack the finished ones on a plate, and pour out more batter.
The women were still in the other room when the cloud cover gave way and sunlight poured in through the window. The temperature might not be climbing, but the sunshine made it feel warmer. Mutti bustled back into the main room just long enough to snatch two bottles off her medicine shelf. She nodded at his unspoken question. “She is to be well. It takes time.” She pointed at the stack of griddle cakes waiting on the table. “Eat. We will join you soon.”
But they didn’t. Mutti joined him, but Mrs. McClure stayed in the other room with her child. Which was only to be expected. For many reasons. When he’d finished eating, Peter hauled in two more tubs of snow to once again make steam rise inside the canvas tent. The child thanked him for bringing Katie “home,” speaking from the other side of the canvas wall in a raspy voice that ended in a sputtering cough.
“You’re welcome,” Peter said, then retreated to the main room where he helped Mutti wash the dishes. By the time Mrs. McClure emerged from the bedroom, he was donning his coat to retreat to the barn. He needed to retrieve the baskets from the sleigh, he said. And he had things to tend. Both were true, even if the real reason he wanted to escape was the desire to savor the first genuine smile he’d received from anyone but Mutti in a very long time.
Chapter 8
Molly finally asked for something to eat Thursday afternoon. Anna soft-boiled the egg she’d kept out of the flapjack batter, and Jane made toast and tea. Molly grimaced with the first swallow of toast and opted for the egg and tea. After eating, she settled back against the pillow and asked Jane to read more about Jo and Meg. While Anna heated up more water and sent more steam into the tent, Jane climbed up beside Molly and read until the child fell asleep. When she ducked back out from beneath the sheet of canvas, the sun had begun to set. Once again Anna lit the lamps in the windows. Then she asked to examine Jane’s knee.
