No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(29)
Emma’s lips twitched, wanting to smile despite the soot, the mud, and the taste of woodsmoke clinging to her tongue. Aunt Henry. Dear, indomitable Aunt Henry. Leave it to her to diffuse this awful situation with a barrage of plain speaking.
“Now, I don’t know about you ladies,” Henry continued, her voice growing stronger as every head swiveled to face her, “but I won’t be giving that bully the satisfaction of standing around gaping at his vandalism and fretting over what might happen tomorrow. The good Lord taught that worrying about tomorrow is as pointless as milking a dry cow. Leaves you frustrated, frazzled, and with nothing to show for your effort. On the other hand, my mama, rest her soul, taught that a good night’s sleep can shrink any problem down to a manageable size. So that’s what I aim to do—get some sleep and leave the worrying to the Lord. I suggest you all do the same.” She turned around, grabbed one of the stockpots Emma recognized as belonging to their personal stores, then waved an arm at her sister. “Come along, Bertie. Dry clothes and a warm bed await.”
Bertie smiled at Emma—an everything-will-be just-fine type of smile that warmed her insides despite the soggy blouse plastered to her chest.
“Coming, sister.” She swept past the other ladies as if nothing were amiss. “I think I’ll put the kettle on as well. A cup of tea is just the thing to settle the nerves and warm the toes.”
“Chamomile is especially soothing,” Maybelle said, turning to follow. “Peppermint, too. I’ve got both at the clinic if anyone needs some.” The midwife-turned-town-doctor reached across her body to rub her right shoulder, obviously sore from manning the pump.
Claire, who’d taken up residence with the older woman yesterday after joining the colony, hurried to Maybelle’s side, lifting the lantern she carried out in front of her. “I’ll be lightin’ the way fer ye, Miss Curtis. My arm’s strong, should ye be feelin’ the need to lean upon somethin’.”
And just like that, the crowd dispersed. Groups of two or three separated themselves and wandered toward their homes. Not one lady spoke of leaving. Not one fell into hysterics or fretful tears. Not one cast blame on Emma for failing to prevent the attack.
They’d banded together to fight the fire and had been victorious. Now they banded together again, unified in their resilience. They would not trade their victor status for that of victim. They were strong. Capable. Courageous. And Emma had never been more proud to be among them.
“Will you be all right, Em?” Tori came up beside her, two buckets in each hand, buckets still bearing strings with soggy, illegible price tags attached. “I need to check on Lewis.”
Emma touched her friend’s shoulder. “Go. I’m sure he must be worried.”
“Daisy’s watching him, but I . . .” Tori’s attention strayed to the store down the street, a visible ache in her eyes. “I just need to see him.”
“Of course you do.” What mother wouldn’t want to clutch her child to her bosom and reassure herself that he was well after such a disturbing event? Even a spinster raised by spinsters could imagine such a need. Could secretly envy it, too. Emma blinked back the mist forming in her eyes—infernal smoke—and gave Tori a gentle nudge. “Give Lewis a kiss for me.”
As Tori started back, Emma glanced around to see who was left near the church. Those from the boardinghouse next door to Tori’s store were already several yards ahead. Emma didn’t want Tori walking back alone in the dark. She spotted Flora slumped against the garden fence near the corner farthest from the church and immediately waved to her. “Flora!”
The woman nearly jumped out of her shoes. Her head jerked up, the whites of her wide eyes glowing in the moonlight.
Emma silently chastised herself for startling the poor dear and bustled toward her, an apology written on her face. “Come, walk with Tori. Neither of you should go back alone.”
“Yes, Flora,” Tori urged, having drawn to a stop when Emma called out. “I’d feel better with some company.”
Flora’s gaze darted to the ground, to the church, to the garden. “I . . .” She made no move to straighten away from the fence.
Moving to her side, Emma gently took hold of her arm and helped her stand. Tori backtracked toward the garden and held out a hand to Flora.
“Come along, now,” Tori said, using the same coaxing voice she used to lure Lewis into his evening bath. “I’ve got some of that peppermint tea in the store that Maybelle was talking about. How about I brew a pot and we all have a cup? Then you and Daisy can return to your rooms.”
Flora glanced back at the garden once more before finally submitting to Tori’s shepherding. The two walked off arm in arm, Tori chattering the whole way.
Emma studied the dark-haired Flora and sent up a quick prayer on her behalf. The message burned into the church wall must have truly spooked her. Understandable given the circumstances. Not everyone had the sturdy constitution of Aunt Henry. Besides, Flora had been on edge since the shooting at the church. She’d been the most vocal advocate for evacuation, encouraging as many ladies as would listen to leave. She would have left, too, Emma was certain, if she’d had anywhere to go. But she didn’t. Flora had no family besides her husband, and judging by the bruised and battered condition she’d been in when she arrived at Harper’s Station a few weeks ago, returning to him offered no safe haven.