A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(44)
Forsythia shook her head. “We should get some of those laborers to help on the boardinghouse now that the cellar is dug. The lumber is due for delivery next week, and the sooner they get going—”
At Del’s look, Lark held up both hands, palm out. “Del, we all agreed that the sooner we got the boardinghouse going, the better. Two of the men who dug the cellar were working on the train station. Anders arranged for them to do this.”
“I didn’t realize the boardinghouse would come at the expense of the schoolhouse.” Del stared at her. “I-I thought . . .”
Lark rolled her lips together, hating the feeling of being a traitor. Del had been working dawn to dusk both teaching and helping on the farm. Lark wished she could spare her sister more, but there just weren’t enough hours in the day. Or enough workers to go around. And Del did have the church. Tension tightened her shoulders.
Del blew out a sigh. “So is RJ in charge of building our boardinghouse or are you?”
Lark shook her head. “Not me. But I am learning a great deal and keeping all the books and financial matters. Mr. Young is not very comfortable with that, but our wise brother Anders insisted it be so.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. We got a letter from Anders today. He must have been writing it on the way home.” Forsythia pulled the envelope out of her reticule.
Del fetched a pitcher of buttermilk she had brought in from the well house and poured them each a glass, and together they sat at the outside table.
Dear Sisters,
Thank you for making me feel at home in Salton. Forsythia, I appreciated time with your family, and thank you for including a place for RJ. Lark, Del, and Lilac, I am amazed at all you have managed to accomplish in one year at Leah’s Garden. Driving past that sign made me think of our mother and her love of gardening. You are all building such a legacy in her name.
Something eased in Lark’s chest as she listened. It had been good to have Anders here, to not feel the whole responsibility for their family on her shoulders, even for a little while.
Forsythia finished the letter, folded it again, and put it back in the envelope. “I started missing him the moment the train headed east on that track. I sometimes dream about them all moving out here, and yes, I am aware that is a farfetched dream. But then, I never dreamed of any of us moving west.”
“I’m sure Abraham’s wife, Sarah, never dreamed of packing everything up and moving either. And she had no idea where they were going, only that her husband said that God told him to do this, and He would show them the way,” Del pointed out.
Forsythia shuddered. “Not sure I could do that.”
“Well, we sort of did.” Lark shrugged. “And here we are. Landowners, homesteaders, and now businesswomen with Leah’s Garden and the boardinghouse. It goes to show women can do far more than most men believe.”
“Speaking of men believing, I believe I better get home,” Forsythia said. “No telling what has taken place since I left. Adam was called out on another birthing early this morning, so he was taking a bit of a lie-down. Climie has the children, who were sleeping when I left.”
“Thank you for the ride home.” Del hugged her sister. “I’m so grateful for the box of supplies Reverend Pritchard and Mr. Caldwell ordered for the school. We now have enough slates for everyone and textbooks for the older pupils too.” Her eyes sparkled. “And Jesse is making me a proper desk. That young man is such a fine woodworker.”
Lark nodded. “That he is.” And right now we have a glimpse of our Del who used to be. Please, Lord, let us see more of this one.
The day of the celebration, butterflies jumped around in Del’s stomach as she scanned the gathering crowd for her students. The children were to provide the music. Did she have time to practice with them once more? Some of the little ones were still unsteady with the words.
Rustles of excitement swelled the crowd like she’d never seen in Salton before. The day before the celebration, a sign had been strung above the street at both edges of town, proclaiming, Celebrate Salton, Best Little Stop on the Rails West, which had given the Nielsen sisters a good laugh. Flanked by American flags, another sign hung on the station, Welcome to Salton, for those coming in on the train.
Lark and Lilac had gone out hunting, and the two antelope they’d bagged were being turned on a spit over a long bed of coals. Tables were set up in the station for all the food people were bringing.
“What are we waiting for?” someone muttered.
“The train to come in.”
The musicians set up chairs in the shade of the station, the platform being for dancing. The men had moved the piano out of the church and brought it to the station. Mrs. Caldwell sat down on the bench and lifted the cover off the keys.
Del gathered her students, who had been memorizing “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” a new song that came out of the war. “Let’s practice one more time.” She slid the guitar strap over her head and tested the tuning, then nodded to Mrs. Caldwell, who played a couple of opening bars, and Del strummed and led the singing.
“‘Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored . . .’” Silence crept over the gathered folks. “‘He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword; His truth is marching on.’”