A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(5)

Anyway, we are hoping you will share our interest in a boardinghouse and be willing to invest in building materials and the other expenses of opening such an enterprise. Leah’s Garden is still our primary interest and dream, but like Lark keeps reminding us, cash flow is critical. My teaching is the only real money we have coming in, and Lark says her purse is thinning down.

I hope and pray that all is well for you back there. How is little Marcella doing? How we aunties wish we could see her. Looking forward to hearing from you soon. You know how Lark is once she gets a bee in her bonnet. Someone in this family needs to keep our feet on the ground, and it looks to be my job.

Love and prayers from the western part of the family.

Your sisters, Del, Lark, Lilac, and Forsythia with the little ones

She raised her face to the calming breeze. The fragrance of rabbit stew drifted by, reminding her to stoke the stove again. Being all alone here felt strange. She missed Forsythia. It was only last month that her sister had gotten married. It used to be the two of them who managed things at home when Lark and Lilac went off gallivanting. Now it was only her.

Del folded and slid the letter into an envelope, waiting to seal it in case the others wanted to add more. Picking up her knitting, she watched the sun begin its descent to the horizon. The breeze picked up, cooler now. It was time to make sure the chickens had all gone into their house, and she glanced out at the pasture to see Buttercup and Clover following their trail to the fence. Almost milking time.

She stared off toward the setting sun. Lark and Lilac had headed northwest. What was taking them so long? But they always forgot everything else once they headed off hunting. Never mind that they’d left her to do all the evening chores by herself. Fighting a prickle of resentment again, she let Buttercup into the barn and poured grain in front of her stanchion. Clover bawled from outside the door. The windmill creaked and squealed as it turned to face the evening breeze that had sprung up. Someone needed to climb up to apply grease to the gears.

With the last drop of milk in the bucket, Del stood and hooked the three-legged stool up on the post, then set the pail out of the way and let the cow out. Buttercup backed up and turned to walk out the back door. She always headed to the trough for a drink before ambling out to pasture with Clover right behind her.

Such a peaceful routine, especially during fine weather. It soothed Del’s anxious heart a bit.

Carrying the bucket up to the well house, she poured the milk through a cloth to strain out any hair or dirt and then set the pans to let the cream rise to the top. They had enough cream now to make butter. A Monday job.

The sun had painted the layers of clouds in all shades of red and orange, and the yellow of the sun blazed near to white. Sunset, and no horse with two figures walking beside it. Del had better check on the stew and set the table. Her sisters would be hungry whenever they got back. And as usual, she’d have everything taken care of here.

Del squeezed her eyes shut. Please, Lord, forgive me for being like this. I know we need the meat they’re getting. I just . . . I keep thinking about the school—or lack of one, that is. I will trust you, Lord. I trust you.

She stared up at the darkening blue above her. What if she had to teach at the church all year?

Lord, are you listening?





2


Why did weeds grow so much faster than flowers or vegetables?

Lark leaned on the handle of the hoe and used the back of her hand to wipe the drips from her forehead. July in Nebraska could be hot, but more than that, some days it was like breathing water. She leaned over to pull weeds from the row of carrots. The hoe could only get so close.

“Auntie Lark!”

She turned to see Robbie helping Sofie climb through the gate, and then the two of them charged down the garden row. Sofie squealed when she tripped and fell face-first into the just-hoed soil.

“Don’ cry.” Robbie sent Lark a pleading look and turned to help her up. “See, not hurt.”

The little girl raised her arms to Lark, tears muddying the dirt on her face.

Lark winked at Robbie as she swooped Sofie up in her arms, brushing her off at the same time. What a pair these two made. “See, you can stop crying. You’re dandy fine.” She looked at Robbie, who waited patiently. “Now, what brought you running out here?”

“Auntie Del said, ‘Hurry up, dinner is ready.’ So we hurried up.”

“Good, you most surely did hurry up.” Lark fought to keep the laughter inside so they wouldn’t feel bad. It was a good thing Forsythia brought the children out most days. Sometimes, like today, she left them here and returned to assist her husband in the office. His practice was growing, thanks to an influx of people searching for land and a home of their own, many of whom had lost their desire to travel by wagon all the way to Oregon.

Everything was growing around here. If only Lark could manage to keep up with it.

She set Sofie on her feet, patted her on the back, and, after leaning her hoe against the fence, headed for the house.

Robbie slipped his hand into hers. “After dinner, can I help you pull weeds?”

“Me too.” Sofie nodded emphatically.

“You need to take a nap,” Robbie said. Definitely big brother to little sister.

Lark paused. “Hear that?”

“Meadowlark?”

She nodded and watched grins spread over the children’s faces as they listened to the meadowlark’s aria.