A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(61)

Not a prayer that would go down in the annals of faith, and no audible answer. But as he lay there, for the first time since that awful night, RJ felt able to breathe again.

He slept so soundly he nearly missed making the building site by dawn.

———

That evening, RJ lay on the doctor’s examining table, his stomach once more in knots.

“Try to relax, RJ. I don’t know if this will help, but I truly doubt it will hurt.” With gentle hands, Adam lifted the patch from RJ’s missing eye and cleansed the scar with a damp cloth. “There. Forsythia, hand me the poultice.”

The mud smeared on coolly, with an earthy, slightly tangy scent—the salt of it? RJ forced himself to breathe slow and steady. “How long must I keep it on?”

“I don’t know, frankly. Let’s try an hour to start, and I’d like to apply it every day for a while. After a week, we’ll see if there’s been any effect.” Adam wrapped a loose bandage over the mud poultice and both eyes, bringing to mind memories of the hospital. “I’ll help you to the sofa, and you can rest there.”

RJ let himself be led, then fumbled himself into a lying position on the sofa. Adam and Forsythia left him with remonstrances to lie still.

He lay there, listening to the evening noises of dishwashing in the kitchen and children being admonished to tidy up. He hated the sense of being helpless, unable to see, of others having to care for him. Yet perhaps that had been part of his problem.

For tonight, he would merely try to trust.





18


The rooster crowing woke her.

Lark looked to the open doorway, stretching as she did so. Talk about an early bird. Dawn was still a promise beyond the horizon. Though it was no longer dark outside, even the pup at the foot of her bed—where he was not supposed to be—was not moving yet.

Her list for the day was short: start harvesting wheat. She’d sharpened the scythes last night, and with no school this week, all three of them could harvest. They had less than two acres of wheat left by the grasshoppers, which was ready now, and about the same of oats, which would be next even though it was planted late. Corn would be last. It was strange that the grasshoppers must not have liked the oats, while less than half of their corn had survived.

She thanked God every day for the amount they had been able to save, which would be food for them and food for their animals. At least the grasshoppers had not taken everything. She had to remind herself to be grateful for that.

Tossing back her sheet, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed, rousing the puppy, who jumped down, short tail wagging. He gave her toes a quick lick and headed out the door to do his business.

The rooster crowed again, this time in full form, waking Lilac. “Where’s Scamp?”

“Just went out. How about you milk this morning? I hear Del is up too.” The clanking of the stove lids announced Del was tackling her first job. “I’ll split what wood is left until we saw up that tree you and the oxen dragged in. We can’t cut the wheat until the dew is lifted anyway.”

“You know when we were talking about needed businesses? We could use a flour mill, but there’s not enough flow in that creek to power a grinder.”

“There were advantages to living in a more settled region. I remember going with Pa to the mill on the river at home.” Lark finished dressing. “It sounds like Buttercup is ready for milking.”

The cow bellowed again, and Starbright whinnied. Scamp tore off around the house, ferociously barking as if he were a guard dog of giant size. Lark quickly wound her hair in a bun and clapped her hat on her head.

The barks changed to happy whimpers as she reached the corner of the house.

“Jesse, what are you doing here so early in the morning? I thought you were working on the boardinghouse.” She paused. “What is that thing you’re carrying?”

“Good morning to you t-too.” He grinned. “Sythia and I decided you n-needed me worse out here.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” She could feel her own face stretch into a matching grin. “Have you had breakfast?”

He shook his head. “Too early.”

“You ever helped harvest wheat before?”

“No, but I b-borrowed one of your scythes to adapt to a cradle.” He swung his creation off his shoulders. “See? This will m-make bundling the wheat easier. Someone told me about it, and Jorgensen had a p-picture in his catalog.”

“Well, now we will have two workers with scythes and two bundling.”

“Good morning, Jesse,” Del said on her way to the woodpile. “Breakfast will be ready by the time Lilac is done milking.”

As they sat down at the table, Lilac greeted Jesse. “What a surprise. How’s life in town?”

“Busy. We’re siding the b-boardinghouse now, and the windows should arrive sometime this week.”

They bowed their heads for grace and passed the bowl of scrambled eggs around, along with the biscuits left over from the night before.

Jesse reached for the bowl and, after glancing around to see that everyone was served, cleaned the remaining eggs onto his plate, then did the same with the biscuits.

The three sisters exchanged eye rolls. There were rarely leftovers when Jesse ate at their table.

“May I ask you a question?” Lark said while he was buttering the remaining biscuit. Jesse shrugged. “How old are you?”