For a city girl, she caught on quick. Abe sat beside Miss Emmett on the wooden seat and gripped his knees, sometimes offering low-voiced instruction, but mostly just letting her get the feel for driving. His trustworthy horse, Pet, held to a slow, steady clop-clop. Miss Emmett looped the traces between her gloved fingers instead of clutching them in her fists. If he hadn’t known better, he would have suspected she grew up on a Kansas farm instead of the middle of a big city. Yep, she was doing fine. Even better than fine.
But no matter what Preacher Henry said or how she proved herself capable, he wouldn’t hand over Ed’s wagon or one of Ed’s horses to this city gal. He’d let her stick with his wagon and his horse. Partly because out of the four horses owned by the Early boys, Pet was the gentlest and most cooperative. Partly because he couldn’t stand the thought of anybody but Ed or Ruby using their wagon and team. Could his steadfast brother and his bubbly, always-laughing wife really be gone?
The little girl stood in the wagon bed and held onto the back of the seat, looking this way and that. Every now and then she murmured, “Ohhh,” or pointed at something—a circling hawk, a rolling tumbleweed, a farmer trailing his horse with his hands on the plow—with wonder in her eyes. But mostly she just looked. The rolling farmland with houses and barns sitting in the middle of open ground probably made her think she’d landed on foreign soil.
Pressure built in Abe’s chest. A deep ache that made drawing a breath pure torture. Ruby would’ve enjoyed teaching the child how to put seeds in the good Kansas ground and coax them to life. Ed would’ve relished holding her on his knee and letting her pretend to drive the team. His brother and sister-in-law were so natural with the town children, so eager to parent one of their own. They would have been the best pa and ma ever for Lucy.
Why’d You have to take them away, God? They were my whole family. They were supposed to be this little girl’s whole family. I don’t understand.
The wagon approached the turn in the road leading to the adjoining Early farms. Ed had always teased it wasn’t fair that Abe got home quicker from town, his house being the first one on their property. He’d always felt a little guilty about it, seeing how Ed planned to be a family man and would have reasons to get home faster, but now he was happy he’d claimed the closer plot to town. He didn’t have to pass the pile of charred timbers that was once Ed and Ruby’s house every time he made the trek back and forth to Kingsley.
He cleared his throat and pointed to the bend. “Gonna turn in there on the left. Pet already knows that’s home, an’ she’ll take us that way without you tellin’ her, but it’s good for you to know what to do. So when we’re close, you’ll wanna say”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“G-E-E.”
From behind them, Lucy echoed, “G-E-E.”
“Hush, you,” he told the child. He frowned at the woman. “You’ll say the word, not spell it. But if you say it too soon, Pet’ll get confused. So wait just a bit. I’ll tell you when.”
She nodded and set her face at a pert angle, gaze ahead.
Abe watched until they reached the second stone fence post from the corner. “Now.”
“Gee,” Miss Emmett called. Pet obediently pulled the wagon onto the lane. Miss Emmet smiled at Abe. “I did it.”
Abe shrugged. “Well, Pet did it.”
She nodded. “She listened to me.”
Abe decided not to argue. “When we get to the yard, the barn’ll be to the right of the house. When you want Pet to go right, you say H-A-W.”
Another quick nod that made her hat bounce. This time Abe stayed silent and let her judge when to give the direction. Pet had already begun angling the wagon toward the barn when Miss Emmett announced firmly, “Haw,” but she was right on target. Without thinking, he said, “Good job.”
She beamed at him. When the horse neared the sliding barn door, she pulled back on the reins and called, “Whoa, Pet.” The horse stopped. The moment the wagon’s creaking fell silent, Miss Emmett thrust the reins into his hands, slumped back in the seat, and blew out a dainty breath. “I’m so glad that’s done. It’s quite disconcerting to be in control of such a muscular animal with only those slim lines of leather. I don’t believe I truly breathed the entire drive.”
Abe swallowed a reminder that she’d be taking herself back to town in the evening. “You did fine, miss. An’ ol’ Pet is a trustworthy beast who likes to take things slow. She’s a good match for somebody just learnin’ to handle a wagon an’ team.”
She smiled a thank-you that made Abe’s heart do an odd little flip in his chest.
He cleared his throat and hopped down from the seat. “Climb on down from there an’ I’ll show you the house.” This city girl would probably shrink away in shock when she got a good look at his simple dwelling. But maybe it’d be enough of a shock for her to take the little girl away even before the circuit judge came. He reached into the bed for the child’s bag, and the little one scampered over to the open back and held her arms to him.
“Hewp me out?” she said, her angelic face expectant.
Sweat broke out over Abe’s body. He looked at his hands—his big, callused hands with their knobby knuckles and nails rimmed with dirt that he could never completely remove no matter how much he scrubbed. He shouldn’t touch her. He’d soil her. Maybe even break her.
She bobbed her arms. “Please?”
Miss Emmett rounded the wagon. “Come here to me, Lucy. I’ll help you.”
Abe stepped aside, relieved he’d left the wagon’s hatch door in the barn when he’d set out that morning. Miss Emmett wouldn’t have been able to lift the child over the high side, but the floor of the bed was only a little over three feet from the ground. She had no trouble helping Lucy from that reasonable distance.
With the child riding her hip, she turned to Abe. “Please bring Lucy’s bag and show me where she is to sleep. I’ll put her things away for you.”
She’d gone a little frosty in the last few minutes, probably because she was peeved at him, and guilt pricked. He’d never liked displeasing anyone. But he wouldn’t risk hurting the little one. He headed for the house. “C’mon in.” He felt obliged to add, “It’s not much.”
She trailed him across his dirt yard and onto the porch—just planked boards with a slanted roof held up by two plain posts. Nothing like the spindled, painted porch Ed built for Ruby. For the first time he wished he’d at least slapped some paint on the boards, but what difference did it make? These two weren’t staying permanently.
He opened the front door and gestured the woman over the threshold into his small sitting room. Not that he did much sitting. Her gaze was flitting around the room, but he couldn’t tell by her expression what she might be thinking. He said, “Follow me,” and headed for the little room next to the kitchen. Only a storage room, but he didn’t have much to store, so it would make a suitable bedroom for the child. Small as she was, she wouldn’t take up much space.
He opened the door and entered the dark room. Shutters covered the windows, one looking north at the fields and one looking east where Ed and Ruby’s house used to be, but once he flopped them open sunlight spilled into the space, revealing a jumble of crates and burlap bags stacked in the corner. And a whole lot of stringy cobwebs.
Abe slid his finger over the windowsill and grimaced at the pathway left in the dust. “Reckon it’s gonna need some cleaning before she can sleep in here.”
“I should say so.” Miss Emmett spoke so staunchly it made Abe want to chortle. She turned a slow circle, still carrying the little one, her face pursed in distaste. “Where is the bed? And a chest of drawers? This is hardly a suitable arrangement for a child.”
Her tart comment chased away his humor. “I’m sorry I don’t have a guest room all ready. I didn’t know I’d need one.”
Immediately her expression turned repentant. “I apologize, Mr. Early. Of course you couldn’t have known.”
She set Lucy on the floor. The little one stayed close to the woman’s skirts, but she pinned her gaze on Abe. As did the woman. He squirmed beneath their attentiveness. After several tense, silent seconds, Miss Emmett cleared her throat.
“Mr. Early, neither Lucy nor I have had our lunch. Might I fix her a little something while you clear these items out of the room?”
Abe shrugged. He didn’t mind feeding them. Town ladies had brought out all kinds of food over the past two days the way folks always did when somebody lost a family member. His appetite had gotten buried with Ed, so he had plenty to share. But what did Miss Emmett expect him to do with these things he’d kept in his storeroom?
“Thank you.”
He blinked, surprised. Why was she thanking him? He hadn’t agreed to anything.
“After we eat,” she went on, a cheery smile lighting her face, “I’ll borrow your broom, mop, and cleaning cloths, and this room will be sparkling in no time. If you have some extra blankets, I can make a pallet on the floor for Lucy, and her belongings can simply remain in her bag until you’re able to locate furnishings.”
Miss Emmett swung the little one’s hand, her smile never dimming. “Well! Since that’s all settled, let’s go have lunch, shall we, Lucy?” She scurried out of the room, her skirts raising a little cloud of dust.
Abe gawked after her.
She paused on the other side of the doorjamb and peeked over her shoulder at him. “Of course, Mr. Early, you are more than welcome to join Lucy and me at the table when you’ve finished moving those boxes.” Then she disappeared around the corner.