Molly stitched, Anna slept, and Jane worried. What if something happened to Peter out there in the cold? She wouldn’t have any idea what to do without him. What if Anna was truly, desperately ill? Henry, the porter on the train, had indicated that Elm Creek didn’t have a doctor. How did people stand living in a place where they didn’t have a doctor? And Mr. Huggins. How would he respond to the news that Molly was better, but they still weren’t heading to Denver? Would he understand? Was Jane ruining her only chance to give Molly a better life by lingering?
“Mama!” Molly’s frustrated tone drew Jane back to the moment.
She held out a bit of patchwork. “My thread knotted up, and I can’t make it work.”
Jane took the sewing into her own hands but went to the doorway leading into Peter’s room to look in on Anna before checking Molly’s sewing problem. Anna was still sleeping, so Jane retreated to the table. She unthreaded the needle and used it as a tool to loosen the knot in the thread. Problem solved, she rethreaded the needle and handed the patchwork back to Molly.
“You don’t have to work on that every minute if you don’t want to.”
Molly didn’t even look up. “I want to show Anna when she wakes up.” She bent to the piecing. “Anna said to make the stitches small and to back a stitch every third or fourth one.”
“It’s called a ‘backstitch,’” Jane said.
Molly ignored her. “Anna said it makes the seam hold better.”
Jane nodded. “She’ll be very pleased to see your progress. Are you certain you don’t want any help?” Molly was certain, and so Jane rose and stirred up the fire, hesitating for a moment when she realized that she wasn’t quite certain what to cook. She decided on potato soup when she found some shriveled potatoes in a crock along the back wall. And onions. Anna had quite a supply of onions, which was no surprise, seeing as how she had such a firm belief in smelly poultices. Jane set to peeling potatoes and peeking in on Anna and counting the minutes, all the while wondering when Peter would return and what would happen when Mr. Huggins heard the news.
Jane stared down at the telegram Peter had brought back from the station.
REGRETS Stop PLANS ON HOLD Stop HOPE TO HEAR GOOD NEWS SOON Stop
He’d signed it H. Huggins, which made her regret the Jane she’d sent his way. Did he think that too forward of her? At least she’d signed today’s differently. She thanked Peter and tucked the telegram in her apron pocket. He hung his coat and things up and hurried to Anna’s bedside.
When Jane heard low voices, she went to the doorway and peered in. Peter sat on a chair leaning forward, clasping one of Anna’s hands between his while she smiled at him. At the sight of Jane, she looked up, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she began to cough. Peter hurried into the other room and returned with a mug of water. Anna took a sip, grimaced with the effort of swallowing, and then spread one wrinkled hand across her chest as she explained what was needed to make another poultice—this one with onions.
“I know how to do it, Mutti,” Peter said, patting her hand gently. “And you want the syrup in the green bottle—not the brown one, right?” Anna looked surprised, even as she nodded her head. Peter said he’d see to the tea as well, kissed her on the cheek, and motioned for Jane to follow him into the main room. Once there, he handed her the green bottle and a spoon. “If you’ll get that down her—take a mug of water with you—I’ll handle the poultice and the tea.”
“Can I help?” Molly had set her sewing down and was watching them.
Peter smiled. “You may.” He reached for a small washtub. “Step outside the door and fill this tub with clean snow and bring it back inside. Then you can help me make Mutti’s special tea.”
When Jane went back to Anna, the old woman waved the teaspoon away and took a sip directly from the green bottle, then grimaced and drank down the mug of water. “Don’t look so sad,” she said. “Grubers are strong people. I will be fine. Mostly I am only tired. And I have—” She lifted her chin and stroked her throat with her fingertips, then coughed.
“At least you don’t sound like you’re congested the way Molly was.” Jane paused. “Do you think we should put another steam tent up?”
“Nein.” Anna took a deep breath to prove that her lungs were clear. “I breathe good.” She reached for Jane’s hand and put Jane’s palm to her forehead. “See? Is only little warm, ja?”
When Jane agreed, Anna settled back with a smile. “All will be better in a few days. Maybe a week. Maybe a little more. We will see.” She motioned to the main room. “Now go. Help Peter.”
Peter had Molly cut a square of cheesecloth and spread it on the worktable. Next, he reached for the cracker tin on the medicine shelf. “This is what you were after in your sleep that night.” He took the lid off and held it so Molly could see the contents. When she took a whiff of the herbs and made a face, he chuckled. “I agree. It makes a powerful tea, but it’s not something to be savored as a midnight snack.” He took a generous portion of the dried leaves and put them in the center of the cheesecloth, then directed Molly to get some of Mutti’s strong thread and help him make a tea bag. “We steep this until the water is a horrible shade of green, and then we take it in to Mutti.” While he talked, he was heating water on the stove.
Jane came out of Mutti’s room, went to the onion bin, and came back to the worktable. “She said they don’t need to be peeled. I don’t honestly remember seeing her make the poultice for Molly, but somehow that doesn’t seem right.”
“I know, but that’s how she does it.” Peter reached for a knife. “If you’ll mind the teapot, I’ll do the honors.”
They worked together for a few minutes, and finally Molly looked up from the mug of tea she’d been watching. “It looks pretty awful,” she said, and leaned down to take a whiff. “And it smells worse.”
Peter leaned over to take a look. He nodded. “Yes, I believe that’s just about terrible enough to effect a cure.”
“Can I take it in?” Molly asked as Jane lifted the herbs out of the cup and set the sack on a saucer.
“Of course.” Peter nodded. “Thank you for helping.”
As soon as Molly got to the doorway, Anna called out a greeting, followed by a few dry coughs.
“It doesn’t sound too bad,” Jane said. “I mentioned a steam tent while you were gone, but she said it wouldn’t be necessary.”
“She said as much to me,” Peter agreed. “But I’m still going to bring the wagon cover back in and the ropes. Just in case she’s proven wrong in the middle of the night.”
Anna administered her own poultice as before, and when Peter coaxed her to eat a little supper, she proclaimed Jane’s potato soup delicious. As evening wore on and Jane mentioned reading to Molly before bedtime, Anna asked if she would mind reading at the bedside so she could enjoy the story as well.
Peter brought Mutti’s rocker in for Jane and set it by the window. He turned up the lamp so she could see to read. Mutti insisted that Molly climb up and sit at the foot of her bed. Peter was about to step into the other room when Mutti called for him to stay. “Get chair. Stay near.” She paused. “Bring springerle for Molly.” She forced a weak smile.
After everyone had retired, Jane lay awake for a while. It struck her suddenly, right before she fell asleep. Mr. Huggins hadn’t mentioned Molly in the telegram. She rose and went to the sewing rocker by the bedroom window where she’d put her day dress and the apron, then dug the telegram out of the pocket and held it up to the low-burning lamp. Of course telegrams were by nature brief and to the point. Regrets. It occurred to Jane that, while she hated the idea that Anna was sick, whatever she was feeling about not being able to catch the train today, regret did not apply. Relieved was a better word for how she felt when it came to not being able to leave for Denver.
Plans on hold. At least Mr. Huggins had made some plans and was still hoping they would be realized. That was reassuring.
Wasn’t it?
Hope to hear good news soon. Jane sat back in the chair and looked toward the bed where Molly lay asleep. Good news. Yes. It would be good news when Anna was feeling well—well enough for them to say good-bye.
Jane sat for quite a while in the dim light of the lamp, thinking. Staring out at the snow. Finally she rose. On her way back to bed, she folded the telegram and tucked it into the side pocket of her carpetbag.
It was three long days and three longer nights before Anna finally asked Peter to help her out of bed and into the main room to sit at the table with everyone for breakfast. Molly proved herself a willing and able nurse, making tea according to Peter’s instructions, shuttling toast and medicine bottles to Anna’s bedside, and sitting with Anna while Peter tended the livestock—except for the chickens. Jane had taken over the chickens, surprised to find that she enjoyed the chore. She admired Solomon’s spectacular iridescent tail feathers and even named the hen that seemed particularly resistant to the idea of giving up her eggs to an interloper.
“The one with the gold eyes,” Anna said, when Jane called the hen a “she-donkey.”
“How did you know?”
Anna chuckled, although the laugh cost her a few minutes of coughing and a grimace as she commented on how sore coughing made an old woman’s ribs. She glanced toward the door before speaking and then motioned for Jane to come close. “I never have liked that hen. Maybe we have her for supper when I’m feeling better, ja?”
For all of Anna’s pain and coughing, it appeared the old woman had been right and that her illness wasn’t going to be serious. She never needed the steam tent. Jane was thankful, but as the days wore on and Anna stayed abed, she began to wonder again about Mr. Huggins. She could almost sense dark clouds gathering in the west and a storm about to break.
A week after Peter had gone to send the second telegram, Jane’s imaginary dark clouds became real. A loud knock on the door made everyone jump. Anna, who’d joined them at the breakfast table, clutched her blanket close as Peter rose to answer the door.
“Sorry to bother,” a voice said, “but I’ve a letter for a Mrs. McClure. It’s marked urgent.” Peter swung the door wide enough for the speaker to step inside.
Jane rose. “I’m Mrs. McClure.”
The man rummaged inside the oversize fur coat he was wearing and finally withdrew an envelope. He held it out, speaking to Peter as he did so. “Hope it isn’t bad news. The sender addressed it to the telegraph operator at Elm Creek and enclosed two dollars as incentive to get me to deliver it right away. Said I was to wait for a reply.”
Jane opened the envelope with trembling hands.
Jane—I take the liberty of addressing you informally, in light of the telegram which brought such disappointing news. I have thought of little else but how to understand the situation since receiving your brief notice. While I do not wish to appear unsympathetic, it does seem that you have more than repaid the kindness of strangers. It is my utmost hope that you will relieve my nagging questions by directing the bearer of this letter to respond with a telegram stating the time of your arrival—which I think it reasonable to expect within the next two days. You said you were looking forward to welcoming 1876 in my company. We are several days into the new year. Have I been wrong to think that you shared my hopes for a mutually beneficial future?
Respectfully,
Howard H. Huggins
“It’s from him.” Molly was the first to speak, and she didn’t try to hide her resentment.
“Is everything all right?” Peter’s voice was gentle. Concerned.
Jane swept her hand across her forehead as she stared down at the letter. “Yes. Of course.” She looked up. Forced a smile. “I think so.” Her voice wavered. “I’m not sure.”
“Not meaning to rush you, ma’am,” the letter carrier said, “but I’d rather my team not stiffen up waiting in the cold.”
Jane nodded. And then, quite suddenly, she felt weak in the knees and once again took her seat at the table.
“I’ll get you a pencil and paper,” Peter said, then offered the man waiting a cup of coffee. “I’ll take it,” he said, “but if you don’t mind, I’ll wait outside with the team.” He grasped the mug Peter offered and spoke to Jane. “Try not to take too long, ma’am.” And he was gone.
It seemed like all the joy had gone out of the room. Jane stared down at the letter. Cleared her throat. Took the pencil and paper Peter offered.
Anna sighed. “Peter,” she said, “help me back to bed. I think—I think I have fever again.” She sighed, grunting softly as Peter took her arm and helped her back to bed.
As soon as they were gone, Jane forced a smile as she said to Molly, “He wants us to come soon. He’s—well, he’s tired of waiting, and he wants us to come no later than day after tomorrow.”
“But Anna’s still sick,” Molly said. “And I don’t have my quilt finished. She has to tell me how to finish it.”
Peter’s voice sounded from the doorway. “You don’t have to answer it now. I’ll send the driver away. When you have an answer, I’ll take it to Elm Creek.”
“I can’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t ask,” Peter said. “I offered.”
Jane lay the pencil down. “Thank you.”
He was out the door almost before she finished the second word. When he came back inside, Jane rose and picked up the letter. “If you don’t mind, I think—” She looked toward the room she and Molly had been sharing.
Peter spoke to Molly. “How about you stop pricking those dainty fingers of yours and try to beat me at checkers?”
Molly shrugged. “I can’t beat you.”
“You did beat me, just last night.”
“Only because you let me.”
“You think I let you win?”
“I know you did.”
“Why would I do a thing like that?”
“Because you’re a good monster,” Molly said. She looked over at Jane. “Mr. Huggins wouldn’t ever let me win,” she said. “He doesn’t even like to play checkers.” And with that, she jumped up and ran into the bedroom.
Anna called for Peter, and Jane was left alone with the letter.