Two

Em, you look so improved. You have some color in your cheeks again. I’ve been meaning to stop in and visit with you, but I didn’t want to disturb you.” Eliza seated herself next to Em’s bed. “Are you feeling well enough to move upstairs? There is a lovely room up there. It would be perfect for you.” She spoke quickly. “You’ll just love it, I know you will. Mae and Millicent are so sweet. They would just be delighted with your company.” Her eyes darted toward the door. The two were alone for the first time, at least that Em had been conscious for.

Studying Eliza, Em wondered if the two would become friends. Could they become friends? It seemed unlikely. Girls like Eliza had never cared much for Em. But what did she know? She had little experience with peers. “Is this your room? I didn’t realize—”

“It is, and I haven’t minded you being here. Honest, I haven’t. But the bed upstairs is terribly uncomfortable on my back. It really would be much better for me if I could have my own bed again. When you’re ready, of course.” Eliza smiled prettily at her, her right hand rubbing her back.

Em doubted Eliza’s back could hurt nearly as badly as the tender gunshot wound she was struggling to recover from, but living off charity kept her from saying so. “I’ll gladly sleep upstairs. I think I could manage the stairs even now. I feel up to it.”

“Oh, thank you. You’re a gem.” Eliza squeezed her arm. “I’m certain you’ll like it. The girls are so energetic. They’ll be great company. When my mother returns, be sure to tell her that you really want to be up there.”

Em fought the chuckle that tried to escape. “I’ll let her know that I’ll enjoy the girls’ company,” she said. She had shared a room with a little girl before—with Lucy. The thought of that sweet girl brought a new ache, different from the gunshot wound but just as real and just as tender.

That afternoon when Abigail came to Em’s room to sit with her, one of the little girls peeked her head into the room and waved. Em waved back, motioning for her to come in. The little girl tiptoed into the room.

“Mae, you can’t come in. You know Em must rest,” Abigail said from her seat beside the bed.

Mae took a swift step toward the door.

Em jumped to her rescue. “If it’s all right with you,” she said, addressing Abigail, “I’d enjoy her company.”

Abigail looked at the girl and then back at Em. “If you’re certain.”

“I am.” As soon as the words were out, Abigail gave a nod in Mae’s direction. The child looked more carefree now as she approached. Her brown curls bounced with each step. Mae put a hand on top of Em’s and smiled.

“I’m Mae,” she said.

“Hello, Mae. Thank you for visiting me. It’s been much too quiet for me in here.” Returning her gaze to Abigail, she said, “In fact, I was hoping once I was cleaned up I could move out of this room and bunk somewhere else. I feel awful having this big room all to myself. Perhaps I could move in with the girls. If that’s all right with you.”

“Did Eliza put you up to this? Of course she did, that girl.” Abigail pursed her lips. “You don’t have to move though. This room is so quiet and there are no stairs.”

“I’d love to be with the girls. It’s been far too long since I’ve spent time with little ones. I’d enjoy it very much. In fact, I think I would be happier there.”

“Eliza is used to having her own space, so she’s not much fun for the girls. If you think you would be happy there, then I’ll ready the room for you. But only if you’re certain.” Em bobbed her head, prompting Abigail to continue. “The stairs are not steep, but you must promise to have assistance. I would feel just terrible if you took a fall.” She rose from her seat. “First, I’ll go and heat water for a bath. I think a good scrub in the tub will be excellent medicine. I dare say you don’t need any—you look better each time I enter this room. But a bath is soothing, and according to the doctor it couldn’t hurt as long as we are mindful of your injury.”

A tingling sensation began near Em’s eyes. Rubbing at them with the back of her hands, she tried to fight off the feeling. But tears of joy threatened to creep from their edges. She’d not taken a bath, with warm water, since—she couldn’t remember when. George didn’t have a tub. A sponge bath or dip in the cold creek were her choices. No matter how nice it sounded, it wasn’t worth crying over, so she held the tears back. Seven years ago she had cried her last tears. Seven years. Seven long years. There would be no crying today.

Instead, she turned toward little Mae. “Miss Mae, it seems you and I are going to be bunking together.”

“Did you share at the last place you lived?”

“I did, but I shared a barn with a few smelly animals! Sharing a room with you and Millicent will be much more fun.”

“Maybe the barn was better. I bet sleeping with animals would be fun. I love our horse, Nelly. I’ll have to ask Papa if I can spend a night near her.” Mae’s eyes were large and spirited. “Besides, sometimes Millicent talks when she’s supposed to be sleeping. And once, not long ago, she had a dream she was using the privy and we had to air out our mattress the next morning. But that won’t be so bad for you, since you’ll have a bed to yourself.” Mae’s voice was clear and easy to understand. She had the slightest touch of a lisp, just enough to remind those around her that she was still a child.

“Sounds like your room is full of adventure. It’s a bit too quiet in this room for me. I think I shall prefer the upstairs bedroom.”

“I’m going to go tell Milly that you and Eliza are switching spots. She’ll be so glad. I know she will. Eliza isn’t any fun. She just tells us to be quiet and not touch her things. You’ll be much nicer, I can tell.” With that she pranced out of the room.

The warm, fragrant water was just as nice as Em had anticipated. Abigail let her soak and encouraged her to stay in as long as she liked. Twice Abigail brought buckets of warm water and added them to the tub. The soap smelled sweet, like flowers and well-dressed women. Very unlike the harsh lye soap she’d used before, though she’d been grateful for that since so often there’d been no soap at all.

She scrubbed and soaked and scrubbed some more, always being mindful of her tender wound site. She washed around the bandage, doing her best to protect it and keep it clean. When she finally stood, she held her hands palms up. The skin resembled sunbaked fruit—wrinkled but fresh. Staring at her arms, she could see freckles she’d forgotten existed. With the dirt gone, they boldly proclaimed themselves once more. The water was murky and a film of oil and grime coated the edge of the tub. Yes, Abigail was right—she had needed a good soak. It was astonishing how dirty she’d become. Never would she let herself get so filthy again, not if there was any other way.

Abigail had left a clean nightgown, undergarments, a fresh bandage, and a comb for her hair on a chair near the tub. Em stood looking at the bounty. Then reverently she ran her hand across the simple gown. There was no lace, no ribbons. Nothing but soft, clean fabric. She gathered it in her hands and brought it to her cheek. The smell of sunshine wafted from it. Em felt her chest tighten as she realized it was not just a nightdress, it was kindness. She allowed herself to feel nothing but gratitude. Later she would worry about repaying the Howells and the tremendous debt she owed them. Tonight she simply felt their goodness and savored it.

She removed the old bandage and for a moment looked at the red stitched skin. It was healing quickly, and someday it would be nothing more than a scar. One that when she looked at it would cause her to remember the night she was finally set free.

Em pulled the clean cloth over her head, letting it fall against her newly scrubbed skin. In an uncharacteristic moment of pure delight, she twirled around, letting herself pretend this life of luxury was hers and not something temporary. She was filled with joy and an involuntary smile spread across her face. Twirling did not last long. She stopped when she felt light-headed, the sharp pain in her side a reminder that this was not truly her life—at least not permanently. Soon enough she’d be back to merely surviving, but for now, in this moment, the world felt brighter.

Sitting on a stool, she caught her breath and regained her composure. She ran her fingers through her hair, which quickly became ensnared in a mass of tangles. Then she began combing it, starting at the ends. She winced as she worked out the stubborn knots. At last the comb slid through her hair unimpeded. Her straw-colored locks were long and straight against her sides, reaching nearly to her waist. Mounted on the wall was a small mirror. Em stepped closer and watched her fingers work the long strands into a tight braid for the night.

Then her eyes met those of her reflection, and seeing herself in the glass flustered her. The quivering creek had been her only mirror for seven long years. The last time she’d looked in a real mirror she’d been a child; now she was a woman.

Stepping closer, she looked hard at her face, hoping to see a little of her mother staring back at her. Always she had wished when she grew up that she would look like her angel mother. Where was she? Not in her dull hair. Not in her freckles or harsh cheek bones. Em closed her eyes, longing to find the loving image in her mind and heart.

It had been so long, but she could picture her mother’s arms around her, her face looking down at her own. Her pink lips smiling at her. Soft blue eyes—the color of a cloudless summer sky—met hers. Em touched her forehead where her mother had planted so many kisses. She allowed herself a long moment to savor the feeling of love that had once been a regular part of her life.

At last she opened her eyes. Again she saw her plain face looking back at her, and the warmth of the past drifted from her like vapor rising from a smoldering log. Turning away from the mirror, she finished quickly, wrapping a fresh bandage around her wound and readying herself to leave the room.

A rapid knock sounded at the door. “Em, are you clean? I heard you’re going to move to our room,” a little girl’s voice called from outside the door.

“I’m clean. I’ll be out in just a moment. Will you show me where your room is?”

“I will. I’ll go get Mae—she’ll want to come too.” Millicent padded away from the door.

With her health rapidly improving, Em hoped she would get to know the two small girls better. Now that they’d be sharing a room, it could hardly be avoided.

Glancing back at the mirror one last time, she accepted the face that looked back at her. It wasn’t a beautiful face and she couldn’t change that. No prince would ever sweep her off her feet and ease her burdens. Hard work was how she’d always survived, and she’d go on that way. This was no time to lament a body she had no way of changing. She opened the door, determined to embrace whatever was ahead.

“You look different. You were so dirty before, and now you smell better too.” The two girls were looking at her, studying the change. Both faces equally rosy and full of life. “Come with us!” the girl on the right said.

Em had not seen them together until now. They looked so much alike, both round-faced little cherubs.

“I’m so glad you’ve come to show me the way to your room. First, you must remind me which of you is Mae and which is Millicent.”

“She is Mae and I’m Milly,” said the girl on the left.

“Are you twins?”

“Yes,” they said at the same time.

Em pretended to be thinking hard. “And let me guess, you are both . . . fourteen?”

The girls giggled infectious little-girl giggles. “We’re seven. When we had our birthday, we had real ice cream with berries in it. It’s a shame you weren’t here. We’ll have to ask Mother if we can have it again.”

Seven. Just like Lucy. The last time Em had seen Lucy, she’d just had her seventh birthday. Em had wanted to do something special for her. She had wished she could bake her a sweet or buy her a doll. All little girls loved dolls and sweets. They were what she’d longed for herself at seven. But she had not been able to give those gifts to Lucy. Instead, she’d taken her for a very long walk to a small park, tucked among the tall buildings. They had spent the afternoon making little people out of sticks and leaves, laughing and smiling the hours away. Lucy had said it was the grandest day. On the walk back Em had picked her a daisy, tucked it behind the small girl’s ear, and whispered, “Happy birthday, princess.”

And now here she stood with two seven-year-olds. “My, my, seven years old. Well, that’s halfway to fourteen. You’ll be there before you know it. But don’t grow too fast. Seven is a magical age.”

Using wisdom beyond their years, they walked slowly, making it easy for the still-recovering Em to keep up. They went up the stairs, one on each side of her, and led her to the right. Em glanced to the left and saw another door.

The girls noticed her gaze. “That’s the boys’ room. We have a boy room and a girl room up here,” Mae said.

“A boy room?” Em had not heard of or seen any boys.

“We had brothers. But they died from a fever.” Millicent spoke matter-of-factly. “We were little, but we know Mama thought they were the best boys. She cries whenever she goes in there. Usually, she just leaves the door closed and tells us we are not to play or go inside. I don’t know why she goes in at all. It just makes her sad.”

Em wondered if Lucy was as resilient as these girls or if she had a locked-up wound like Abigail. A wound that ached whenever the door swung open but that begged to be opened when closed.

Mae led the way into the girls’ room. It was a big room with two beds, each covered with a brightly colored patchwork quilt. One bed was bigger than the other and had two pillows on it. Em guessed that was Mae and Milly’s bed.

A small window looking out toward the road was cut into one wall and violet curtains hung along each side of it. A rocking horse and a little table with two little chairs sat in the corner. On the table were two little teacups and saucers. On each chair sat a rag doll—one with brown hair and one with yellow. Em’s gaze lingered on the dolls. She was surprised to feel emotion rising to her eyes again. Fighting the traitorous tears, she smiled at the two little girls, grateful that they were enjoying being children. Feeling happy for them was better than feeling sorry for what could never be.

“We share this big bed and Ma put new linens on the other bed for you,” Millicent said.

“That will be perfect. It’s a beautiful room and that bed looks so soft. I’m sure I’ll be happy in this room.” Em wished she could fall into the inviting bed right then. She was so tired. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Ma says you don’t have to go to bed when we do. But if you want to, you can,” Mae said.

“Hmmm. What would you think about me coming up here when you go to sleep and telling you a story? Then I could go help your mama with anything she needs and come back quietly later.”

“You know stories?” Millicent shrieked, her big brown eyes dancing.

“I know a few. I might know a story you’ve never heard before.”

“Will you tell us one now?” Mae asked. The two of them looked at her with such pleading eyes that even if Em had wanted to, she would not have been able to say no. Em climbed onto the big bed and a girl curled up on both sides of her.

“Once I went for a long ride on a train. There were many, many children on the train. To entertain ourselves we told all the stories we could remember.” Em forced a smile, even though the memory was dark. “When we were little, we’d all been tucked into bed by our own mamas. Each night we’d listened to different tales. So when we all got together, we sat around on the bumpy train and shared the stories we’d learned.”

“You rode a train with all your friends? I’ve longed to ride a train. Tell us what it’s like. Was it fast? Was it fancy?” Millicent asked.

“I thought you wished for a story?” Em said, hoping to avoid sharing the details of that fateful train ride.

“I suppose we did. But you must tell us all about trains another day. You’re so lucky to have done something exciting,” Millicent said. “We never do anything exciting.”

“Hush, Milly. I want to hear her story,” Mae said.

“Do you want one about a princess? I knew a little girl once who loved stories about princesses.”

“Yes!” the children said together.

“Very well. I remember a story about a prince in need of a princess to marry. He had trouble finding a real princess. He decided he must find a way to test the women to see if they were indeed princesses . . .” Em told the story of the princess and the pea. The two girls listened, hanging on every word. She finished by saying, “When the girl woke covered in bruises from the one tiny pea, they knew she must be a real princess. The prince and his princess soon married and lived happily ever after.”

When the tale was complete, the two girls sighed.

Mae, who was curled against Em’s right side, said, “That was a very good story. I hope to meet a prince someday, a real prince that lives in Azure Springs. I don’t want to move too far from Mama and Papa, but I do want to marry a prince.”

Millicent spoke then. “Do you think Eliza is a princess? She always complained about that bed.”

The girls started giggling.

“Enough stories.” All three looked up to see Abigail smiling from the doorway. “It’s time to tuck you girls into bed.”

Then, turning to Em, she said, “You look refreshed.”

“The bath was wonderful. Thank you for your kindness.”

“And thank you for telling these two girls a story. It’s been years since I heard the tale of the princess and the pea.”

Em listened as the two girls said their prayers. They both thanked the Lord for Em and for her story. Em prayed a special prayer that night for her new little friends. She prayed their dreams of princes would come true, or at least be broken softly. Earnestly, she prayed that Lucy had been tucked into a warm bed and told stories. That she’d been loved.