3

ELLA WOKE IN HER CHILDHOOD BEDROOM, feeling rested for once, under the quilt Gran had given her for her sixteenth birthday. After spending most of three days in the hospital with Gran, she was glad for a night back at her parents’ house. Her grandmother was making strides, and with Aunt Sadie planning to stay for at least a month, Ella was needed less. Ella stretched and rolled to her back, staring at the familiar cracks in the ceiling.

While Gran could move her right side now, it was going to take months of therapy to recover fully—or as fully as could be expected. Speech was slow in coming, yet she’d been able to utter a few simple words the day before. One of those words was “Go,” after Ella said she thought she might spend the night back on the farm. Gran had given her a stern look, but Ella knew it was pure love.

As she came more fully awake, she realized there was a racket going on in the backyard. Dressing quickly, Ella followed the smell of coffee and bacon into the kitchen, where her mother was scribbling on a notepad. There was no sign of Dad.

“Oh, Ella. Good. I was leaving you a note before I go to the hospital to sit with Perla. There’s bacon in the oven. Do you want me to fry some eggs to go with it?”

Ella smiled when she saw the mug with a tea bag waiting on the counter. She’d never learned to drink coffee, so Mom usually kept her favorite tea on hand. She picked up the kettle simmering on a back burner and poured water into the mug. “No thanks. I’ll make do with just bacon.” She opened the oven door and grabbed a strip, munching as she dunked her tea bag.

Mom made a derisive sound. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Ella held up the bacon and raised her eyebrows. Mom huffed.

“What’s with all the noise this morning?”

Mom rolled her eyes. “With the few words she’s mastered, your grandmother made it clear she expected your father to go on as if nothing has changed, so he decided it was time to tear down that old chicken coop out back. Will and a friend of his are helping.”

“What?” Ella darted to the window and craned her neck to see. “Why would they do that?”

Mom laughed. “It’s practically falling down. Your father kept patching and fixing, but he finally realized it was time for something new. They moved the chickens to the barn and should have a new coop up in short order.”

“But the chicken coop’s always been there,” Ella protested. “How many times have I gone out there to gather the eggs?”

“I don’t know how many times it was, but I know you usually complained about it.” Mom gave her a questioning look. “Why are you getting worked up about the chicken house?”

Ella thumped her mug down on the counter. “I’m not getting worked up. I’m just not so sure it needed to be torn down. ‘Waste not, want not’—isn’t that what you always say?”

Mom snorted. “I say a great deal—interesting that you remember it now.” She gathered her bag and keys and spoke over her shoulder on the way out. “I’ll be back before supper.”

Ella waited until her mother drove away, then scooted outside to see what was happening with the now nearly dismantled chicken house. She didn’t see her brother or her father, only a man with dark hair showing beneath a baseball cap. He was wearing a green T-shirt that pulled taut across broad shoulders as he stacked bits of lumber and chicken wire. He stood and smiled, and Ella did a stutter step. Or was that her heart?

“Hey there,” he said. “You must be Ella.”

Ella reminded herself she was mad about the chicken house. “I am. Who are you, and what are you doing?”

The smile eased into a more serious expression. He slipped his hand out of a worn leather glove and stuck it out. “Seth Markley. I’m cleaning up after this mess.”

Ella blinked and took his hand. He’d answered her question, but she realized he hadn’t come close to giving her the information she wanted.

“But why did you tear it down?”

Seth furrowed his brow. “Your father and brother asked me to help them with it.”

Unexpected tears stung Ella’s eyes as she looked at the remains of the chicken coop that had been part of their family farm since before she was born. She stomped her foot. “My great-grandmother gathered eggs from that chicken house.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Seth said with a slow grin. “There was a good fifty years’ worth of chicken mess crusted on those roosts. I think that’s all that was keeping it standing.”

Ella felt like he’d insulted someone or something precious to her. She stiffened her spine and looked him up and down. He might fill out a T-shirt nicely, and those hazel eyes made her wish she’d met him somewhere else, but enough was enough.

“It was a perfectly good chicken house, and you—”

“Hey punkin, you come out to give us a hand?”

Ella turned to see her father and brother approaching with a handcart and a tarp. “Dad, how could you tear down the chicken house?”

He dropped the tarp onto the cart and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Ah, my favorite daughter, the sentimental one. I forget how you hate change.”

Ella shook her head. “I don’t hate change. I just don’t see why you had to tear down the chicken house.”

He planted a kiss on top of her head. “Because it was about to fall down, and while I lean toward sentimental myself, your mother, ever the voice of reason, helped me see it was time. Shoot, there were holes in there big enough for two foxes and a weasel to waltz in together and help themselves. And I didn’t trust the floor with the weight of more than two chickens at a time.”

He shifted to look Ella in the eye. “The new coop will be even better. We’ll build it right here where the old one stood. I’m even going to salvage some of the nesting boxes that are still in good shape.”

Ella felt her annoyance slip a notch. Her father always knew what to say. She looked at the rotten boards encrusted with, well, mess was a good word for it. She lost more of her steam.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to get all worked up about a chicken coop.”

Dad winked at her. “That’s all right. It’s been a stressful few days. Now, do you maybe owe an apology to Seth? When I walked up, looked to me like you had him pinned down pretty good.”

Ella flushed and glanced at Seth, who was busy watching an old crow perched on a fence post. Her brother, Will, watched the exchange with something like amusement. She wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but instead said, “Sorry about that, Seth. Guess I was kind of taken by surprise.”

Dad squeezed her arm. “Good enough. C’mon, we’ve got work to do and you’re more than welcome to pitch in.”

Ella stuffed her hands in the pockets of her cutoffs and looked down at her bare feet. “I’m not exactly dressed for it. Guess I’ll go work on a quilt piece.”

“That’s the ticket,” Dad said with a wink.

Ella sighed and wandered back to the house. She glanced over her shoulder as she opened the screen door. Seth was watching her. She ducked her head and disappeared into the cool of the house.

Perla dabbed a little lipstick on her mouth and tried to smile. The right side still sagged, but if she tilted her head . . . Oh, but she was a vain thing. She patted her hair, admiring the way Ella had twisted it into a chignon. It looked nice. She still wasn’t sure she was ready to go back to church, but she supposed the die was cast now. Ella and Sadie had taken turns staying with her around the clock since she came home from the hospital—helping with rehabilitation exercises, making sure she ate the awful prescribed diet, and dispensing medication. They both deserved an outing, and Perla was feeling a bit of cabin fever herself.

Ella appeared at the bathroom door, Sadie not far behind, and offered her grandmother her arm. Perla had a walker, something she hated. Vanity again. She wanted to tell Ella to leave the contraption behind. Taking a deep breath, she managed two words. “Go. Own.”

Sadie made a face. “Mother, you’re going to have to do better than that. The speech pathologist said we shouldn’t let you take shortcuts. Try again.”

Perla felt annoyance rise. Sadie always had a bossy streak, and she wasn’t in the mood for it on this lovely summer Sunday when she was finally leaving the house.

Ella patted Perla’s hand where it gripped her arm—probably a little too tight. “I put your walker in the backseat of the car, but maybe if you hold on to me or Dad, you won’t need it.”

Perla gave her granddaughter a grateful smile. It was almost as though she could read her thoughts. She remembered how Ella always seemed to understand everything when she was a child. She’d even known what that old bird dog of Henry’s wanted when he wagged his tail or whined. Sadie rolled her eyes, but didn’t press the matter. Perla felt a little thrill of triumph that she immediately regretted. This shouldn’t be a battle of wills. But then she and Sadie hadn’t really seen eye to eye ever since . . . well, probably since Casewell died. Somehow Perla felt as though the secret of Sadie’s parentage stood between them. And now there was the question of Sadie’s health; knowing her father’s medical history could help her make good decisions. Surely it was time to tell her daughter the truth.

Perla squared her shoulders as best she could. Life was a journey, and she was determined not to let this stroke business sidetrack her. She needed to get her voice back so she could tell Ella and Sadie what they needed to know.