Читать книгу The Path To Her Heart - Linda Ford - Страница 9

Boothe stayed out of sight of the kitchen door to compose himself. Jessie had enough fears to deal with without seeing his father upset. He hoped seeing Emma in her nurse’s uniform wouldn’t remind Jessie of that awful time two years ago when Alyse had been murdered by a negligent doctor. Aided and abetted by a belligerent nurse. The doctor said it would stop her fluttering heartbeat that left her weak. Instead, it had succeeded in stopping her heart completely. The judge might have ruled the incident accidental, but Boothe considered it murder. There was no other word for giving a killing dose of medicine. Alyse hadn’t stood a chance. He shuddered back the memory of her violent seizures.

And for Emma to suggest he should trust! She didn’t know the half of it. He’d trusted too easily. It cost him his wife. No. He would not trust again. Ever.

Not even God? Her words rang through his head. Even trusting God had grown difficult. One thing forced him to make the choice to do so—Jessie. He feared for his son’s safety if God didn’t protect him. Hopefully, his trust would not be misplaced. Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths. He knew the words well. However, reciting verses was far easier than having the assurance the words promised.

He drew in a deep breath. Why hadn’t Aunt Ada warned him one of her guests was a nurse? But then what difference would it have made? Leaving Lincoln, Nebraska, and moving to South Dakota had been the only way to escape the threat he faced back in the city of losing Jessie. Besides, there was no work back there and he’d been evicted from his shabby apartment. Here Jessie was safe with him. He could put up with an interfering nurse for Jessie’s sake. He would forget about Emma and the way her brown eyes melted with gentleness one moment and burned with fury the next. He smiled knowing he’d annoyed her as much as she annoyed him. Why that should amuse him, he couldn’t say. But it did.

He paused outside the kitchen.

“Where did my daddy go?” His son’s voice had a brittle edge signaling his distress. Poor Jessie had dealt with far too much in the past two years, but these past two weeks had been especially upsetting with losing their home and then being snatched away from his Aunt Vera and Uncle Luke. Jessie did not understand the reasons behind this sudden move. But it had been unavoidable. Trusting his sister-in-law had almost proven a disaster. Boothe only hoped Favor would be far enough from Lincoln.

Aunt Ada, bless her heart, answered Jessie soothingly. “He’s just in the other room. He’ll be back shortly.”

“Is my daddy mad?”

Aunt Ada chuckled. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about.”

“Is my arm going to fall off?”

Boothe stepped into the room intent on reassuring his son. The bandage already needed changing. “Your arm is going to be all right.” He kept all traces of anger from his voice even though he silently blamed Emma for frightening Jessie.

“But that lady—”

“Emma?” Aunt Ada prompted.

“Yes, Emma—”

“Miss Emma to you,” Boothe said.

“Miss Emma. She’s a nurse. She said—”

“I’ll wrap your arm better. It will be just fine.” Thank you, Miss Emma, for alarming an innocent child. He gently took off the soiled dressing, tore up more strips and created a pad. “Aunt Ada, do you have adhesive tape?”

“In the left-hand drawer.” She pointed toward the cupboard. He found the tape and cut several pieces, using them to close the edges of the cut before he applied the pad. He wrapped it with fresh lengths of the old sheet and pinned the end. “There. You’ll soon be good as new.”

Jessie nodded, his blue gaze bright. “I don’t need a doctor, do I?”

Boothe kept his voice steady despite the anger twitching at his insides. “Jessie, my boy, a man does not run to the doctor every time he gets a cut. Okay?”

“Okay.” He slid his gaze to Aunt Ada. “Miss Emma lives here?”

“Yes. Did you like her?”

“She has a nice smile.”

Boothe shot Aunt Ada a warning glance. “Where do you want us to put our stuff?”

Aunt Ada winked at Boothe. “She’s a nice woman. Knows her own mind. I admire that in a person.”

Jessie nodded vigorously. “Me, too.”

Boothe grabbed the suitcase, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation. He did not want Jessie getting interested in Emma.

“I’ve made space for you in the back of the storeroom. Sorry I can’t offer you a bedroom but the upstairs ones are all rented, for which I thank God. And I don’t intend to give up mine.”

“I’m sure we’ll be more than comfortable.” Boothe fell in beside Aunt Ada as she limped toward the back of the kitchen. Jessie followed on his heels.

The room was large, full of cupboards stacked with canned goods, bottles of home preserves, tins and sacks of everything from oats to bay leaves. Spicy, homey smells filled the air. He tightened his jaw, remembering when such aromas, such sights, meant home. With forced determination he finished his visual inspection of the room. Two narrow side-by-side cots and a tall dresser fit neatly along the far wall. A window with a green shade rolled almost to the top gave natural light. “This is more than adequate. Thank you.”

“Is this our place?” Jessie asked.

“For as long as you want,” Aunt Ada said.

A load of weight slid from Boothe’s shoulders. They would be safe here. And maybe one day in the unforeseeable future, they might even be happy again. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Jessie kicked off his boots, plopped down on one bed, his bony knees crooked toward the ceiling. “I had a room of my own at Auntie Vera’s.”

Boothe had been forced to leave Jessie with Vera on school days and often on weekends as he tried to find enough work to make ends meet. He hadn’t liked it, though he appreciated that Jessie had a safe place to stay.

He hadn’t expected it to be a complete mistake.

“No thanks needed.” Ada grinned at him. “You’ll be earning your keep sure enough. Things have been neglected of late. I can’t get around like I used to.”

“I’m here to help. Tell me what you need done.”

“I’d appreciate if you look after the furnace first. Emma’s been kind enough to do it but she’s a paying guest.”

“I’ll tend to it. Jessie, your books and toys are in the suitcase. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Jessie bolted to his feet and scrambled into his boots, ignoring the dragging laces as he scurried after Boothe.

Boothe should have known the boy wouldn’t let him out of his sight. He squatted down to face Jessie. “I don’t want you to come downstairs with me.” He had no idea what condition the cellar was in. It might not be safe for a six-year-old. “You go with Aunt Ada and wait for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Jessie’s eyes flooded with fear.

Boothe squeezed his son’s shoulder. He hated leaving him but Jessie was safe. Sooner or later he’d have to get used to the fact his father had to leave him at times. But he’d learn that Boothe would always return.

Aunt Ada took Jessie’s hand. “I have a picture book you might like to see.”

Boothe nodded his thanks as his aunt led Jessie back to the kitchen table. Only then did he venture down the worn wooden steps. He found the furnace and fed it, dragged the ashes into the ash pail then looked around the cavernous cellar. Bins built along one side contained potatoes and a variety of root vegetables. He hadn’t been to Aunt Ada’s in years but as a kid had spent several summers visiting her. He remembered her huge garden in the adjoining lot. But she had been quick and light on her feet back then. Now she moved as if every joint hurt. Did she still grow everything the household consumed?

Boxes were stacked on wide shelves. He opened one and saw a collection of magazines. The next held rags. Another seemed to be full of men’s clothes. He couldn’t imagine whose they were, seeing as Aunt Ada had never married. Perhaps a guest had left them behind. He pulled out a pair of trousers and held them to his waist. He found a heavy coat, a pair of sagging boots and a variety of shirts. He’d ask Aunt Ada about the things. They were better than anything he owned. Despite his disappointment at Vera’s treachery, he allowed himself a moment of gratitude for the fine clothes she bought Jesse.

He carried the pail of ashes upstairs and paused, breathing in the aroma of pork roast and applesauce. The furnace hummed and the warmth of coal heat spread about him. This was a good place to be. Safe and solid. He tilted his head toward the kitchen as he heard Jessie.

“When will my daddy come back?” His voice crackled with tension.

Boothe hurried to the back door to get rid of the ash bucket.

Emma’s gentle voice answered Jessie. “Your daddy is taking care of the furnace so you’ll stay warm. What did he say when he went to the cellar?”

“He said he’d be back as soon as he could.”

“There you go. Even when you can’t see him, you can remember what he said.”

Boothe stood stock-still as Emma reassured Jessie. A blizzard of emotions raced through him—gratitude that she dealt with Jessie so calmly, soothingly. Anger and frustration that Jessie had to confront the fear of loss. Children his age should be secure in the love of a mother and father. Most of all, emptiness sucked at his gut making him feel as naked, exposed and helpless as a tree torn from the ground by a tornado, roots and all. The future stretched out as barren as the drought-stricken prairies. This was not how he’d envisioned his life. Nope, in his not-so-long-ago plans there’d been a woman who shared his home and made it a welcoming place.

He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. He’d come here to find peace and safety. In the space of half an hour, Emma had robbed him of that, not once, but twice. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to see her more than a few minutes each day—only long enough to share a meal with all the boarders.

He deposited the bucket on the flagstone sidewalk where it would be unable to start a fire. The wind made the ashes glow red. Dust sifted across the backyard. Late October often meant snow, which would settle the dust. But this year the snow had not come. Only the endless wind. He lifted his face to the sky. God, when will this end? He couldn’t say exactly what he meant. The drought? The nationwide Depression? His loneliness? Jessie’s fears? He supposed he meant all of them.

Not that he expected divine intervention. Seems a man just did what he could and hoped for the best. He hadn’t received what he considered best, or even good, in a long time. He tried to find anything good in his life. Right now, about all he could give that label to was Jessie. He paused…and this house. He headed to the kitchen.

Jessie sat at the table, a coloring book and crayons before him, but he paid more attention to Emma than his coloring. Emma stood at the stove stirring something while Aunt Ada carved the pork roast. Emma had changed into a black skirt and pale blue sweater. She glanced up as he stepped into the room and her gaze collided with his. Her dark eyes were a surprising contrast to her golden hair. If he didn’t know she was a nurse, he might think her an attractive woman.

He hurried to her side and reached for the spoon. “I’ve come to help Aunt Ada. Now that I’m here, there’s no reason for one of the boarders to work.” His voice was harsher than he intended and caused the two women to stare at him.

Jessie stiffened. His eyes grew wide and wary.

“What I meant is you’re a paying guest. You shouldn’t have to help.” He forced a smile to his lips and tried to put a smile in his voice. He knew he failed miserably.

He felt Emma, inches away at his elbow, studying him, but refused to meet her gaze until she laughed and he jerked around in surprise. Her eyes glistened with amusement, and her smile seemed to go on forever. He couldn’t breathe as it brushed his heart. He shook his head, angry at himself and his silly imaginations.

“Here you go.” She handed him the spoon and a jar full of white liquid. “You do know how to make gravy?” Her words were round with barely restrained laughter.

He looked at the pot of bubbling liquid on the stove and the jar. He had no idea what he was expected to do.

Emma laughed low and sweet, tickling his insides. He fought his reaction. He could not allow a feeling at such odds with how he felt when he saw her in a nurse’s uniform.

She laughed again. “A simple yes or no would suffice.”

Behind him Aunt Ada chuckled.

“Daddy, you can make gravy?” Jessie’s surprised awe brought more low laughter from Emma.

“I’m sure I could if someone would tell me how.”

“Very well,” Emma said. “Stir the juice and slowly pour the flour and water mixture in. The trick is to keep it from going lumpy.”

Boothe followed the instructions as Emma hovered at his elbow watching him like a hungry eagle waiting for some helpless prey. A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. His experience taught him nurses didn’t care for anyone showing they might know a thing or two. He’d do this right if only to prove he was as capable as she.

The gravy thickened. “Smells good. How am I doing?”

She stepped back and considered him. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

He grinned, glad to have succeeded in the face of her doubt. “Cross my heart.”

Aunt Ada laughed. “Maybe you could teach him to mash potatoes, too.”

Emma didn’t seem the least bit annoyed at his success. In fact, if her flashing smile meant anything, she seemed rather pleased about it.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from hers as something inside him, both exciting and alarming, demanded consideration. His stomach growled and he freed himself from her dark eyes. He was only hungry. Nothing more. “I’m sure I can learn to mash potatoes with the best of them.”

Emma handed him a masher and pointed him toward the big pot. Not only was there pork roast, gravy and potatoes but there was a pot of turnips and a bowl of canned tomatoes. His mouth watered at the prospect of so much to eat. For months he’d been forced to ration every scrap of food he scrounged, glad Jessie was being well fed with Vera and Luke. All this abundance was unbelievable. God’s blessing? A flash of hope and belief crossed his mind before he focused his attention on Emma’s instructions.

“I think everything is ready,” Aunt Ada said a few minutes later. “Jessie, do you want to help me ring the bell for supper?”

Jessie bounced off his chair and followed Ada into the hall. At the bottom of the stairs, she handed him a little brass bell and instructed him to shake it. He laughed at the racket it made. From upstairs came the sound of doors opening.

Emma scooped the potatoes into a bowl and poured the gravy into a large pitcher. “Help me carry in the food.” She nodded toward Boothe.

He grabbed the platter of meat in one hand and the gravy jug in the other and followed her into the dining room where the table was already set. He counted nine chairs. That made six paying guests. Quite a load for Aunt Ada. He intended to ease her load and find a job as well. He’d heard there was always work in the town of Favor, on the edge of the irrigation area.

Aunt Ada took her place at one end of the table and indicated Boothe should sit at the other end, Jessie at his right. “As soon as we’re all here, I’ll make the introductions.”

People filed in, taking what seemed to be appointed places. As soon as each chair had a body behind it, Aunt Ada spoke. “I told you all that my nephew, Boothe, agreed to come and help me run the boardinghouse. The young man beside him is his son, Jessie.”

Jessie pulled himself to rigid attention at being called a man.

Boothe grinned. His heart filled with pride.

One by one, Aunt Ada introduced the others starting on her right. “Loretta, one of my oldest and dearest friends.”

The older, thin woman smiled at Aunt Ada before she turned to Boothe. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

Beside her stood a woman, probably in her forties, Sarah, who had a dress shop downtown. Next, Betty, a chambermaid at the new hotel, a girl fresh off the farm if Boothe didn’t miss his guess. He turned to those on the other side of the table. Beside Jessie stood Don, a man in his late twenties or early thirties, and next to him, Ed, an eager-faced young man who could barely tear his gaze away from Betty long enough to greet Boothe. Both men worked at the brick factory.

And then Emma. She grinned at him. “Boothe made the gravy, so if you have any complaints, direct them to him, not me.”

Don chuckled. “Emma’s teasing you already. Best be careful. She can have you running in circles.”

Boothe kept his expression bland. “I don’t run in circles.” Maybe not literally but she’d already proved her ability to send his thoughts down useless rabbit trails.

Aunt Ada cleared her throat. “Shall we pray?”

They all bowed as she offered up thanks for the food and for Boothe and Jessie’s arrival. Her gratitude soothed away Boothe’s tension.

Only then did they sit down.

The meal proved excellent, the conversation interesting. Ed and Don told him of the work in the factory.

“You could probably get a job there,” Don said.

“I’ll look into it.” Boothe planned to check out a few other prospects first.

He expected the boarders would disperse as soon as they finished. Instead, everyone grabbed a handful of things and headed for the kitchen. The women began to wash and dry dishes while Ed and Don shook the tablecloth and arranged the chairs. Boothe tried to keep up but it seemed each knew what he or she was expected to do.

“Aunt Ada certainly has you organized.”

“Not Ada,” Don said. “She was reluctant to accept help. But when Emma saw how much pain she had, she got us all doing our share.”

Emma. Boothe tried to think if it surprised him. She seemed the sort who liked to organize things. Or—his jaw tightened—did she like to be in control? Was it an innate part of being a nurse? Always in control. Always right.

As soon as the dishes were done, the guests moved into the front room. Emma carried in a large tray with a teapot under a knit cozy and cups for everyone. Aunt Ada brought in a plate of cookies. Again, everyone seemed to know what to do. They prepared tea to their liking, served themselves cookies and settled into one of the many chairs. Aunt Ada and Loretta sank into the burgundy couch.

“Do you mind if I give Jessie tea?” Emma asked. She held a cup almost full of milk.

“Can I, Daddy? Please.”

Boothe nodded. He sat on one of the upright wooden chairs and edged another close for Jessie.

Emma sat beside the table and pulled a book to her lap. “We’ve been reading the biography of a missionary to China. You’re welcome to join us.”

“It will soon be Jessie’s bedtime.”

“We’ll stop when it’s time for him to get ready for bed.”

Boothe didn’t know if he liked the gentle way Emma smiled at his son. He wasn’t about to trust another woman getting close to Jessie. He’d learned his lesson, but Jessie’s eager expression convinced Boothe to agree to let him stay for the reading.

Loretta and Aunt Ada knitted as Emma read. Sarah sewed lace to a dress. Betty sat, her reddened hands idle, her expression rapt as she followed each word. Both Ed and Don leaned back, simply glad to relax. Emma read well, giving the story lots of drama, and Boothe was drawn into the tale.

Soon Emma closed the book. “End of chapter. I’m going to stop there so Jessie can go to bed.”

Boothe jumped up, guilt flooding his thoughts. What kind of father was he to forget his son’s bedtime? “Come along, Jessie.”

Jessie took his hand but stopped before Emma. “Thank you, Miss Emma. It’s a good story. Is it really true?”

“It is. It’s exciting to see how God did such wonderful things for them. Doesn’t it make you feel safe and loved to know God does the same kinds of things for us?”

Jessie nodded vigorously.

A few minutes later, Boothe tucked him into bed.

“How long do we have to stay here?”

Boothe smoothed the covers over the small body. “I already told you. We’re going to live here.”

Jessie’s eyes were dull with sleep yet he had enough energy to flash his angry displeasure. “Auntie Vera said we could live with her.” His words quivered. “I want to live with her and Uncle Luke. I want to go home.”

“This is home now. Besides, if we leave, you won’t be able to hear the rest of Miss Emma’s story.” Boothe couldn’t believe he’d used Emma as a reason to stay. Only for Jessie’s sake.

Jessie rubbed his arm and gave Boothe a watery, defiant look. “My arm hurts. I want Auntie Vera.”

Alarm snaked up Boothe’s spine. Were Jessie’s cheeks flushed? Was he fevered? He pressed his palm to his son’s forehead. Did he seem warm? Boothe didn’t know.

He pulled the covers down and looked at the dressing. A spot of pink stained it. He touched the skin on either side of the white cloth. Did it seem hot? Or was it simply warm from Jessie having his arm under the covers?

Boothe eased the blanket back to Jessie’s chin. He had Emma to thank for stirring up unnecessary fears. The wound would heal just fine. Jessie was safer without the interference of any nurse or doctor.

He’d seen Emma eye Jessie’s arm several times throughout the meal and afterward. She would do well to respect his wishes for his son. He would not allow an interfering woman—no matter how kind she seemed—to put his child at risk. Nor let his heart wish things could be different.