Page 44 of Hank and Elsie
“Well, then.” Hank broke into a grin. “I think an extra pair of hands would be more than welcome.”
Torin playfully shook a finger at Brian. “Just don’t get in the way of Hank’s courtship of pretty Elsie Bailey.”
Brian barked out a laugh. “Believe me, I’m staying away from any whiff of courtship,” he said in a bitter tone. “I’ll run interference for you with the Baileys and their neighbors. I’ll herd them one direction, and you can lasso your gal for a bit of privacy.”
Torin laughed. “Don’t you sound like a cowpoke. You’d think we were living on a ranch.”
“Trying to get into character,” Brian deadpanned.
Hank raised his eyebrows. “Then maybe you should go work on a ranch.”
“If this stint with the Baileys doesn’t shake up some new ideas, I might just do that.”
Hank couldn’t help hoping that helping the Baileys bring in their harvest would, indeed, shake things up for them both—in a good way.
Three grueling daysinto the harvest and Elsie was so sore and weary that all she could do was lie in the straw of the buckboardbetween her siblings as they rumbled their way home in the twilight and wish for sleep. A summer of working at a sewing machine instead of farm chores had weakened her, making her have to push harder until her muscles trembled to get even close to accomplishing what she used to.
She could have slacked off a bit and probably should have. But Elsie was anxious her parents would notice, think she’d become slothful, and change their minds about her continuing to work with Miss Taylor. Laziness was almost or maybe more so as abhorrent to them as owing charity.
Not that Elsiereallythought her parents would make her leave her employment. Between the extra money for supplies and the boots for her father, she knew her parents appreciated her contribution to the family. Yet, she couldn’t quite suppress the niggle of fear about losing her position.
To banish the doubt, as she’d done many times in these past few days, Elsie replayed the scene when she’d arrived home.
After putting away the supplies, Elsie went into her parents’ room to change out of her former best outfit and into her work attire. She comforted herself that at least she had a new apron that would cover most of the dress.
Like a puppy, Mary trailed in after her, seemingly reluctant to be parted so soon. She closed the door and limped over to the bed to sit.
Elsie frowned at her sister. “What’s wrong with your feet?”
Mary looked away. “I haven’t wanted to tell Ma and Pa my toes are cramped.” She leaned over to remove her shoes.
Unaccustomed anger burned in Elsie’s chest, and she pressed her lips together to avoid a disrespectful outburst. Wasn’t anyone’s fault that they lacked the money for shoes or clothing. But then she realized that a situation she’d accepted before—no, more than accepted, taken for granted—regardingher parents’ stance about charity was right and proper, now she viewed with new clarity.
She knew for a fact the elder Nortons had a store of clothing and shoes, most donated, but some bought new, to give to those in need. Some Sundays, including the last one the Baileys attended, one of the ministers announced the existence of the fund.
Having shoes that hurt and no money to buy another pair was definitely a need. Her parents preferred to keep their pride, rather than attend to their daughter’s basic comfort. But she didn’t say so to her sister. Having Elsie’s old shoes would solve Mary’s problem. So would bringing in a successful harvest. So would her continuing contribution to the family coffers.
Elsie folded the yellow dress and handed it to her sister. “This is yours now. Undergarments, too. And, when the harvest is over, my shoes.”
“Really?” Mary’s eyes lit up, and she clutched the dress to her chest.
“You’ll have to take in the bodice and raise the hem. Can you do that by yourself, or do you want my help?”
“Your help, of course.”
“Then, we’ll work on the alterations after supper. I brought pins with me to leave here, so from now on, there’ll be enough to pin a whole section.”
Staid Mary didn’t bounce on her toes like Elsie would have done when she was fourteen. Well, as she would have done up until a few weeks ago before finally curbing herself of the habit. But she wore a broad smile, and her brown eyes glowed.
Hearing the sound of her father’s and Ricky’s voices in the other room, Elsie took the muslin sack protecting the boots from her crazy-quilt bag. “I have a surprise for Pa.” She tiltedher head toward the door in a silent signal for her sister to follow.
In the other room, her father turned from hanging his hat on a peg.
“This is for you, Pa.” She made herself speak normally instead of squeaking out her excitement and placed the muslin bag in his hands.
He looked down at her gift, and then gave her a puzzled look. But his hands seemed to know what he held before his mind caught up. Understanding made him raise his eyebrows and sit to undo the drawstring. He opened the bag, pulling out the boots, one after another, running his hands over the leather, and then holding each one up to the light from the window to admire them.
He ducked his head, but not before Elsie saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes, and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed down the tears.
