Free RR05 - Tender Mercies by Lauraine Snelling Page A

to ask . . . beg for your forgiveness. The other day I was unbearably rude, and today I am not doing much better. You see . . .” He stopped. He’d said enough. Now it was her turn.
    She gave him the same smile she’d blessed Deborah with, warm and sweet. “I see. Yes, you are forgiven, and now I hope you can allow me to work with the children. I am not without schooling myself, you know, and you asked for help. Haakan Bjorklund made a special trip to my brother’s house to tell me so. Otherwise I would never have presumed . . .” Her words trickled off, her face needing a fanning, and he just sat there.
    Flummoxed, that’s what he is . While she didn’t know the exact meaning of the word, old Uncle Jed used it often to show complete confusion.
    I may have to take a buggy whip to Haakan Bjorklund . The thought of that made him almost smile. At least he could feel a little grin tickling the right side of his mouth. This woman knew how to make a point, and that point stabbed him right in the gullet.
    “I said I was sorry.”
    “That was for the other day.”
    “Can it cover today too?”
    Children laughing caught his attention. “Glory be, they need to come in from recess.” He started to rise. “Could you please call the children in?”
    “Yes, surely.” And so she answered both his questions in two words.
    He sank back down in his chair, and this time his hands straightened the sandy hair that started waving back well beyond his forehead.
    Mary Martha stood at the door and rang the handbell, which called the children in from play. The sun shone brightly, and the air nipped her nose, pleading with her to come and enjoy the fall. Winter would soon be on its way.
    She glanced back inside the dim room. Even with the door open and the two windows that faced south, the long room was dark. While the women whitewashed the walls every year, the dirt floor seemed to absorb the light. Wouldn’t it be better to meet in the church where there was some light?
    “Mith MacCallithter.” Anna looked up, her face a picture of delight.
    “Yes, Anna?”
    “Your dreth ith tho pretty.” The little girl fingered the royal blue serge of the skirt. “Like the thky.”
    Mary Martha wanted to pick up the little girl and hug her. She was so thin, it seemed the sun could shine right through her. “Thank you, Anna. I think you are a poet in that little heart of yours.”
    “A po-et?”
    “Yes.”
    When the shoving, giggling, and bustling stopped, she stepped aside and motioned the children into the room. Several of the older boys’ ears turned red as they passed her. Manda smiled as if they had a secret, she and the teacher’s helper. Mary Martha wanted to tweak her nose and make her laugh.
    Manda did more scowling than laughing much of the time. And all the time she’d rather argue than agree. Far as Mary Martha was concerned, the young girl wrote the book on independence. But no one could ever fault her for being lazy or telling lies. Like her mother used to say, “The child is honest as the day is long.”
    When everyone had taken their seats again, Mary Martha included, Pastor Solberg stood and began assigning tasks. Far as she could tell, he’d left her out again. And here she thought they had come to an understanding. While she usually kept her temper under control, she could feel it starting to fire up.
    “And Miss MacCallister . . .”
    She quit simmering so she could hear the remainder of his sentence.
    “Could you please help these three children?” He pointed to three who looked so alike she’d thought they were triplets but for the difference in size.
    “Of course.” Now what does he want me to do? She beckoned the three to come sit with her and looked up at Solberg for assistance. He was answering a question from another part of the room.
    The three sat down, staring at her out of blue eyes that appeared to have looked at life and found it wanting. She now knew what that phrase meant.
    “First thing, could