Free A Promise for Spring by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

eye, she saw Geoffrey and her brother, Edward, walking down the stone-lined pathway toward her home while she sat on the stoop, her skirts exposing her slippered feet and thin legs. As the boys entered through the open gate, Geoffrey’s gaze lit upon her. His laughter stopped. He paused, an odd expression flitting through his eyes before he smiled. He then moved briskly toward her, leaving Edward smirking at the gate. Holding out a small brown cone of paper, he asked, “Would you like a sweet?” Emmaline wrapped her arms around her knees and shook her head so adamantly her braids flopped. Geoffrey’s face had fallen in disappointment.
    Now, looking at his hopeful expression, she was twelve years old again with the power to please or disappoint. For reasons she could not fathom, she did not want to disappoint. She gave a small nod and licked her dry lips. “Yes, please.”
    A smile broke across his face, bringing a lift to her heart. He swept his arm to indicate the room in which they stood. “This is, of course, the sitting room.” Moving past a pair of matching, straight-backed chairs, which fit snugly against the wall, he walked to the fireplace. He ran his hand across the smooth top of the mantel. “I ordered the marble and oak mantel from the Montgomery Ward catalog a year ago. I have not placed bric-a-brac atop it. You will have that privilege.”
    She wondered if she would order the bric-a-brac from the catalog, as well. He looked at her expectantly, obviously awaiting a response. “It is quite pretty. Smaller, of course, than the fireplaces at home, but I’m sure it is sufficient for heating this room.”
    A brief scowl marred his brow, and Emmaline wondered what she had said to upset him. But then his expression smoothed and he nodded. “Yes, it is quite sufficient.” He held out his arm to indicate a doorway. “In here is the kitchen.”
    Emmaline stepped through the opening, her heels clicking softly against the wood floor. The kitchen was rectangular in shape, half the size of the sitting room, with one wall of built-in cabinets. A huge iron stove filled the near corner, and an unfamiliar yet pleasant aroma—no doubt left over from supper—teased her nostrils. The wall opposite the stove held a built-in, hip-height cupboard with a square, four-paned window above it. A red iron pump stood on the counter next to a deep enamel sink. Geoffrey rounded a scarred table in the center of the room to take hold of the pump’s handle, his eyes as bright as a child’s on Christmas morning.
    “Look, Emmaline.” He worked the handle vigorously. A stream of water gushed forth, splashing into the sink and spattering the surrounding wood countertop. “Running water, right in the house.”
    That was impressive, Emmaline had to admit. She had presumed she would carry buckets from a well, the way Miss Tildy and Mrs. Stanford did. The pump was a welcome surprise.
    “Tomorrow I shall show you the springhouse,” Geoffrey continued, plucking a sheet of toweling from a nearby peg and drying the countertop. “It is just outside the kitchen.” He pointed to a door that presumably led outside. Then, cupping his hand over the pump, he said, “We have a spring that runs right under the house, so we are never without water.” His face clouded for a moment. “God certainly provided for me with the spring, since we have had no rain this season at all. Others depend on the Solomon for their water supply.”
    “No rain?” Emmaline found a spring season without rain hard to believe.
    Geoffrey nodded seriously. “We need to pray for that provision.” He gestured back toward the sitting room. “The house has three more rooms. Let us go to your parlor, shall we?”
    Emmaline followed Geoffrey through the sitting room to a pair of paneled pocket doors. He slid one open, revealing a small, plain room. “This will be a sleeping room one day, but it serves as a storage space for now.”
    The room held everything from tools to