Free Love Finds a Home (Love Comes Softly Series #8) by Janette Oke Page B
Authors: Janette Oke
what used to be Amy Jo's house, feet dragging. She wasn't sure if it was really wise to go there. But she felt she had to--really must do it--if she was to put the past to rest.
The door opened slowly, creaking its complaint on rusty hinges. Belinda pushed harder and managed to squeeze herself through the small opening that she forced from the tight-sticking door.
The back entry had the same brown walls, the same square in the middle of the floor that opened up to the dumbwaiter into the cellar. More than once she and Amy Jo had been scolded for playing with the ropes.
Belinda stood and looked around. The room seemed very small--and bare. There were no coats on coat hooks. No boots in the corner. No pail of slop for the pigs. No life here at all.
Belinda shivered slightly and moved farther into the kitchen.
Belinda could not believe her eyes. The kitchen looked as if it belonged in a dollhouse. She had always thought it--well, at least adequate if not big, but now it looked so small and simple. Much too simple for a woman to really live with each day. The colors were still the same. There was an outdated calendar on the wall, a picture of a little boy holding a brown, curly-haired puppy on the front. Belinda guessed that Kate had not had the heart to discard the picture when the year ended. The last sheet with its month had been discarded.
Belinda crossed into the room that had been used by the family. Memories flooded her mind as she looked about the small area. Here she and Amy Jo had flopped on the floor, lying on their tummies, to draw. Here they had stretched out before the open fire to eat popcorn and giggle over boys. They had rocked in the big rocker that had sat right over there. They had bundled up baby dolls and propped them against the mantel.
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She didn't bother with the bedroom Clare and Kate had shared, and she didn't check the room the boys had used. Instead, she passed directly to the room that had been Amy Jo's. It had always been a pale green and white--until Amy Jo herself had decided to change that. Amy Jo had wanted a room that was "vibrant." She had been allowed to have her way, and "vibrant" her room had become.
Belinda would have been terribly disappointed if the room had been changed--but except for being unfurnished, it was the same. For a minute Belinda stood stock-still, the memories flooding over her and giving her goose bumps. Then she shut her eyes and pictured again the room as she had last seen it. The bed--right there. Against that wall, the dresser with Amy Jo's socks and undies. Amy Jo's nightie always hanging from the peg in the corner. The little desk where she sat to do her drawing. The dolls, the books, the paints and pencils. Belinda could see it all as vividly as if it were actually before her.
And then she opened her eyes slowly. The empty room stared back at her, the marks on the floor where the bed castors had rolled. The smoky blue paper with its small violet flowers and green leaves was marked here and there by a tack or a smudge. There was a rubbed spot where the desk had stood. Amy Jo had spent so many hours at that desk that she must have soiled the paper. Perhaps Kate had even needed to wipe it with a damp cloth on more than one occasion.
Belinda looked again at the room. In her mind she could hear the childish voice of her then-constant companion. "Oh, Lindy!" Amy Jo would exclaim in exasperation, and Belinda smiled. They were so different, but so close.
With a shiver Belinda turned from the room. Memories were not always pleasant, she decided. Memories could bring pain, too.
She retraced her steps without looking back and slipped
76
through the door into the afternoon sunshine. The shiver passed up her spine again. She felt she had suffered a chill. She tugged the complaining heavy wooden door tightly closed behind her.
On the path to the white house, Belinda's thoughts were delivering a sharp message: Nothing is the same. The place, the family--nothing! I
The door opened slowly, creaking its complaint on rusty hinges. Belinda pushed harder and managed to squeeze herself through the small opening that she forced from the tight-sticking door.
The back entry had the same brown walls, the same square in the middle of the floor that opened up to the dumbwaiter into the cellar. More than once she and Amy Jo had been scolded for playing with the ropes.
Belinda stood and looked around. The room seemed very small--and bare. There were no coats on coat hooks. No boots in the corner. No pail of slop for the pigs. No life here at all.
Belinda shivered slightly and moved farther into the kitchen.
Belinda could not believe her eyes. The kitchen looked as if it belonged in a dollhouse. She had always thought it--well, at least adequate if not big, but now it looked so small and simple. Much too simple for a woman to really live with each day. The colors were still the same. There was an outdated calendar on the wall, a picture of a little boy holding a brown, curly-haired puppy on the front. Belinda guessed that Kate had not had the heart to discard the picture when the year ended. The last sheet with its month had been discarded.
Belinda crossed into the room that had been used by the family. Memories flooded her mind as she looked about the small area. Here she and Amy Jo had flopped on the floor, lying on their tummies, to draw. Here they had stretched out before the open fire to eat popcorn and giggle over boys. They had rocked in the big rocker that had sat right over there. They had bundled up baby dolls and propped them against the mantel.
75
She didn't bother with the bedroom Clare and Kate had shared, and she didn't check the room the boys had used. Instead, she passed directly to the room that had been Amy Jo's. It had always been a pale green and white--until Amy Jo herself had decided to change that. Amy Jo had wanted a room that was "vibrant." She had been allowed to have her way, and "vibrant" her room had become.
Belinda would have been terribly disappointed if the room had been changed--but except for being unfurnished, it was the same. For a minute Belinda stood stock-still, the memories flooding over her and giving her goose bumps. Then she shut her eyes and pictured again the room as she had last seen it. The bed--right there. Against that wall, the dresser with Amy Jo's socks and undies. Amy Jo's nightie always hanging from the peg in the corner. The little desk where she sat to do her drawing. The dolls, the books, the paints and pencils. Belinda could see it all as vividly as if it were actually before her.
And then she opened her eyes slowly. The empty room stared back at her, the marks on the floor where the bed castors had rolled. The smoky blue paper with its small violet flowers and green leaves was marked here and there by a tack or a smudge. There was a rubbed spot where the desk had stood. Amy Jo had spent so many hours at that desk that she must have soiled the paper. Perhaps Kate had even needed to wipe it with a damp cloth on more than one occasion.
Belinda looked again at the room. In her mind she could hear the childish voice of her then-constant companion. "Oh, Lindy!" Amy Jo would exclaim in exasperation, and Belinda smiled. They were so different, but so close.
With a shiver Belinda turned from the room. Memories were not always pleasant, she decided. Memories could bring pain, too.
She retraced her steps without looking back and slipped
76
through the door into the afternoon sunshine. The shiver passed up her spine again. She felt she had suffered a chill. She tugged the complaining heavy wooden door tightly closed behind her.
On the path to the white house, Belinda's thoughts were delivering a sharp message: Nothing is the same. The place, the family--nothing! I
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