Free An Uncertain Dream by Judith Miller

His elder daughter, Lydia, followed behind him and stood leaning against the doorjamb.
    He kicked a chair away from the table with the toe of his shoe and dropped onto the seat with a thud. ‘‘If this strike doesn’t soon end, we’re all going to starve to death.’’
    Suzanne glanced at her daughter, whose eyes had instantly opened wide at the comment. ‘‘Do stop those remarks, Paul. The girls hear what you say, and they believe every word of it.’’ She looked at her daughter. ‘‘Your father is exaggerating, dear. We’re not going to starve to death.’’
    Paul extended his arm, and Lydia ran to receive his embrace. ‘‘Don’t listen to me, girl. I’m just angry because I can’t take care of you children and your mother the way you deserve.’’
    Lydia sat down on his lap. ‘‘Mrs. DeVault says God’s watching over us and there’s no need to worry, Daddy.’’
    Paul patted his daughter’s blond curls. ‘‘Sometimes that’s hard to—’’
    His wife’s stern look stopped him.
    ‘‘Hard to what , Daddy?’’ Lydia’s hazel eyes shone with expectation.
    ‘‘Hard to remember God will take care of us. Sometimes, it’s hard for your daddy to remember God cares about us.’’
    The child stretched to kiss his cheek. ‘‘I’ll remind you each day. Will that help you remember?’’
    ‘‘That will help. Thank you, Lydia. Now go and play with your sister. I’ll call you when supper is ready.’’
    Suzanne remained silent until the screen door slammed and then turned to face her husband. ‘‘I’ve told you over and over—’’
    Fred held up his hand to stave off what could escalate into a family argument. ‘‘I have some information to pass along from today’s meeting.’’
    The interruption halted Mrs. Quinter’s angry invective. Fred’s news regarding the distribution of donated food and cash brought an immediate smile to her face and an appreciative nod from her husband.
    ‘‘So you’ll be taking charge of the kitchen now that Mrs. DeVault has taken this new position?’’ Paul asked.
    His wife nodded. ‘‘I’m pleased to help out, but don’t expect my cooking to match Mrs. DeVault’s.’’
    ‘‘You’ll do fine,’’ he said with a wink.
    A blush spread across Suzanne’s cheeks, and she turned back toward the stove. ‘‘I imagine we should go ahead with supper. Before your mother left for the hotel, she said I should remain on our regular schedule and not worry about her.’’
    Once Lydia had set the table and all of them had washed up, they gathered around the table for supper. After they joined hands, Fred offered a prayer for God’s continued provision and thanks for the meal set before them.
    ‘‘And for this strike to end soon,’’ Paul added, with a final amen.
    The stew was thin and lacked flavor, but the hot cross buns helped fill him up. Hannah was the only one who complained that their supper wasn’t as good as usual. ‘‘No grumbling, young lady,’’ her father admonished. ‘‘There are many who would be pleased to eat at this table tonight.’’ At her father’s reminder, eight-year-old Hannah wilted and offered an apology.
    ‘‘I’m home!’’ The group turned in unison at the sound of Mrs. DeVault’s greeting.
    Fred pushed away from the table and met his mother in the hall. Bright color dotted her cheeks. He expected her to appear weary and haggard after her first day at work. Instead, she appeared several years younger.
    He pecked a kiss on her cheek and stepped back. ‘‘You sound quite energetic for someone who has been hard at work all day.’’
    She propped her hat on the hall tree and gently slapped his arm. ‘‘And what has changed? I have always worked hard each day. Who do you think has been keeping this house clean, cooking meals, washing and ironing your clothes, and—’’
    ‘‘I didn’t mean to suggest that your household duties aren’t taxing, but it’s different working for someone else—having a