Free The Homesteader's Sweetheart by Lacy Williams Page B

polite as she answered. “Sam and I live in Calvin with our parents. I suppose sometimes it is hard to get away for a visit.”
    “It ain’t that far. You look old enough to drive a wagon up yourself.”
    She stared at the dusty blond head not far from her shoulder, but Edgar didn’t look up from drying the brown and white speckled cup she’d handed him a moment ago. Was the boy purposely being uncouth, or was he unaware that he was being rude?
    She couldn’t tell him that her father had made his wishes clear and visiting her grandfather hadn’t been what her father wanted.
    “I suppose you’re right,” she said, patience ebbing. “It’s not a good excuse, but I didn’t know Grandfather had been ill.”
    He handed her back a chipped, crimson-rimmed plate, dripping water across her sleeve. “You missed a spot of grease, there.”
    Penny accepted the dish, smile becoming brittle. She scrubbed at the spot he indicated, though she didn’t see any grease on the plate.
    “Shouldn’t matter if Poppy Walt was sick or not. He’s your kin, ain’t he?”
    His words both irritated her and convicted her. She had missed time with her grandfather that she couldn’t get back. Surely if she would’ve pushed harder, her father would’ve let her visit…
    “Missed another spot on this one.”
    This time, he dropped a mug into the sudsy water, causing it to splash up onto her dress. Penny suppressed an irritated gasp, knowing from living with Sam that it would only serve to encourage this boy in his awful behavior, and strove to change the subject.
    “So you’re…what, thirteen? My brother Sam just turned fifteen.”
    He bristled. “I’m fourteen. ”
    She couldn’t help smiling at the offended tone he took, and apparently her smile made it worse.
    “Pa says I ain’t hit my growin’ spurt yet,” he said defensively.
    “Hmm.” Her noncommittal hum seemed to fuel his ire. She enjoyed it probably more than she should. “And your brothers?”
    He was quiet for a moment, as if deciding whether he should answer her or not, but finally he said, “Oscar’s oldest. He’s seventeen. Then Maxwell, sixteen, then me, then Davy. Ricky ‘n Matty are both ten. And Seb’s the youngest. Well, the youngest boy. Breanna’s the youngest of all.”
    Penny knew Jonas couldn’t be much older than herself. And considering the vast range of ages of his “sons”—two of whom weren’t much younger than Jonas himself—there was no way Jonas had fathered these children. So how had he ended up with all of them in his care?
    “I’ll bet my grandmother loved having your family close,” she said softly. “I know she talked about wanting a bigger family when she was younger, but said the Lord didn’t bless her and Grandfather that way.”
    He didn’t respond immediately, and Penny noticed that his hands had slowed so he was barely drying the dish he held. After a moment, he asked, almost reluctantly, “You knew Grammy Peg?”
    “Yes. I used to spend summers out here with her.” Surprised by the softness in the boy’s voice, Penny blinked at the sudden tears in her eyes. She sniffled, wiping a fallen tear with her shoulder as she scrubbed a spot of baked-on food from the large cast-iron frying pan.
    “Are you cryin’?” The boy sounded disgusted and something splooshed back into the water tub, sending more water onto Penny’s skirt.
    His horrified reaction to her tears made Penny laugh. “Only a little, don’t worry.”
    Using one arm to wipe at her face, warm water rolled down Penny’s arm and dampened her sleeve. Apparently, she wasn’t any better at washing dishes than she’d been at cooking; she’d gotten all wet. Though some of it was Edgar’s fault.
    “What’s going on in here? Are you crying? ”
    Penny laughed again at Jonas’s appalled tone—the very same one his son had used.
    “Edgar, what did you do?”
    The boy whirled toward his father, the towel he’d been using to dry dishes flicking