Free Forevermore by Cathy Marie Hake Page A

crock with watermelon pickles.”
    “My brother . . . ” Mrs. Erickson sounded almost apologetic. “He likes the pickles made of the fruit itself and dill.”
    “So do I!” Hope grinned. “We’ll pickle the fruit with dill and the rind with sugar, cinnamon, cloves and vinegar. That way, nothing goes to waste. Does that sound about right to you, Mrs. Erickson?”
    “Ja.” Mrs. Erickson gave her a timid smile. “I call you Hope. You should call me Annie.”
    Knowing Annie was as timid as could be, Hope acknowledged her act of friendship without making a to-do about it. “Well, then, Annie, we’ll be gettin’ a lot done here, won’t we?”
    Annie looked concerned as she set aside the sock she’d been darning. “I should have cleaned the crocks.”
    “Of course you could have, but them socks there would still need darnin’. I’m fixin’ to tote in a passel of melons. If’n you finish the socks, might be good for you to slice up a few cabbages. We could salt the shreds and start up a batch of sauerkraut.”
    Much later, when the men came in for supper, Emmy-Lou galloped over to her father as he stopped at the washstand. Straddling the broom, she giggled. “Daddy, watch me! I’m riding a horsey, and my horsey is cleaning the floor.”
    “Too bad her horse can’t pull a load.” Phineas waited for his boss to use the pitcher and bowl first.
    A grimace creased Mr. Stauffer’s face.
    Hope wiped her hands on the hem of her apron. “Something happen to one of your beasts?”
    “Josephine is fine, but Nicodemus took exception to something and kicked in his stall. Didn’t break anything, but I mudded and wrapped his leg. The last thing I need is a lame horse at harvest.”
    “What’s the first thing you need, Daddy?”
    He rinsed his hands, then knelt by Emmy-Lou as he dried them. “I got you, so I can’t complain.”
    “Hattie and Josephine are of a size.” Hope turned back to the stove and opened the warmer up top to take out a big bowl of macaroni and cheese. The sharp, creamy fragrance filled the air. “Wouldn’t be the first time Hattie worked with a horse.”
    “You wouldn’t mind?”
    Hope gave her boss a startled look. “Why? That would make me like a dog with a stranger.”
    “I think you mean dog in a manger,” Phineas said as he washed up.
    “You got things turnt about. ’Twas Jesus in the manger. A dog with a stranger—there’s a critter what ain’t sure he wants to allow anyone near his property.” She turned her focus on her boss. “Well, we ain’t strangers, and I wouldn’t mind a bit. Josephine’s been weanin’ her foal. Since he’s been keepin’ Hattie company out in the pasture, he’s carried her scent back to his mama. I reckon all it’d take is bribin’ them with half a peach in the mornin’, and they’d stand for bein’ harnessed together.”
    “I’m obliged.” Mr. Stauffer inhaled appreciatively as he moved so she could set the hot bowl on the table. “Does Hattie prefer right or left side?”
    “Left, but she’ll do right if you need her to.”
    Mr. Stauffer’s shoulders eased down a bit more. “Left is good. Josephine—she likes the right. Emmy-Lou, your hands are dirty.”
    “I’ll see to her.” Annie scurried over.
    Emmy-Lou yanked on the broomstick and did a little sideways hop. “Whoa, horsey!” She lost her balance, and her father caught her, but the broom went the other way. The tip of the handle struck the sampler, which in turn jarred the photograph. Hope watched, helpless to stop the Stauffers’ wedding picture as it slid down the wall and crashed, shattering glass all about.
    Emmy-Lou let out a shriek; then only her sniffles broke the ominous silence.
    “I’m sorry.” Annie bowed her head and whispered, “I shouldn’t have let her play like that.” She tugged Emmy-Lou over and sidled in front of the child. Annie turned into a magpie all of a sudden. “I’ll sweep this up. I will. Right away. You men go ahead and eat while