Free Forevermore by Cathy Marie Hake Page B

supper’s hot. Emmy-Lou—”
    “I’ll help her wash her hands.” Phineas picked up the child.
    Mr. Stauffer had gone pale beneath his tan. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he stepped forward. “It was an accident.” His voice sounded just as brittle and gritty as the broken glass. “I-I’ll clean it up,” Annie insisted.
    “No.” He cleared his throat, then said in a measured, almost soothing tone, “Sit down, Annie. Eat your supper.”
    “He’s right, Annie. I’m cleanin’ it, and that’s that.” Hope bustled over. “What’s a housekeeper for? All ya’ll go take the load off and dig in.” She grabbed the broom and reached for the broken frame.
    Mr. Stauffer’s hand closed over it first. The corner of the picture bent inward, hiding the image of Mrs. Stauffer’s face. With exacting care, Jakob’s big thumb lifted the flap. A crease now marred the photograph—it angled right through his wife’s hair.
    Reverently, he grazed the likeness of his wife, almost as if the touch would erase the crease in the same way it would coax back an errant wisp of hair—but it didn’t repair the damage. An impossibly long, utterly silent sigh slid from between his taut lips. Anguish turned his eyes the same shade as pewter. For just an instant, he closed them.
    Lord, this man’s a-hurtin’ something fierce. Could you comfort him?
    Mr. Stauffer opened his eyes. He said nothing, but straightened up and carried the picture upstairs. Each step he took echoed with grief; then his bedroom door shut. The oh-so-quiet click was the final, lonely sound she heard.
    “Mr. Stauffer?”
    Jakob didn’t turn around. Instead, he stood by the barn stall and murmured under his breath to Josephine. He’d been silent at supper. What happened was an accident. That didn’t change the pain wrenching his heart.
    Jakob cherished that picture. On their wedding trip, they’d dressed up in their wedding finery and gone to a photographer. The photographer kept trying to get Naomi to face forward, but she’d insisted she couldn’t take her eyes off her handsome husband.
    Now the picture was ruined. A white line creased the corner, angling through Naomi’s hair. Reason told him the photograph wasn’t destroyed and anyone else would consider the damage inconsequential, but all the logic in the world didn’t erase the savage stab of grief that blindsided him. Hoping to minimize the fold, Jakob had carefully placed the photograph between the pages of his Bible—but when he’d opened his Bible, it had fallen open to Proverbs Thirty-one. Of all the passages, why that one? It described the attributes of a good wife. No other passage could have left him feeling more desolate.
    He’d come out here to be alone, to have a chance to grieve. Phineas was smart enough to leave him alone. The last thing Jakob wanted was to talk with Hope.
    “Ain’t that something?” Oblivious to the fact that he hadn’t even turned to acknowledge her, Hope approached the stall. “You done a smart thing, puttin’ Hattie and Jo as neighbors tonight. Let ’em get better acquainted.”
    He grunted.
    Cocking her head to the side, Hope studied Nicodemus. “How’s your gelding?”
    Realizing she wasn’t going away, Jakob grudgingly replied, “I expect he’ll be better in a few days.”
    “Like you said the day I drove up, you take good care of your livestock. Been right nice to my mule, too. She’s gotta memory long as her ears. Come mornin’, you’ll find her eager to show her appreciation.”
    He made no reply as he checked the bolt to be sure Josephine wouldn’t get out of her stall. She seemed to have a talent for that. About once a week she’d be out of her stall and visiting one of the other beasts when Jakob opened the barn door. In times past, he’d thought Naomi or Phineas was playing a joke on him, but they weren’t.
    “That’s some bolt you got on that stall. Never seen such a big ’un.”
    “Josephine’s an escape artist. Even now,