Free Emma's Gift by Leisha Kelly Page A

moved an inch. And just like I’d thought, he didn’t refuse the coat or the blankets I tucked around him. I asked him again to come in, but he only shook his head. So I told him I’d be right back, and headed for the firewood. If he’d drink something warm, maybe it’d help him. Maybe he’d look different on things and come and get warm by the fire. I’d have to get some heat in the cookstove and fireplace both. Get the house real warm again in case he came in. He’d have to eventually. He’d have to face Wilametta in that back room and then go on with the life he had ahead of him.
    I went and fed the coals in the cookstove first and put on water to heat. Then I got the fireplace going, and it looked like life in this place again. I thought maybe I should make more than coffee. Maybe I should cut up some of those potatoes for a broth. George would need his strength. He’d need all the strength he could get to go over the timber and tell his children.
    Nobody could come by the road; I was resigned to that. But somebody determined enough could get out on foot. I’d prayed for Samuel to come, but now I prayed he wouldn’t. He had all the children over there to look after; he couldn’t just leave them alone. And it wouldn’t be right to send any of them out in this either. It was just getting worse. Thank God, at least, that last night’s crazy wind had gone.
    I carried in two more loads of wood, checking on George both times just to make sure he was still under the blankets. Snowflakes as big as my thumb floated down like they’d been asked for. How ironic, I thought. After the dry summer, we’d prayed for Christmas snow, and now here it is. But Christmas. Oh, Lord. At such a time as this.
    I was peeling potatoes into a pot when the knife slipped into my finger. Seeing the red, oozing line of blood, I broke down. I’d come here to help, but everything I did was worthless. I was falling apart, bleeding onto George Hammond’s potatoes. If it was me dead, only me, it would be so much better. Everybody would be all right. I got the blood stopped and made myself still stand there, though my knees felt like buckling clear to the floor. I made myself stand there and finish those potatoes with my tears dripping down. Emma wouldn’t quit. Emma would be strong enough to do what needed done without complaining. Even Wila would rise to the occasion. They were so much better than me. They were so…so…
    Gone. Just gone. And nobody else in this world even knew it.
    It was too much. I dropped the knife on the countertop and looked behind me to the Bible I’d so irreverently left on the floor by the fire. Psalm 46. That’s what Emma had wanted. For the first time I wondered why.
    â€œGod is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble…”
    I read it out loud as though there were anxious throngs waiting just to hear.
    â€œWe will not fear, though the earth be removed…”
    Tears clouded my eyes, and I could not read on. As I hugged the book to my chest, I cried for the dear soul who’d given me these words in her last moments. God was still here, somewhere, even in the pain that tore through me and the despair that clutched at my heart. Some way, his way, he would make things right again.

SIX
    Samuel
    I couldn’t make syrup the way Julia did, so I served pancakes with the blackberry jelly she and Emma had made over the summer. The younger boys would’ve kept me busy a long time making more, but Joe was anxious to get going, and I didn’t want another Hammond son going out alone. So Lizbeth took over flipping the pancakes while Sarah and Rorey played with the baby. And I piled on layers of shirts, my gloves, and Robert’s hat, hoping that Sam Hammond, who had my coat, was warm and safe somewhere.
    I told Lizbeth we’d be back by noontime, maybe with Juli if Wila was feeling better. I told Robert to