Free Roses for Mama by Janette Oke Page A

expected—perhaps just a younger version of the older perhaps, with a gloomy, weathered face, dusty boots, and a buckskin jacket.
    “That—?”
    Charlie nodded.
    “But—but—he is so young! ”
    Charlie nodded again.
    “He—he’s not much older than—than Thomas!” exclaimed Angela.
    “A little,” said Charlie.
    “But I thought—I mean, I expected—well—someone quite—quite different.”
    “I apologize that I took so long,” said a cultured voice from the doorway. “I couldn’t find Gus so I had to make the tea myself. I do hope—” Then the young man spotted Charlie. “Oh, Charlie—” he said and let the words hang.
    “Gus is with your father,” Charlie explained, then turned back to Angela. “I’ll try to get over one of these evenings,” he said, giving her hand a final squeeze. Angela nodded and watched him leave the room.
    “Cream and sugar?” asked her young host after a few moments of awkward silence.
    “No—no thank you. Neither,” Angela managed to reply, and then she took charge of herself. I need not be flustered , she informed herself. My mama taught me to be a lady, so I will act like one . Angela willed her racing heart and trembling hands to be quiet. Soon she sat at tea in the big parlor as though she had done so for many years.
    “I must offer my apology,” she said shyly. “I did not realize that Mr. Stratton’s son would be so young; therefore I did not realize who you were when you opened the door.”
    He answered with a playful smile, as proper and controlled as his laugh had been.
    “I do hope you have not been disappointed,” he said.
    Angela was quite shocked when she realized she had fluttered her eyelashes in response.
    “Now—you must tell me about yourself,” he invited engagingly. “You are Angela. Do you have a last name, Angela?”
    She laughed a light, silvery laugh and looked fully at the young man before her. “My, I did appear like a simpleton, didn’t I?” she admitted, and then hurried on. “My name is Angela Peterson.”
    “And you live—?”
    Angela was beginning to relax and decided to allow herself to enjoy the afternoon tea.
    “I could say, just over the stubble field,” she replied, “but I guess it would be more proper to say, on the farm adjoining your land to the left. Well, one of the farms on the left. I realize that your land stretches far enough to border several farms on each side.”
    He accepted the acknowledgment of the Stratton wealth with a slight smile and a nod of his head.
    “And you are the Angel of Mercy who has been bearing sustenance to Charlie and Gus since the illness of my father.”
    It was his compliment to her, but for just a moment her breath caught in her throat. A distant memory had been awakened of a little girl with silvery pigtails flying in the wind, running toward the outstretched arms of a man with hair of the same color. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and strong arms, and as he swept up the girl and enfolded her against his chest, she heard her father’s words, “And how is my Angel?”
    Yes , she thought, Father used to call me that. I had forgotten . Angela fought to return to the present so she might give the proper response to the young man before her.
    ———
    The Petersons played the memory game again. Angela could hardly wait for her turn so she could tell them her memory of her father’s pet name for her.
    As usual Sara was given the first turn. “I ’member—remember—I remember,” she said, her brow puckered in deep concentration; then her eyes brightened. “I remember when Papa took me to the circus and bought me lots of treats and showed me big elephants and walking bears and—”
    “Sara,” cut in Louise. “You never went to the circus.”
    “I did, too,” argued Sara, her lower lip beginning to protrude.
    “You did not,” insisted Louise before anyone else could comment. “There was never a circus here to go to.”
    “Louise is right,” said