Free Gingham Mountain by Mary Connealy Page A

tiny bit of a woman, at least five-six, but he still towered over her, mainly because his anger made him feel a lot bigger. “Miss Cartwright, I have had enough of your—”
    “Pa.” Marilyn stood beside the two of them.
    She diverted Grant’s attention from the scalding comments he wanted to make. Grant had spent the last ten years putting children ahead of himself. It was second nature to set aside what he was doing and listen when Marilyn talked.
    “What is it?”
    “I’d like for Miss Cartwright to visit. Maybe if she waited a couple of hours, let the children run off some of their steam on the sledding hill, she could drop in for a while this afternoon. The snow will be gone by then anyway.”
    Grant’s teeth clicked together in frustration. He saw the children almost bouncing with impatience and felt the vibration of Hannah’s acute disapproval. It was too much pressure coming from all directions. He caved.
    He turned with exaggerated politeness. “It would be a pleasure to have you drop by and visit. Come around three.”
    Marilyn frowned a little at his tone then, with a half-amused shake of her head, went on to the wagon.
    “You can stay for an hour. Interview the slaves. . .uh. . .I mean the children. Inspect the prison. . .that is. . .our home. Maybe we’ll give you a bit of gruel and some stale bread to eat before you set off for home.”
    Hannah jammed her fists on her slender waist. “Mr. . . .Grant!”
    Grant turned away and jumped up on the wagon seat without letting her finish. He turned back to her. “Are you deciding whether we’re worthy of the fine school here in Sour Springs, Hannah? If you are, don’t bother. I’ve already decided that your school isn’t worthy of my children.”
    He released the hand break and slapped the reins against the horses’ backs. They snorted, tossed their heads, and jingled the traces, then pulled the creaking wagon away from the church. Grant left her standing in a swirl of snow. He knew he shouldn’t have been so rude. Why was it all right for her to be so nasty to him, but somehow he wasn’t supposed to be mean back?
    “She’s just worried about us, Pa.” Sadie spoke as if she’d read Grant’s mind. “Maybe she’s seen orphans mistreated before. If she’s really trying to rescue us, then she’s not such a bad person. Having her out to visit will make everything better.”
    “You’re right.” Grant shook his head slowly, wondering at himself. “But that woman does have a talent for bringing out the worst in me.”
    Sadie patted his shoulder. “Your worst is still real good, Pa.” Sadie sank back to sit on the floor of the wagon box to wrangle with her brothers and sisters about who got first turn on the toboggan.
    Grant let go of some of his bad temper. Fine, he’d let Hannah come out and inspect.
    Then he thought of the home she’d be inspecting. If she came out to inspect, she’d see his tiny house and his hodgepodge of clothing and furniture. She’d see the scanty food he had on hand and find how many chores he asked his children to do.
    His hands tightened on the reins to turn his team around to forbid her to come. Then, with a sinking heart, Grant let the horses go on. He could forbid till he was blue in the face, the stubborn woman would still visit. And whether her problem was disapproving of orphans or disapproving of him, she’d still do one or the other. So what difference did it make?
    He sped the horses along and planned on another term of schooling his children himself.

    “There he goes.” Prudence watched until Grant disappeared, then dropped the curtain and turned to Horace.
    Horace sat at the kitchen table scooping stew into his mouth. Prudence looked at him with envy. He got to stay out of sight. He dressed in comfortable clothes and didn’t have to take a monthly bath. He had the easy half of this cheat.
    “You should’a gone to church.” He spoke through a mouthful of food. “Good chance to meet