Courting Miss Adelaide by Janet Dean Page A

White ruffled curtains crisp with starch adorned the window. How had her mother been gloomy, awakening in such a cheerful room?
    From the satchel, Emma retrieved a rag doll, mended and clean with a stitched jolly smile and button eyes. After tucking her doll against the pillows, Emma danced around the room, inspecting each nook and cranny. Seeing Emma chasing out the shadows of her mother’s illness brought happy tears to Adelaide’s eyes.
    Adelaide tucked the little girl’s things in an empty dresser drawer and then gave a tour of the rest of the rooms, including her own.
    “Your room is smaller than mine,” Emma said with the candor of a child. “But it’s pretty.”
    “Thank you. My grandmother made the quilts. She knew how to use a needle. Guess I take after her.” Adelaide sat on the bed, patting a spot beside her. Emma joined her, sitting up close. “This quilt pattern is called Ocean Wave. See how the blocks look like the sea?” Emma traced a finger around a triangle-shaped snippet of navy fabric.
    Adelaide had started sewing doll clothes when she’d been about Emma’s age. She’d teach Emma some basic stitches. Together they’d make a dress for her doll. Adelaide had so many plans.
    Taking Emma by the hand, they walked into the parlor. Emma stepped between two chairs to look at the pictures arranged on the marble-topped pedestal table.
    Emma pointed to a daguerreotype. “Is this your mother?”
    “Yes, and those are my grandparents.”
    Emma looked around her. “Where’s your papa’s picture?”
    “I…I don’t have one.”
    “Did he run away, like my papa?”
    “Yes, I guess you could say that.”
    Emma considered this for a moment, her face sober, as if trying to figure out something Adelaide had never understood.
    Emma saw the upright piano and brightened.
    “If you’d like, I could teach you some simple songs.”
    “You know how to do a lot, Miss Adelaide.”
    After years of criticism, the remark slid into the marrow of Adelaide’s bones and she gave the little girl’s hand a squeeze. “Why, thank you.”
    In the kitchen, Adelaide heated leftover fried chicken and potato cakes while Emma set the table. At dinner, Emma ate heartily, leaving some crumbs under her chair. They established a pattern for their future evenings, however many there might be. While Emma completed her homework at the kitchen table, Adelaide cleaned up the dishes, helping with schoolwork only if asked.
    Emma asked for a pencil and paper, then hunched over it, working feverishly. Soon, she folded the paper and smiled up at Adelaide. “I made you something.”
    Adelaide’s eyes stung. “You made something—for me?”
    Emma unfolded the paper and smoothed it flat. “A picture!”
    Adelaide stepped behind her to get a better view. Four figures drawn with a childish hand stood outside a house. A tree grew alongside. A smiling sun hung in the sky. “Who are they?”
    “That’s William,” she said pointing to the figure dressed in pants. “That’s me.” She indicated the shortest figure in a skirt. “This is you, and this is Mrs. Drummond.”
    All the faces sported big smiles. Adelaide couldn’t have been more pleased with an original Rembrandt. “That’s a lovely picture. Thank you.” She patted Emma’s hand and the little girl beamed. “Where’s Mr. Drummond?”
    Emma’s smile turned to a frown. “I don’t like him.”
    “Why?”
    “He yells and stuff.”
    Adelaide knelt in front of Emma. “What do you mean?”
    “I wish he’d run away like my papa and your papa,” she muttered, smoothing the drawing again and again with her hand.
    Though Adelaide tried to find out more, Emma only shrugged, putting up an invisible wall to Adelaide’s quest for answers.
    “Can I play the piano?” Emma asked.
    Adelaide led the little girl to the parlor. They sat side by side on the bench as Adelaide guided Emma’s fingers to play “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”
    The clock struck half past nine. “Oh, my!