Courting Miss Adelaide by Janet Dean Page B

Time for bed.”
    Emma pounded the keys. “Mama let me stay up really late.”
    “That’s probably because you weren’t going to school.”
    “I don’t want to go to school.” Emma’s gaze sparked defiance. “You can’t make me.”
    Adelaide sucked in a gulp of air, unsure how to handle Emma’s challenge. But then the Bible’s admonition for children to obey their parents stiffened her backbone. “I like having you here,” Adelaide said, “but while you’re in my house, you’ll do as I ask.” Then she gave Emma a bright smile. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”
    Though Emma’s chin hung to her chest, she followed Adelaide to the bedroom. Later, the conflict forgotten, Emma nestled under the covers, embracing her doll as Adelaide read from her childhood Bible storybook, then listened to her prayers.
    “Good night, Miss Adelaide,” Emma said, yawning.
    Looking at Emma’s sweet face, a coil of warmth slid through Adelaide and she kissed her cheek. “Sleep tight,” she said, slipping out of the room.
    Adelaide had never been part of a real family and now it was within her grasp. She would give Emma attention, hugs and kisses, things she’d never had growing up, for as long as God granted her this gift.
    Her mind flitted to Charles. If only—
    She didn’t dare finish the thought. She’d always been careful what she hoped for, the only way to avoid heartache.
    She would savor this moment, not looking forward or back, because she was the happiest she’d ever been in her life, right now, in the present. God had given her this precious girl, and she’d be forever grateful. Forever changed. In a matter of hours, Emma had become firmly entrenched in her heart.
    In the middle of the night, something jolted Adelaide awake. She heard Emma crying. She leapt out of bed and raced down the hall to find the little girl thrashing about in bed. Adelaide sank to the mattress beside her and laid a gentle hand on Emma’s forehead. No fever. Probably a bad dream.
    Adelaide stroked her palm across Emma’s temples, offering comfort, until the little girl’s breathing slowed and her body relaxed. She remained several minutes longer to ensure Emma would not awaken, and then tiptoed back to her bed.
    But sleep eluded her. Could Emma be missing her real mother or William? Or were there other nightmares an orphaned seven-year-old might have, agonizing dreams Adelaide couldn’t even begin to imagine? A nagging sense of doubt planted itself in her midsection. What if she couldn’t give Emma comfort and security?
    Scrunching her pillow, Adelaide recalled years of craving the simplest touch and a kind word. She’d give Emma what she’d missed growing up. After all, she had hugs in abundance and limitless love to share. She prayed that would be enough.
     
    The next morning motherhood required every ounce of Adelaide’s patience. Emma dawdled at breakfast and dressed with the slowness of a tortoise. Thankfully, they reached Second Ward School, a few blocks away, right as the bell rang. Adelaide explained the situation to the teacher and then hurried home, vowing tomorrow would go more smoothly.
    Adelaide made Emma’s bed, then walked to the kitchen and poured steaming water from the teakettle into a dishpan. As she scrubbed the dishes, she remembered where she’d seen this kind of disarray. She’d been eight, when her mother, sick with influenza, sent Adelaide to stay with Winifred Cook’s family. Disorder reigned in the Cook household, but Winnie’s parents tucked the children into bed with a prayer and a kiss. What a revelation to discover not all children lived in a neat but silent house.
    For weeks after returning home, Adelaide’s skin ached to be touched. She’d tried to keep the warm feeling by stroking her arms and hugging herself, but it hadn’t been the same. Cleanliness was next to godliness, or so her mother said, but neatness wasn’t important to children.
    Maybe Adelaide needed a little disorder in