Forevermore by Cathy Marie Hake Page A

or what’s right betwixt him and the Lord, but deep in my own heart, I agree with you. Don’t seem to keep the day holy, and nobody gets any rest.”
    Hope continued. “I already planned on three days. Don’t matter how hard the men and beasts work, a reaper can only go so fast. Twelve or thirteen acres a day. I reckon you got fifty, maybe sixty acres wavin’ in the wind out there. By startin’ tomorrow, you’ll have it done by Saturday night.”
    “It’s short notice. I should have told you last night.”
    Hope shook her head. “Wouldn’t have changed nothin’ for me, but it woulda put your sister in a dither. We’ll get it all taken care of.” Mentally she listed all the chores she needed to attend and details she ought to iron out. She tied her boot and shoved her left foot into the other, sighing as she tied it.
    “Is your foot hurt? Don’t your shoes fit?”
    “They fit me just fine. Truth is, given my druthers, I’d go barefoot as a heathen.” She smoothed down her hem and rose. “Ever notice in the Bible, how Adam and Eve wore leaves, then God made ’em clothes from animal skins?”
    “Yes.” He stared at her, waiting.
    “Neither of ’em was a-wearin’ shoes. Did y’all ever take note of that? I bet the devil was jealous of folks havin’ feet. Snakes don’t got ’em, so that old Lucifer probably decided to rob people of the joy of dew-soaked grass beneath their feet or the fun of squishin’ mud ’twixt their toes. Shoes. That’s how he done it. Once man got outta the Garden of Eden, he ended up wearin’ shoes. It makes me wonder if that’s where the sayin’ came from—you know, bein’ booted out of someplace.”
    “I don’t know. The saying sure fits.” A slow smile kicked up the corners of Mr. Stauffer’s mouth. “The only thing better than wearing a pair of broken-in boots is taking them off.”
    “That’s a fine way of thinkin’ on it. Makes me grateful both ways.”
    Smiling pulled the muscles in Jakob’s face contrary to where they wanted to go, and the tiny nick he’d gotten shaving twinged. Served him right. He’d been so busy looking for Hope to accomplish things a certain way, he’d been blind to the truth. Busy remonstrating with himself as he took care of his morning ablutions, Jakob managed to catch the angle of his jaw with the razor. The styptic pencil stopped the bleeding. If he hadn’t already been wide awake, the sting from the pencil would have done the job.
    Ever since her arrival, the chaos of his household had changed. The shift had been so subtle, he’d failed to notice what was right under his nose. Just because she approached tasks differently didn’t mean they weren’t accomplished. He’d mistaken her flexibility for disorganization.
    “I don’t come to change things. I just come to help out.” The words she’d spoken after their first supper ran through his mind. She’d changed just about everything . . . but Jakob had to admit, for the good.
    By Saturday, the reaping would be done . . . and Hope would leave. She’d agreed to stay through harvest. One taste of her cooking, and word would spread—other farmers would snap her up. Even if he convinced her to stay through threshing, Jakob knew that wouldn’t be more than another week or so—not nearly long enough. He had to convince her to stay longer, but would she agree? She had her own livelihood to consider.
    He’d come back downstairs, rehearsing what he wanted to say. Off-balance at not finding her in the house, he’d come out onto the porch and ended up talking about boots. That was all well and good, but—
    “I’m needing to get back to the stove. Time to stir up the oatmeal.”
    “Wait.” He couldn’t risk letting her go without trying to secure her. “I wanted to—”
    “Whoops! I hear your sis. ’Scuse me.” She bustled past him and into the house. “ ’Mornin’, Annie! Looks like we all wanted worms today.”
    “Is Jakob going fishing? Today?”
    Jakob