away, relieved to be spared. “I’m gittin’ the food basket from the wagon and a pail of water.” Grateful for a moment alone, Antonia slipped out of the house.
One of the men had left the basket on the porch. A pail stood near a washbasin. Hastily, she washed her hands and face, choosing the soap scented of lavender instead of one that smelled of bay leaves, which must be Erik’s. Will he be mindin’ that I smell like Daisy? She picked up the pail and hurried to the well—the pump was an unexpected luxury.
The late afternoon sun had begun to cool. A budding rosebush grew nearby, and Antonia made a mental note to pick some when they bloomed to place on Daisy’s grave. She made a stop at the privy, pumped some water in the trough by the well to rinse her hands, and filled the bucket.
She moved to the house, trying not to look at the coffin in the wagon. When she walked through the open door, she saw the two other ladies had made themselves at home. Antonia smiled at her sons.
Someone must have brought the basket inside, for it sat on the table, contents scattered across the surface.
Mrs. Carter had tied on an apron with blue embroidered flowers across the top and hem over her dress. “Daisy Muth left a well-stocked larder,” she said in approval. “That will make cooking meals easier for you.” From a shelf, she picked up a tin box decorated with red flowers painted across the top and held it up. “I found Daisy’s recipes. That will help you make Mr. Muth his accustomed meals.”
Shame rose in Antonia. She couldn’t read the recipes, but didn’t want the women—or Erik for that matter—to know of her ignorance. She gave a quick nod of agreement, mentioned bringing the water to Mrs. Norton, and escaped from the conversation. Walking to the bedroom, her chest tightened and her breath came in gasps. What am I going to do?
CHAPTER NINE
J ohn Carter had insisted on finishing up the grave and sent Erik back to bid his farewell to Daisy. At first, Erik argued, and then the man firmly said that digging the grave was good for him. He was counting his blessings with each shovel full.
Erik wanted to curse at Carter for that statement. . .for having a beloved wife, children, prosperous ranch, when he had. . . . But he’d sucked up the feeling, remembering he was beholden to the man.
He detoured to the barn to grab some of Antonia’s possessions, taking up a big parcel wrapped in hide. As he approached the porch, he could see Reverend Norton sitting on the rocker, a Bible open on his knee. Erik climbed the steps and set down his fur-wrapped bundle.
“The womenfolk chased me out,” Reverend Norton said, looking up from his reading. “They want to prepare the body. You wait here until they’re ready.”
Erik felt a surge of gratitude for the reprieve from having to see his wife in the rigors of death. He remembered how Daisy’s body had looked when he left, and he’d dreaded seeing her again that way.
The minister rocked his chair. “I decided the best help I could be was to sit here and pray for you and your new family.”
“I appreciate that, Reverend. We’re certainly in need of prayers.”
The minister patted his Bible. “The Lord promises He won’t give us more than we can bear, but He certainly comes mighty close at times.”
Like right now.
“He brings us comfort as well.”
Erik thought of his beautiful baby, of the support from people he’d barely known before today. “But there’s so little compared to all the pain.”
“We receive small doses to sustain us. Sometimes from different places. Not much, perhaps, if you look at them individually. But they all add up to enough to keep us going, until someday, we find the pain is lessened.”
Antonia poked her head out of the doorway, and, when she saw Erik, she stepped outside. “Mrs. Norton wants to know which dress you want Daisy buried in?”
How in the heck do I know ? Suppressing his irritation, he rubbed a hand over
One of the men had left the basket on the porch. A pail stood near a washbasin. Hastily, she washed her hands and face, choosing the soap scented of lavender instead of one that smelled of bay leaves, which must be Erik’s. Will he be mindin’ that I smell like Daisy? She picked up the pail and hurried to the well—the pump was an unexpected luxury.
The late afternoon sun had begun to cool. A budding rosebush grew nearby, and Antonia made a mental note to pick some when they bloomed to place on Daisy’s grave. She made a stop at the privy, pumped some water in the trough by the well to rinse her hands, and filled the bucket.
She moved to the house, trying not to look at the coffin in the wagon. When she walked through the open door, she saw the two other ladies had made themselves at home. Antonia smiled at her sons.
Someone must have brought the basket inside, for it sat on the table, contents scattered across the surface.
Mrs. Carter had tied on an apron with blue embroidered flowers across the top and hem over her dress. “Daisy Muth left a well-stocked larder,” she said in approval. “That will make cooking meals easier for you.” From a shelf, she picked up a tin box decorated with red flowers painted across the top and held it up. “I found Daisy’s recipes. That will help you make Mr. Muth his accustomed meals.”
Shame rose in Antonia. She couldn’t read the recipes, but didn’t want the women—or Erik for that matter—to know of her ignorance. She gave a quick nod of agreement, mentioned bringing the water to Mrs. Norton, and escaped from the conversation. Walking to the bedroom, her chest tightened and her breath came in gasps. What am I going to do?
CHAPTER NINE
J ohn Carter had insisted on finishing up the grave and sent Erik back to bid his farewell to Daisy. At first, Erik argued, and then the man firmly said that digging the grave was good for him. He was counting his blessings with each shovel full.
Erik wanted to curse at Carter for that statement. . .for having a beloved wife, children, prosperous ranch, when he had. . . . But he’d sucked up the feeling, remembering he was beholden to the man.
He detoured to the barn to grab some of Antonia’s possessions, taking up a big parcel wrapped in hide. As he approached the porch, he could see Reverend Norton sitting on the rocker, a Bible open on his knee. Erik climbed the steps and set down his fur-wrapped bundle.
“The womenfolk chased me out,” Reverend Norton said, looking up from his reading. “They want to prepare the body. You wait here until they’re ready.”
Erik felt a surge of gratitude for the reprieve from having to see his wife in the rigors of death. He remembered how Daisy’s body had looked when he left, and he’d dreaded seeing her again that way.
The minister rocked his chair. “I decided the best help I could be was to sit here and pray for you and your new family.”
“I appreciate that, Reverend. We’re certainly in need of prayers.”
The minister patted his Bible. “The Lord promises He won’t give us more than we can bear, but He certainly comes mighty close at times.”
Like right now.
“He brings us comfort as well.”
Erik thought of his beautiful baby, of the support from people he’d barely known before today. “But there’s so little compared to all the pain.”
“We receive small doses to sustain us. Sometimes from different places. Not much, perhaps, if you look at them individually. But they all add up to enough to keep us going, until someday, we find the pain is lessened.”
Antonia poked her head out of the doorway, and, when she saw Erik, she stepped outside. “Mrs. Norton wants to know which dress you want Daisy buried in?”
How in the heck do I know ? Suppressing his irritation, he rubbed a hand over
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