Hope Springs by Sarah M. Eden Page A

and still, waiting for the Johnsons to think through what she’d said and what they’d just seen.
    The shop was empty for a full five minutes before Mr. Johnson, behind the counter once more, turned toward her. He pointed a menacing finger directly at her.
    “Be here by six in the morning, every morning. You’ll work until noon.”
    Katie nodded. She’d originally imagined three full days, not every single morning. But the look of disappointment on Mrs. Flannigan’s face and the tears in Biddy’s voice earlier that week, decided it for her.
    “And,” Mr. Johnson added with a flash in his eyes, “you’ll keep your mouth shut while you’re working here. I don’t want to hear any ’twas or ’tis or any of your Irish words.”
    She almost answered with a “Yes, Mr. Johnson,” but thought better of it. If he wanted silence, he’d have it.
    “And—”
    “Jeremiah.” Katie thought Mrs. Johnson’s tone was promising. She at least was making a minimal effort to put an end to Mr. Johnson’s demands.
    Mr. Johnson kept right on at it. “I don’t want you near the customers or talking to them. You keep out of the way. Give me one lick of trouble and this trade of ours is off. Understand?”
    Katie nodded firmly.
    Mr. Johnson slammed his ledger book on the counter, taking up his pen. “Now get to work.” His gaze dropped to his account book.
    Katie was torn between grinning in triumph and sinking with the enormity of the troubles she’d just invited. Mr. Johnson would be a difficult employer. If past experience was any indication, she’d likely be insulted and belittled again and again. But it would be worth it.

Chapter Eleven
     
    Joseph bit back a few tense words, working at being patient with his girls. They were both trying very hard to help with dinner but were only making things worse. They’d attempted to make pancakes, but after four eggs dropped to the floor, followed by nearly an entire pitcher of milk and a good amount of flour, Joseph had opted for something with fewer steps and, thus, fewer opportunities for disaster. But fried eggs had proven just as unsuccessful. If Hope Springs had even one restaurant, he’d have thrown in the towel and driven the girls into town.
    Emma and Ivy were both on their hands and knees wiping up the mess with towels. He’d likely be paying Harriet Kester extra this week for laundering. If only Katie could have stayed until the new housekeeper came. Disaster after disaster had plagued the house since she left.
    And I miss her. He planned to drop by the next day and talk with her. He’d been working on an excuse. Katie had taken a job at the mercantile; the idea didn’t sit well with him, and he wanted to ask her about it. If he happened to find another reason to stay, perhaps something else needing repairs, so be it. He’d enjoyed the few minutes he’d spent the last week fixing her chest of drawers. Katie had sat nearby and talked with him. He’d missed that since she left.
    “It’s like paste, Pompah.” Ivy squished her hand in the sticky mess of eggs, milk, and flour mashed together on the floor. She clapped her sticky hands together, then stretched out the viscous mixture between them.
    “You’re a mess, sweetheart.” He motioned her toward him. “I think you can both be done now.”
    “But we’re not finished cleaning it up,” Emma protested from her own corner of the messy floor. The hem and front of her dress were filthy, covered in the same concoction as Ivy’s hands and face.
    “You’ve helped quite a lot.” He felt justified in the white lie. Things would go far more quickly and smoothly if he didn’t have to clean them up as well. “I’ll finish what’s left.”
    Emma’s floured forehead puckered. “But we were supposed to do the low parts, and you were going to do the high parts.”
    Most children would have gladly been released from chores. His Emma almost seemed offended.
    “What are we going to eat?” Ivy had happily handed