Jacob’s eyes, “we wouldn’t have made it home if you hadn’t guided that horse for the last hour. You’ve got to be tired and I know you’re wet to the bone.”
Luke and John were frightened and clinging to Olive. Mark had fallen asleep as soon as Olive changed him and laid him in his crib. Mary looked nervously out the window and John held her hand.
“Please stay, Daddy,” Peg cried. “It was scary in the wagon.”
“What if the storm comes back?” Luke asked.
“Go get some dry clothes, while Mary and I change. Bring the milk when you come. I bought cocoa at the general store and we’ll have a treat before bedtime,” Olive said addressing Jacob and the children.
* * *
Jacob fought the rain on his way to the barn and thought about the day. When he led Mary from the dance floor, he’d seen Olive watching him. Her eyes, soft and warm, peered into his with intensity and gratitude. He had made Mary happy, and Jacob knew that this woman ached for any triumph with her niece and nephew. She was barking out orders now and seemed determined that he stay in the house.
Jacob conceded he didn’t really want to sleep in a stall with the horse and the children did earnestly look afraid. Why am I, he thought? Sounds to close to a family, gathered together at bed, that’s why.
When Jacob returned to the house, Olive was propped up against some firewood with a blanket thrown over it and another over her legs, reading from a book, aloud. Jacob had changed into dry clothes on the porch and carried the pitcher of milk. Olive rose, heated the milk and instructed Mary to continue the reading. Mary stumbled but worked her way through the words while Olive handed each child a mug. Their eyes widened as they sipped the sweet, hot concoction and soon eyelids began to droop.
Jacob sat on the chair and watched as Peg curled under Olive’s arm and lay her head on the woman’s breast. The boys were snuggled together and Mary sat holding her knees, listening to the story. Olive’s hair was loose; Jacob figured, to dry in the warmth of the fire and her glasses sat at the end of her nose. Her white nightgown was buttoned to her neck and tiny pleats were sewn in the fabric to her waist. Jacob supposed Olive had sewn it and he wondered if anyone had seen if before. He was sure not and he wondered why she would stitch so many details and make it so becoming if she was to be the only one to see it.
* * *
Olive stood as the last eyes closed and she helped Mary lay down. She kissed the foreheads and wiped sticky cocoa from chins and mouths before finally turning to Jacob.
“I’m tired as well, if you don’t mind. I think I’ll lower the lamps.”
Olive sat down near the children, spread out like a spindle in the heat of the fire. Jacob picked up the blanket on the table and laid it out on the floor. The slowing rain on the roof pattered and in the dim light Olive began brushing through her hair.
“Do you always brush your hair this much before bed?” Jacob asked.
“One hundred strokes.”
“Why?” he asked.
Olive shrugged. “I suppose because my mother always did. Seems silly now. I wear it back mostly, but I guess its just habit.”
“It looked beautiful today,” Jacob said.
Olive’s head snapped around in the shadows and she was glad she could not see Jacob’s face. If he was jesting with her, then the darkness didn’t reveal it and she could imagine the sentiment as true. “Thank you.”
The room was quiet, except for the soft rhythmic breathing of the children until Olive folded her glasses and sat them with a clink on the stone mantle. She stretched out and sighed and the blankets snapped as she pulled them over herself.
“Jacob? Are you asleep?” she said softly.
“No, Olive.”
“I want to thank you for this day. I had a wonderful time and so did the children and especially for dancing with Mary. She glowed in the attention and I have had little success with her. It meant a great deal to Mary
Luke and John were frightened and clinging to Olive. Mark had fallen asleep as soon as Olive changed him and laid him in his crib. Mary looked nervously out the window and John held her hand.
“Please stay, Daddy,” Peg cried. “It was scary in the wagon.”
“What if the storm comes back?” Luke asked.
“Go get some dry clothes, while Mary and I change. Bring the milk when you come. I bought cocoa at the general store and we’ll have a treat before bedtime,” Olive said addressing Jacob and the children.
* * *
Jacob fought the rain on his way to the barn and thought about the day. When he led Mary from the dance floor, he’d seen Olive watching him. Her eyes, soft and warm, peered into his with intensity and gratitude. He had made Mary happy, and Jacob knew that this woman ached for any triumph with her niece and nephew. She was barking out orders now and seemed determined that he stay in the house.
Jacob conceded he didn’t really want to sleep in a stall with the horse and the children did earnestly look afraid. Why am I, he thought? Sounds to close to a family, gathered together at bed, that’s why.
When Jacob returned to the house, Olive was propped up against some firewood with a blanket thrown over it and another over her legs, reading from a book, aloud. Jacob had changed into dry clothes on the porch and carried the pitcher of milk. Olive rose, heated the milk and instructed Mary to continue the reading. Mary stumbled but worked her way through the words while Olive handed each child a mug. Their eyes widened as they sipped the sweet, hot concoction and soon eyelids began to droop.
Jacob sat on the chair and watched as Peg curled under Olive’s arm and lay her head on the woman’s breast. The boys were snuggled together and Mary sat holding her knees, listening to the story. Olive’s hair was loose; Jacob figured, to dry in the warmth of the fire and her glasses sat at the end of her nose. Her white nightgown was buttoned to her neck and tiny pleats were sewn in the fabric to her waist. Jacob supposed Olive had sewn it and he wondered if anyone had seen if before. He was sure not and he wondered why she would stitch so many details and make it so becoming if she was to be the only one to see it.
* * *
Olive stood as the last eyes closed and she helped Mary lay down. She kissed the foreheads and wiped sticky cocoa from chins and mouths before finally turning to Jacob.
“I’m tired as well, if you don’t mind. I think I’ll lower the lamps.”
Olive sat down near the children, spread out like a spindle in the heat of the fire. Jacob picked up the blanket on the table and laid it out on the floor. The slowing rain on the roof pattered and in the dim light Olive began brushing through her hair.
“Do you always brush your hair this much before bed?” Jacob asked.
“One hundred strokes.”
“Why?” he asked.
Olive shrugged. “I suppose because my mother always did. Seems silly now. I wear it back mostly, but I guess its just habit.”
“It looked beautiful today,” Jacob said.
Olive’s head snapped around in the shadows and she was glad she could not see Jacob’s face. If he was jesting with her, then the darkness didn’t reveal it and she could imagine the sentiment as true. “Thank you.”
The room was quiet, except for the soft rhythmic breathing of the children until Olive folded her glasses and sat them with a clink on the stone mantle. She stretched out and sighed and the blankets snapped as she pulled them over herself.
“Jacob? Are you asleep?” she said softly.
“No, Olive.”
“I want to thank you for this day. I had a wonderful time and so did the children and especially for dancing with Mary. She glowed in the attention and I have had little success with her. It meant a great deal to Mary
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