Read Online Bittersweet by Cathy Marie Hake - Free Book Online Page A

wrapped around him. “The bed’s as empty as my heart. Havin’ you all home—that softens the hurt.”
    Mrs. O’Sullivan turned and burrowed into Galen’s arms. Colin, Sean, and Dale held fast to him, as well, creating a knot of misery.
    Laney longed to go over and comfort them, yet she didn’t. Couldn’t. It wasn’t her place. Her heart and mind warred over what to do.
    Josh half pushed Laney and Ruth toward the table, ordering in a gruff whisper, “Set the table and serve up the food. The new man and I’ll go fetch the other things from the wagons.”
    Laney turned back to her brother and said in the barest whisper, “Bring in sugar and flour.”
    He blinked his understanding and left.
    Ruth took a stack of plates from the cupboard and pressed them into Laney’s hands. “Keeping busy,” she whispered.
    Laney nodded. When Ruth’s mother had died, Mrs. O’Sullivan had claimed staying occupied helped a person through the early months of grieving. They took her advice to heart yet again. Ruth lit a fire in the stove and started coffee.
    Josh came back in with two valises balanced atop a full crate. The farmhand trailed in with a twenty-five pound bag of sugar over one shoulder and another one of flour on the other.
    “Please set those down by the window,” Laney said to him.
    “Yes’m.”
    Galen cleared his throat. “Ma, this is Ishmael Grubb. He’ll be coming over two full days and three half days a week. I’m allowing his family to sharecrop the far southern corner of our land, but they’ll keep the crops and we’ll have his labor. Ishmael, this is my ma, Mrs. O’Sullivan.”
    “Ma’am.” Ishmael set down the bags and fumbled with what to do with his hands. “I’m shore sorry that man of yourn is dead and gone.”
    Mrs. O’Sullivan manufactured a pained smile. “Thank you, Mr. Grubb.”
    “I need to say something.” Laney let out a shaky breath. “Cullen O’Sullivan is gone, and knowing he’s with the Lord is great consolation. But—” she looked at the O’Sullivans, her gaze resting on Galen last—“he’s still here in the best of ways. Cullen O’Sullivan lives on through Galen, Colin, Sean, and Dale. They’re his legacy, and as long as we remember him and his sons carry on the family name with the same honor, a very special part of Mr. O’Sullivan is still with us.”
    Galen didn’t say a word, but the grooves bracketing his mouth eased.
    “Ooch, now Laney, if that’s not just like you. You’ve said a very beautiful mouthful, you have.” Mrs. O’Sullivan looked at each one of her sons in turn. “I’ve still the present to live in and a future to look forward to.”
    “And friends to share it with,” Ruth added.
    “Doesn’t feel very friendly to me, dishing this up.” Hilda had lifted the lid on one of the boxes and was staring at the contents with undisguised dismay.
    “I’m sure it’s fine,” Galen said.
    Hilda snorted and turned the box upside down over a plate. Everyone watched, but nothing happened. Suddenly, thump ! A huge wad of mashed potatoes plopped onto the plate. Grayish bits of the pasteboard box formed unappetizing scabs here and there.
    Ruth upended the next box over a serving platter. About two dozen pebble-sized hunks of brown chicken rained down. “I think the rest are stuck to the box.”
    Mrs. O’Sullivan reached for her apron. “You men give us twenty minutes, and we’ll have a fine meal ready.”
    “What—” Galen surveyed the remaining boxes, and Laney marveled they didn’t burst into flames from the angry spark in his eyes. He turned that gaze on her and asked in a deep, nail-in-thecoffin tone, “—is in the other two boxes?”
    “One is chocolate applesauce cake.” Laney tried to act downright cheerful even though the combination sounded utterly revolting. After all, Galen had demanded they eat Ethel’s food, and she’d do her best to support his vile plan.
    Ruth opened the last box. “Half is chicken. The other half is