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Authors: Kathleen Morgan
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From across the table, little Mary gurgled happily, then smacked her lips.
Once more that sharp, bittersweet pain lanced through her. Unbidden, a scene flashed across her mind—of newly born baby Joshua, so sweet, so soft, so warm and cuddly!
With an effort, Abby looked up. “I’m trying, Ella, ” she said, her words low but impassioned. “I want to do right by Beth and Mr. MacKay. I want to do right by myself, too. It’s just that I don’t know which path to take, or how to journey anymore.”
“Give it time, Abby, and trust in the Lord.”
She managed a sad, tremulous smile. “Ah, yes. The Lord. He’s always with me.”
“Yes, He is. Trust in Him, and never stop loving. Do that no matter what, even if you can’t manage anything else right now.”
Once more, Abby’s eyes filled with tears. Though Ella spoke the words now to comfort her, she also knew Ella believed them with all her heart. Believed them, and lived them in her own life, through all the times of happiness and sorrow.
The realization comforted Abby, stirred a tiny spark of hope. Surely if Ella could endure, so could she.
Trust … and never stop loving.
“I’ll try, Ella, ” Abby whispered. “I’ll try.”
As directed by her father, later that afternoon Beth came down to begin her lessons. Clutching a tattered, cloth doll, she flung herself into one of the kitchen chairs and glowered at Abby from across the table. “I’m here because Papa told me to come, ” she poutingly informed her, “but you can’t make me learn.”
Abby looked up from one of Conor MacKay’s shirts she was ironing. So far, the day had been windy but reasonably warm. The first load of laundry she had hung out by mid-morning, though still damp, was now dry enough to iron.
Her gaze snagged on the dirty doll with the formless, ragged sack dress. How much Beth was like that little doll, she thought. Wide-eyed, disheveled, and hungry for love yet so disagreeable in manner and appearance.
“No, Beth, I can’t make you do anything, ” Abby agreed softly. “Your papa, though, wishes for you to do your lessons, and I’m most willing to teach you.”
“I don’t like you!”
Abby set the iron back on the stove to reheat, then walked around the ironing board and took a seat opposite Beth at the table. Resting her arms on the clothcovered surface, she met the girl’s hostile glare. “Believe me, Beth. I quite understand that.”
Abby’s heart went out to the child. It must be so hard to accept a stranger into the house, gradually come to accept her, only to have her leave. Surely someone as young as she was could only interpret that, after a time, as a personal rejection.
Thanks to her talk earlier with Ella, Abby saw now how foolish and self-defeating had been her own intent to distance herself. Indeed, how much different would she be than any of the others? After all, she, too, meant to leave the MacKays sooner or later. How would her eventual departure affect Beth?
Maybe it was best if Beth never came to like her. Maybe it was kinder not to try and make friends. Yet even the fleeting consideration of hardening her heart was more than Abby could bear.
She sighed. Why couldn’t life ever be simple, or easy?
“I’d get mighty tired myself if some woman was always moving in, taking over and telling me what to do, not to mention changing everything I was used to.” Abby smiled in gentle sympathy. “And then, to top it off, ” she added with a teasing grin, “if that woman couldn’t even cook very well …”
“Your flapjacks were passable, ” Beth admitted grudgingly. “But you almost burned Cousin Ella’s leftover stew for lunch. And if you’re not careful, you might burn that bread you’re baking.”
“Yes, I just might.” Abby leaned back and shot a wary glance in the direction of Old Bess. She inhaled deeply of the mouth-watering aroma of baking bread, suddenly, surprisingly content.
This morning’s fiasco aside, the big cookstove
Once more that sharp, bittersweet pain lanced through her. Unbidden, a scene flashed across her mind—of newly born baby Joshua, so sweet, so soft, so warm and cuddly!
With an effort, Abby looked up. “I’m trying, Ella, ” she said, her words low but impassioned. “I want to do right by Beth and Mr. MacKay. I want to do right by myself, too. It’s just that I don’t know which path to take, or how to journey anymore.”
“Give it time, Abby, and trust in the Lord.”
She managed a sad, tremulous smile. “Ah, yes. The Lord. He’s always with me.”
“Yes, He is. Trust in Him, and never stop loving. Do that no matter what, even if you can’t manage anything else right now.”
Once more, Abby’s eyes filled with tears. Though Ella spoke the words now to comfort her, she also knew Ella believed them with all her heart. Believed them, and lived them in her own life, through all the times of happiness and sorrow.
The realization comforted Abby, stirred a tiny spark of hope. Surely if Ella could endure, so could she.
Trust … and never stop loving.
“I’ll try, Ella, ” Abby whispered. “I’ll try.”
As directed by her father, later that afternoon Beth came down to begin her lessons. Clutching a tattered, cloth doll, she flung herself into one of the kitchen chairs and glowered at Abby from across the table. “I’m here because Papa told me to come, ” she poutingly informed her, “but you can’t make me learn.”
Abby looked up from one of Conor MacKay’s shirts she was ironing. So far, the day had been windy but reasonably warm. The first load of laundry she had hung out by mid-morning, though still damp, was now dry enough to iron.
Her gaze snagged on the dirty doll with the formless, ragged sack dress. How much Beth was like that little doll, she thought. Wide-eyed, disheveled, and hungry for love yet so disagreeable in manner and appearance.
“No, Beth, I can’t make you do anything, ” Abby agreed softly. “Your papa, though, wishes for you to do your lessons, and I’m most willing to teach you.”
“I don’t like you!”
Abby set the iron back on the stove to reheat, then walked around the ironing board and took a seat opposite Beth at the table. Resting her arms on the clothcovered surface, she met the girl’s hostile glare. “Believe me, Beth. I quite understand that.”
Abby’s heart went out to the child. It must be so hard to accept a stranger into the house, gradually come to accept her, only to have her leave. Surely someone as young as she was could only interpret that, after a time, as a personal rejection.
Thanks to her talk earlier with Ella, Abby saw now how foolish and self-defeating had been her own intent to distance herself. Indeed, how much different would she be than any of the others? After all, she, too, meant to leave the MacKays sooner or later. How would her eventual departure affect Beth?
Maybe it was best if Beth never came to like her. Maybe it was kinder not to try and make friends. Yet even the fleeting consideration of hardening her heart was more than Abby could bear.
She sighed. Why couldn’t life ever be simple, or easy?
“I’d get mighty tired myself if some woman was always moving in, taking over and telling me what to do, not to mention changing everything I was used to.” Abby smiled in gentle sympathy. “And then, to top it off, ” she added with a teasing grin, “if that woman couldn’t even cook very well …”
“Your flapjacks were passable, ” Beth admitted grudgingly. “But you almost burned Cousin Ella’s leftover stew for lunch. And if you’re not careful, you might burn that bread you’re baking.”
“Yes, I just might.” Abby leaned back and shot a wary glance in the direction of Old Bess. She inhaled deeply of the mouth-watering aroma of baking bread, suddenly, surprisingly content.
This morning’s fiasco aside, the big cookstove
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