from m’ grandmother’s farm, to mama’s, to mine. It made me sad to think there wasn’t nobody but me to care.
I tied back the curtain and turned my head to business. Oughta get this quilt done, just ’cause it’s somethin’ to do. I cut a new length of thread but had my mind on all the green outside the window. Spring was the worst time for thinking on home and Willard and how much I missed ’em both ever’ time I let myself. Just lookin’ outside could start me off. You’d think I’d learn.
But there was a little fun in imaginin’ Willard standing outside under that willow, watchin’ and waitin’ for us to be together again. I wondered if he was missin’ me the same as I missed him. But maybe he’d be ready to give me the what for by now, for all this sittin’ still so long.
He always said home was the place to live and die. And there I was, spendin’ three good farmin’ seasons in Belle Rive. There weren’t no way ’round it. But what would he think? Willard wouldn’t leave the farm when he was sick. Even when he took real bad, he wouldn’t. But there I sat.
I was just leanin’ into the window light, trying to thread my needle, when Rita tapped so sudden on the door, I jumped.
“Emma?”
“Might just as well come right in, Rita. You know you ain’t gotta knock.” I tried threadin’ that needle again, but missed.
The door opened just a peek. “You’ve got comp’ny, Emma,” Rita said. “Says she’s from Pennsylvaney.”
Now that were a surprise. I couldn’t imagine what this’d be about. I pulled myself up in m’ seat best I could, wondering who in the world had come.
“Don’t recall that I know nobody out that way,” I told her. “But send ’em in anyhow. Can’t hurt to say hello.”
The door opened up wide and Rita brung in a pretty young woman with squared shoulders and a real slow step. Even though I never seen her before, she acted like she was almost scared of me, all nervous an’ wringin’ her hands like she figured maybe she already done somethin’ wrong.
“Just give me a holler if you all want tea or anything,” Rita told us. Then she shut the door and left us alone.
The lady was young and fair for looking at, with a blue button-front dress, a flowery scarf, and the most amazin’ green eyes. She was gazin’ over the place and me. I must have been quite a sight in that old rocker, with my hair all down a mess, quilting scrunched so sloppy over my lap, and just one old shoe pokin’ out from underneath.
What in the world might she have come for? I thought. Albert up in Chicago, maybe? He knew lots of folks. Had something happened to him? That kinda thinkin’ give me an awful tight feeling in my throat, and I coughed to clear it away.
“You care for anythin’, miss?”
“Uh, no, thank you.”
She sounded so nervous. A whole lot more than I was, for sure, and I felt sorried for her. I pointed her to the wicker chair in the corner, the only other thing to sit on in the whole room, except for the bed.
“Set with me awhile,” I told her. “Pull the chair up here, if you don’t mind. An’ tell me your name, why don’t you, and what brings you here.”
She said she was Julia Wortham. She had a pleasant voice. But she had an awful time fumblin’ that awkward old chair closer. I kept trying to poke thread through my needle while she moved it, hopin’ to sew while we was talking. I like keepin’ m’ hands busy that way. Keeps the mind from borrowin’ worry.
But that old thread wasn’t about to do. I wet it good with m’ tongue, twirled it to a point, and thought I had it through that time. But when I gave it a pull, it weren’t in.
“Can I help you?” the young lady asked.
“Can’t see to find the eye no more, that’s all! One of the worser things ’bout gettin’ old.” I gave over my needle and thread. It wouldn’t hurt to let her help. I thought it might set her to ease some.
“I’d appreciate it,” I told her. “Relax
I tied back the curtain and turned my head to business. Oughta get this quilt done, just ’cause it’s somethin’ to do. I cut a new length of thread but had my mind on all the green outside the window. Spring was the worst time for thinking on home and Willard and how much I missed ’em both ever’ time I let myself. Just lookin’ outside could start me off. You’d think I’d learn.
But there was a little fun in imaginin’ Willard standing outside under that willow, watchin’ and waitin’ for us to be together again. I wondered if he was missin’ me the same as I missed him. But maybe he’d be ready to give me the what for by now, for all this sittin’ still so long.
He always said home was the place to live and die. And there I was, spendin’ three good farmin’ seasons in Belle Rive. There weren’t no way ’round it. But what would he think? Willard wouldn’t leave the farm when he was sick. Even when he took real bad, he wouldn’t. But there I sat.
I was just leanin’ into the window light, trying to thread my needle, when Rita tapped so sudden on the door, I jumped.
“Emma?”
“Might just as well come right in, Rita. You know you ain’t gotta knock.” I tried threadin’ that needle again, but missed.
The door opened just a peek. “You’ve got comp’ny, Emma,” Rita said. “Says she’s from Pennsylvaney.”
Now that were a surprise. I couldn’t imagine what this’d be about. I pulled myself up in m’ seat best I could, wondering who in the world had come.
“Don’t recall that I know nobody out that way,” I told her. “But send ’em in anyhow. Can’t hurt to say hello.”
The door opened up wide and Rita brung in a pretty young woman with squared shoulders and a real slow step. Even though I never seen her before, she acted like she was almost scared of me, all nervous an’ wringin’ her hands like she figured maybe she already done somethin’ wrong.
“Just give me a holler if you all want tea or anything,” Rita told us. Then she shut the door and left us alone.
The lady was young and fair for looking at, with a blue button-front dress, a flowery scarf, and the most amazin’ green eyes. She was gazin’ over the place and me. I must have been quite a sight in that old rocker, with my hair all down a mess, quilting scrunched so sloppy over my lap, and just one old shoe pokin’ out from underneath.
What in the world might she have come for? I thought. Albert up in Chicago, maybe? He knew lots of folks. Had something happened to him? That kinda thinkin’ give me an awful tight feeling in my throat, and I coughed to clear it away.
“You care for anythin’, miss?”
“Uh, no, thank you.”
She sounded so nervous. A whole lot more than I was, for sure, and I felt sorried for her. I pointed her to the wicker chair in the corner, the only other thing to sit on in the whole room, except for the bed.
“Set with me awhile,” I told her. “Pull the chair up here, if you don’t mind. An’ tell me your name, why don’t you, and what brings you here.”
She said she was Julia Wortham. She had a pleasant voice. But she had an awful time fumblin’ that awkward old chair closer. I kept trying to poke thread through my needle while she moved it, hopin’ to sew while we was talking. I like keepin’ m’ hands busy that way. Keeps the mind from borrowin’ worry.
But that old thread wasn’t about to do. I wet it good with m’ tongue, twirled it to a point, and thought I had it through that time. But when I gave it a pull, it weren’t in.
“Can I help you?” the young lady asked.
“Can’t see to find the eye no more, that’s all! One of the worser things ’bout gettin’ old.” I gave over my needle and thread. It wouldn’t hurt to let her help. I thought it might set her to ease some.
“I’d appreciate it,” I told her. “Relax
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