Read Online Roses for Mama by Janette Oke - Free Book Online Page A

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    “You use that one for everyday? My, looks to me like your mama would have kept thet for special occasions.”
    “Mama felt it a special occasion when a neighbor came to call,” Angela answered sweetly and gave the woman a nice smile.
    Mrs. Blackwell flushed an even deeper red and busied herself with fanning for several moments before she found her tongue again.
    “This here Mr. Stratton—has him a son. Did ya ever hear of such a thing? Comin’ on out. Seems to me it woulda set better had he been here all those years helpin’ his pa out. Might have saved his heart, or whatever the man has, iffen he would’ve been here. Doc won’t say none what’s ailin’ the fella.”
    Angela set two china cups and saucers on the table and went for the cream and sugar.
    “Well, I’m thinkin’ thet he’ll likely scoop up what he can get his hands on an’ head straight back east to his mama—thet’s what I’m thinkin’. He’s probably a chip off the old block—as stingy and unneighborly as his pa. I remember the woman—shouldn’t you let that tea steep a bit longer?—she was a flighty thing, let me tell you. Pretty as a picture—an’ ’bout as flimsy. Couldn’t lift her hand in her own kitchen. An’ the mister. He tried to give her everything so thet she would be happy here. We knew it would never work. Some of us tried to tell him, but he jest turned a deaf ear. Well, I guess he learned.”
    Angela set the tea before Mrs. Blackwell and turned for the sponge cake.
    “Yer brothers hayin’?” the woman asked.
    Angela nodded.
    “Wonder iffen it’s quite dry enough. You can sure ruin good hay iffen you don’t give it time to dry proper.”
    Angela bit her lip and then boldly suggested that they thank the Lord for the refreshments. Mrs. Blackwell looked surprised, as though tea and cake were hardly worth a prayer.
    Angela’s prayer was simple and sincere. When she lifted her head she passed the cake to her neighbor.
    “Those sisters of yours big enough to be of any use to you yet?” asked Mrs. Blackwell as she stirred the cream and sugar into her tea.
    “They have always been of use to us,” responded Angela a bit too quickly.
    “Work? Work?” hurried on Mrs. Blackwell in explanation. “Are they able to help with—?”
    “Oh yes,” cut in Angela. “They’ve had their own chores from when they were tiny—which they see to on their own,” she informed the older woman, feeling a bit smug.
    “Where are they now?” asked Mrs. Blackwell, her eyes traveling about as though she thought the two young girls should be scurrying about the kitchen.
    “I sent them out to pick strawberries for jam,” replied Angela.
    “It’s a bit late for strawberries.”
    “Oh no. The girls brought in a nice pailful yesterday. I canned five jars of jam with it.”
    The woman seemed to be at a loss as to what to say next. She took a bite of her sponge cake and turned again to Angela.
    “I’m guessin’ you’ve been a bit wasteful in usin’ eggs. I have a way of making this same recipe with about half the eggs. Eggs are worth money, you know. Every egg saved means—”
    “We have lots of eggs,” said Angela softly.
    “Still—you can take ’em to town and sell ’em. Trade ’em fer something needed. No sense being wasteful—”
    Louise burst through the door. In her hand was a pail filled with bright red strawberries. “We found the best patch—” she began but jerked to a halt when she saw the woman at the table. “Excuse me,” she said softly. “Hello, Mrs. Blackwell.”
    Sara moved in beside her sister, her face flushed and streaks of dirt on her pinafore. But her blue eyes were dancing, and Angela knew she was nearly bursting with excitement over some find. But Sara held her tongue and curtsied slightly. “Hello, Mrs. Blackwell,” she said in no more than a whisper.
    Angela could have hugged them both. They had remembered their manners. She felt pride swelling within her. Her mama would have