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Authors: Janette Oke
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been so pleased.
“Wash your hands,” she instructed, her voice shaky with emotion, “and you can have a slice of sponge cake and a glass of milk.”
Mrs. Blackwell collected her thoughts and spoke again. “Won’t thet spoil their supper?”
“They have worked hard,” replied Angela firmly. “And growing children must be fed.”
She sliced generous pieces of the cake and poured out two chilled glasses of milk as the girls washed at the corner basin.
“You may take it to the back porch out of the sun,” she told Louise and Sara as she handed them the food.
Mrs. Blackwell may have felt that Angela did not trust two rowdy children at the same table as a neighborhood guest. But in truth, there was no way Angela would have subjected her two young sisters to the tiresome exchange she was enduring.
Chapter Nine
The Son
“Well, he’s here,” Thomas announced as he hoisted the box of groceries onto the kitchen table. “Thane said that Gus came into town almost bursting.”
“Who’s here?” asked Angela, reaching for the bag of sugar.
“The young Mr. Stratton. Don’t even know his name. No one seems to know his name.”
“Is he—is he like his father?” asked Angela hesitantly.
Thomas laughed. “I haven’t laid eyes on him myself, but from what folks are saying, he is pretty citified. Don’t expect he’ll last long out here.”
“Thomas, don’t be like the others and brand him bad before he even gets a chance to prove himself,” Angela reprimanded gently.
Thomas moved to the corner stand and lifted a dipper of cold water. He drank long and deeply before he lowered the dipper. With a quick movement of his wrist, he splashed the remaining water into the blue basin and returned the dipper to the pail.
“You’re right,” he said seriously. “We need to give the fellow a chance.”
He reached out and ruffled Angela’s hair as he headed for the door. “I’m going to be working on that last hay field. Send Derek out as soon as he has his chores done.”
Angela nodded and lifted the salt and baking soda from the grocery box. Already her mind was rushing. Should she bake a chocolate cake or a batch of fudge brownies to take to the Strattons? She still felt it was a shame how folks were so willing to think ill of the young Mr. Stratton even before they knew him.
———
It was fudge brownies that Angela delivered to the Stratton household later in the day. She was not as timid when she stepped up to rap on the door as she had been when she had made her first delivery to the big house. Over the weeks the little trip across the field to see Charlie—or Gus—had become a welcomed break in her routine day.
She looked about her now before lifting her hand to the wooden door. Flowers were blooming in the bed to the right. She wondered who had the time or interest to plant flowers, and then quickly attributed them to Charlie. Charlie, though elderly and crippled, liked pretty things.
Angela knocked and waited, expecting Charlie to pop his head out the door. But the door was opened by a stranger. Angela blinked, then stepped quickly back and felt her face flushing.
She had never before seen anyone dressed quite like he was. His long tailored suit jacket with velvet lapels hung open over a matching vest. A gold chain stretched across his front from button hole to side pocket. A carefully knotted scarf at the throat of his stark-white stand-up collar added a softening touch to the otherwise stiff-looking attire. Softly striped trousers and highly polished boots were the last things Angela noticed before remembering her manners. Her eyes moved quickly back to the man’s face.
His complexion was pale and looked baby-soft, as though neither sun nor rain had ever touched it. And his hair seemed as though wind never tousled it. Every shining strand was carefully combed into place. Slight waves hinted at curliness, but Angela somehow was sure they were never allowed to get out of control.
He
“Wash your hands,” she instructed, her voice shaky with emotion, “and you can have a slice of sponge cake and a glass of milk.”
Mrs. Blackwell collected her thoughts and spoke again. “Won’t thet spoil their supper?”
“They have worked hard,” replied Angela firmly. “And growing children must be fed.”
She sliced generous pieces of the cake and poured out two chilled glasses of milk as the girls washed at the corner basin.
“You may take it to the back porch out of the sun,” she told Louise and Sara as she handed them the food.
Mrs. Blackwell may have felt that Angela did not trust two rowdy children at the same table as a neighborhood guest. But in truth, there was no way Angela would have subjected her two young sisters to the tiresome exchange she was enduring.
Chapter Nine
The Son
“Well, he’s here,” Thomas announced as he hoisted the box of groceries onto the kitchen table. “Thane said that Gus came into town almost bursting.”
“Who’s here?” asked Angela, reaching for the bag of sugar.
“The young Mr. Stratton. Don’t even know his name. No one seems to know his name.”
“Is he—is he like his father?” asked Angela hesitantly.
Thomas laughed. “I haven’t laid eyes on him myself, but from what folks are saying, he is pretty citified. Don’t expect he’ll last long out here.”
“Thomas, don’t be like the others and brand him bad before he even gets a chance to prove himself,” Angela reprimanded gently.
Thomas moved to the corner stand and lifted a dipper of cold water. He drank long and deeply before he lowered the dipper. With a quick movement of his wrist, he splashed the remaining water into the blue basin and returned the dipper to the pail.
“You’re right,” he said seriously. “We need to give the fellow a chance.”
He reached out and ruffled Angela’s hair as he headed for the door. “I’m going to be working on that last hay field. Send Derek out as soon as he has his chores done.”
Angela nodded and lifted the salt and baking soda from the grocery box. Already her mind was rushing. Should she bake a chocolate cake or a batch of fudge brownies to take to the Strattons? She still felt it was a shame how folks were so willing to think ill of the young Mr. Stratton even before they knew him.
———
It was fudge brownies that Angela delivered to the Stratton household later in the day. She was not as timid when she stepped up to rap on the door as she had been when she had made her first delivery to the big house. Over the weeks the little trip across the field to see Charlie—or Gus—had become a welcomed break in her routine day.
She looked about her now before lifting her hand to the wooden door. Flowers were blooming in the bed to the right. She wondered who had the time or interest to plant flowers, and then quickly attributed them to Charlie. Charlie, though elderly and crippled, liked pretty things.
Angela knocked and waited, expecting Charlie to pop his head out the door. But the door was opened by a stranger. Angela blinked, then stepped quickly back and felt her face flushing.
She had never before seen anyone dressed quite like he was. His long tailored suit jacket with velvet lapels hung open over a matching vest. A gold chain stretched across his front from button hole to side pocket. A carefully knotted scarf at the throat of his stark-white stand-up collar added a softening touch to the otherwise stiff-looking attire. Softly striped trousers and highly polished boots were the last things Angela noticed before remembering her manners. Her eyes moved quickly back to the man’s face.
His complexion was pale and looked baby-soft, as though neither sun nor rain had ever touched it. And his hair seemed as though wind never tousled it. Every shining strand was carefully combed into place. Slight waves hinted at curliness, but Angela somehow was sure they were never allowed to get out of control.
He
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