Read Online The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter by Lawana Blackwell - Free Book Online
Authors: Lawana Blackwell
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hands and smiled reassuringly. “I didn’t expect your cows to be wearing nappies, Miss Sanders. Just lead the way, and we’ll be fine.”
The hammering sounds increased as the two gingerly made their way across the barnyard. Six feet away from the barn, Mercy stopped and cupped her hands to her mouth. “Papa?”
There was no answer, so she tried again a little louder. This time the hammering ceased, and a grunt floated down from the open hayloft door. It likely was his way of saying what? but could just as well translate into go away! or this board is too heavy! She gave Mrs. Kingston a helpless look, then raised her hands to her mouth again.
“Would you please come to the door, Papa?”
This time he actually articulated words from the recesses of the loft. “What for?”
Mercy sighed. Why did everything in her family have to be so difficult? “There’s a Mrs. Kingston here to see you.”
“Who?”
Before Mercy could reply, she felt a touch on her shoulder. “Allow me, dear. We can’t have you damaging that lovely singing voice.” Then raising her chin, the woman called out shrilly, “Octavia Kingston, Mr. Sanders! Would you be so kind as to allow me a word with you?”
There was a brief silence, in which Mercy could picture her father trying to place the name. And then, “Is this about thet school?”
“It is indeed, Mr. Sanders. How very perceptive of you!”
This time the grunt that issued from above had a distinctive familiar ring. Mercy felt her cheeks grow hot, and she prayed that the woman beside her hadn’t figured out what he had actually said. But Mrs. Kingston seemed to be concentrating on something else, for after listening to the resumed hammering with pursed lips, she turned to Mercy and said, “Tell me, how does one get up there?”
“You want to climb up in the loft?”
“Frankly, dear, I am not looking forward to it. But there seems to be no other way.”
With great misgivings Mercy led the older woman through the wide open barn door. Just inside, Mrs. Kingston paused. “Will you close and bolt that door?” She glanced down at her skirt. “Modesty, you know.”
Mercy complied at once, plunging the barn into darkness save for the daylight seeping through the cracks between the door boards. After allowing a second or two for Mrs. Kingston’s eyes to adjust to the dimness, Mercy pointed to a ladder. She felt compelled to give another warning at the bottom. “He may swear at you.”
Mrs. Kingston again gathered her skirts about her knees, then lifted her foot to the first rung. “I’ll box his ears if he does.”
After the initial shock had passed, Mercy smiled to herself, gathered her skirts, and followed. Perhaps this woman would be a match for her father after all. This was much more interesting than picking vegetables.
“Would one of you gentlemen mind lending me a hand?” she heard Mrs. Kingston say, whose head and shoulders had disappeared into the floor of the loft. Mercy listened to the hammering cease and cringed at the expected explosion of words, but to her surprise, none came. Perhaps Mrs. Kingston’s tenacity had rendered her papa speechless.
“Help her, Fernie,” she even heard her father mutter, and Mrs. Kingston’s feet presently disappeared. Her father and brother did not extend the same courtesy to Mercy when she reached the top of the ladder, but she had played up here hundreds of times as a girl and easily swung herself to the floor. Papa was on his knees staring, openmouthed, as Mrs. Kingston brushed stray bits of straw from her sleeves and surveyed the stacked bales of new hay as if they were fine furnishings.
“Your cattle will be nourished all winter, I can see. How wise of you to provide for them, Mr. Sanders.”
Her father sent Mercy a look that would have set her to trembling had she been younger. Fernie resembled a kitten watching a pendulum as he shifted his attention from his papa to this visitor, and then back again.
“Just like
The hammering sounds increased as the two gingerly made their way across the barnyard. Six feet away from the barn, Mercy stopped and cupped her hands to her mouth. “Papa?”
There was no answer, so she tried again a little louder. This time the hammering ceased, and a grunt floated down from the open hayloft door. It likely was his way of saying what? but could just as well translate into go away! or this board is too heavy! She gave Mrs. Kingston a helpless look, then raised her hands to her mouth again.
“Would you please come to the door, Papa?”
This time he actually articulated words from the recesses of the loft. “What for?”
Mercy sighed. Why did everything in her family have to be so difficult? “There’s a Mrs. Kingston here to see you.”
“Who?”
Before Mercy could reply, she felt a touch on her shoulder. “Allow me, dear. We can’t have you damaging that lovely singing voice.” Then raising her chin, the woman called out shrilly, “Octavia Kingston, Mr. Sanders! Would you be so kind as to allow me a word with you?”
There was a brief silence, in which Mercy could picture her father trying to place the name. And then, “Is this about thet school?”
“It is indeed, Mr. Sanders. How very perceptive of you!”
This time the grunt that issued from above had a distinctive familiar ring. Mercy felt her cheeks grow hot, and she prayed that the woman beside her hadn’t figured out what he had actually said. But Mrs. Kingston seemed to be concentrating on something else, for after listening to the resumed hammering with pursed lips, she turned to Mercy and said, “Tell me, how does one get up there?”
“You want to climb up in the loft?”
“Frankly, dear, I am not looking forward to it. But there seems to be no other way.”
With great misgivings Mercy led the older woman through the wide open barn door. Just inside, Mrs. Kingston paused. “Will you close and bolt that door?” She glanced down at her skirt. “Modesty, you know.”
Mercy complied at once, plunging the barn into darkness save for the daylight seeping through the cracks between the door boards. After allowing a second or two for Mrs. Kingston’s eyes to adjust to the dimness, Mercy pointed to a ladder. She felt compelled to give another warning at the bottom. “He may swear at you.”
Mrs. Kingston again gathered her skirts about her knees, then lifted her foot to the first rung. “I’ll box his ears if he does.”
After the initial shock had passed, Mercy smiled to herself, gathered her skirts, and followed. Perhaps this woman would be a match for her father after all. This was much more interesting than picking vegetables.
“Would one of you gentlemen mind lending me a hand?” she heard Mrs. Kingston say, whose head and shoulders had disappeared into the floor of the loft. Mercy listened to the hammering cease and cringed at the expected explosion of words, but to her surprise, none came. Perhaps Mrs. Kingston’s tenacity had rendered her papa speechless.
“Help her, Fernie,” she even heard her father mutter, and Mrs. Kingston’s feet presently disappeared. Her father and brother did not extend the same courtesy to Mercy when she reached the top of the ladder, but she had played up here hundreds of times as a girl and easily swung herself to the floor. Papa was on his knees staring, openmouthed, as Mrs. Kingston brushed stray bits of straw from her sleeves and surveyed the stacked bales of new hay as if they were fine furnishings.
“Your cattle will be nourished all winter, I can see. How wise of you to provide for them, Mr. Sanders.”
Her father sent Mercy a look that would have set her to trembling had she been younger. Fernie resembled a kitten watching a pendulum as he shifted his attention from his papa to this visitor, and then back again.
“Just like
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