Read Online Wings of a Dream by Anne Mateer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne Mateer
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Dandy to the buggy?”
“I could.” Hitching up the horse was usually Daddy or Will’s job, but I knew how to do it. I stopped to consider; I needed this trip to fill the whole afternoon. “But it’s such a pretty day. Why don’t we walk, instead?”
Her eyebrows rose. She looked at Janie in her arms, then back at me.
“I’ll carry her; don’t worry.” But really I had forgotten about the baby. Would I ever think through a plan before I spoke it?
We ate a quick dinner before noon. After cleaning up, I led my little brood down the dirt road toward town. Though the air held a chill as delicate as the lace circling my underskirt, the sun warmed our backs and our heads as we walked. The boys raced to this tree or that rock. Janie clapped her hands as a bird swooped near our heads. Ollie tried to carry her sister, but that didn’t last long, in spite of her determination, and she reluctantly passed her to me. Janie twisted and turned, kicking her chubby legs, wanting so badly to run with the others.
My arms drooped and my back grew stiff. When the train platform came into view, relief as refreshing as Saturday night bathwater flowed over me. My steps quickened, as did the children’s.
A trickle of perspiration slid down the side of my face. “Almost there, baby girl.”
Janie giggled at me with a toothless grin. I planted a kiss on her pug nose. Yes, everything would be fine.
The boys charged up the wooden steps to Mr. Crenshaw’s store. James pulled at the door, but it stayed shut. He turned to me, eyes wide. He yanked again, cheeks puffing out with effort. The door didn’t budge.
Ollie shook her head. “I’ve never known Mr. Crenshaw to close, except on Sundays. Are you sure it’s not Sunday?”
“Of course I’m sure.” In my head, I played back the days since Aunt Adabelle’s burial. This was definitely not Sunday. But the town did seem to be deserted. I knew most farmers wouldn’t be in town on a weekday, but no one? That didn’t seem right, either, even in a place as small as Prater’s Junction.
“He probably went out on a delivery. I’m sure he’ll be back in a minute.” I sat on the top step, Janie in my lap, and studied the town I’d only glanced at twice. False-front buildings, their siding weathered gray, flanked the dirt road. A board sidewalk ran along the length of each side. I squinted into the sun, reading the signs above the doors across the street.
A brick bank building anchored the corner. Beside it, the Junction Sentinel office, the sheriff’s office, and what looked like Attorney-at-Law stenciled on the next large window. I stood to see what resided near Mr. Crenshaw’s store. The post office, a barbershop, and was that a saloon farther down?
The road veered north at the end of the buildings. Along the cross street, the houses I’d noticed on our way to the churchyard sat quiet and still. No laundry flapping on the clotheslines. No babies crying or children shouting in play. I returned to sit near Mr. Crenshaw’s establishment. Ollie joined me while the boys kicked up dust in front of the quiet storefronts.
My heart inched toward the pit of my stomach. Where was everyone?
“May I help you?” A vaguely familiar voice came from behind me.
I jumped to my feet, pressing Janie close to my chest. The preacher, his hangdog face even sadder than I remembered, stared at me through red-rimmed eyes.
I moistened my lips. “We came to . . .” What had we come to do? “I wanted to get some things from Mr. Crenshaw.”
His mouth smiled, but his eyes remained distant. “He’s out helping Doc tend the sick.” His gaze roved over the five of us. “Any of you sick?”
“No, sir.” I watched the children’s heads shake in reply. “I’m expecting a letter. Or two. Nothing came in our box yesterday. I thought I’d check at the post office.” I glanced back at the post office, door shut, shades pulled.
“Mr. Jamison runs the post office, but he’s down with the
“I could.” Hitching up the horse was usually Daddy or Will’s job, but I knew how to do it. I stopped to consider; I needed this trip to fill the whole afternoon. “But it’s such a pretty day. Why don’t we walk, instead?”
Her eyebrows rose. She looked at Janie in her arms, then back at me.
“I’ll carry her; don’t worry.” But really I had forgotten about the baby. Would I ever think through a plan before I spoke it?
We ate a quick dinner before noon. After cleaning up, I led my little brood down the dirt road toward town. Though the air held a chill as delicate as the lace circling my underskirt, the sun warmed our backs and our heads as we walked. The boys raced to this tree or that rock. Janie clapped her hands as a bird swooped near our heads. Ollie tried to carry her sister, but that didn’t last long, in spite of her determination, and she reluctantly passed her to me. Janie twisted and turned, kicking her chubby legs, wanting so badly to run with the others.
My arms drooped and my back grew stiff. When the train platform came into view, relief as refreshing as Saturday night bathwater flowed over me. My steps quickened, as did the children’s.
A trickle of perspiration slid down the side of my face. “Almost there, baby girl.”
Janie giggled at me with a toothless grin. I planted a kiss on her pug nose. Yes, everything would be fine.
The boys charged up the wooden steps to Mr. Crenshaw’s store. James pulled at the door, but it stayed shut. He turned to me, eyes wide. He yanked again, cheeks puffing out with effort. The door didn’t budge.
Ollie shook her head. “I’ve never known Mr. Crenshaw to close, except on Sundays. Are you sure it’s not Sunday?”
“Of course I’m sure.” In my head, I played back the days since Aunt Adabelle’s burial. This was definitely not Sunday. But the town did seem to be deserted. I knew most farmers wouldn’t be in town on a weekday, but no one? That didn’t seem right, either, even in a place as small as Prater’s Junction.
“He probably went out on a delivery. I’m sure he’ll be back in a minute.” I sat on the top step, Janie in my lap, and studied the town I’d only glanced at twice. False-front buildings, their siding weathered gray, flanked the dirt road. A board sidewalk ran along the length of each side. I squinted into the sun, reading the signs above the doors across the street.
A brick bank building anchored the corner. Beside it, the Junction Sentinel office, the sheriff’s office, and what looked like Attorney-at-Law stenciled on the next large window. I stood to see what resided near Mr. Crenshaw’s store. The post office, a barbershop, and was that a saloon farther down?
The road veered north at the end of the buildings. Along the cross street, the houses I’d noticed on our way to the churchyard sat quiet and still. No laundry flapping on the clotheslines. No babies crying or children shouting in play. I returned to sit near Mr. Crenshaw’s establishment. Ollie joined me while the boys kicked up dust in front of the quiet storefronts.
My heart inched toward the pit of my stomach. Where was everyone?
“May I help you?” A vaguely familiar voice came from behind me.
I jumped to my feet, pressing Janie close to my chest. The preacher, his hangdog face even sadder than I remembered, stared at me through red-rimmed eyes.
I moistened my lips. “We came to . . .” What had we come to do? “I wanted to get some things from Mr. Crenshaw.”
His mouth smiled, but his eyes remained distant. “He’s out helping Doc tend the sick.” His gaze roved over the five of us. “Any of you sick?”
“No, sir.” I watched the children’s heads shake in reply. “I’m expecting a letter. Or two. Nothing came in our box yesterday. I thought I’d check at the post office.” I glanced back at the post office, door shut, shades pulled.
“Mr. Jamison runs the post office, but he’s down with the
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