child’s brow. “You’ll feel better after you eat. Come, let me get you some dinner.”
“I wanna drumstick.” Ella collapsed in a chair and propped her elbows on the table edge, her blond hair escaping from her braids in a sleepy tangle. “It’s nice with the cousins gone. Real nice.”
There was no denying how difficult times had been staying in this house, but it wasn’t as if they’d had another choice. Sarah slipped the platter from the warming oven. “We’re grateful to them for letting us stay, remember?”
“I know, I know. But do you have to stay here forever?”
“Not forever, baby, but it is hard to say when we can leave.” Sarah kept her voice light, knowing her girl couldn’t understand how tough the world was for a woman alone.
“As soon as our medical bills are paid off, we’ll get our own place. I promise.” Sarah set the plumpest drumstick on a blue enamel plate alongside two big potatoes. “There’s carrot sticks in the covered bowl in front of you.”
Ella found one and crunched into it. “Ma, could it be a house painted white and pretty?”
“We’ll see.” She set the plate in front of her daughter. “Clean your plate, or I’ll have to string you up by your toes from the maple tree.”
Ella rolled her eyes. “I know, I know, and I’d better drink every drop of my milk or you’ll flog me.”
“I’m glad you know how things run around here.” Sarah reached for the pitcher. “Do you feel up to helping me plant the garden this afternoon?”
“Sure,” Ella said around a mouthful of potato.
“Don’t forget the bread.” Sarah set the glass of milk on the table and nudged the covered basket closer.
A clatter rose in the yard outside. A second later two small boys charged into the house. Pearl followed, carrying squalling Baby Davie on one hip. His twin was silent but red-faced, balanced across Pearl’s other arm.
Sarah hurried to help. “Here, let me take Davie—”
“You’d better take him because I’m worn out.” Pearl thrust the year-old child into Sarah’s arms as if eager to be rid of him. “At least you got the garden turned while I was gone.”
Remember to be grateful. Remember how no other relatives had offered to take you in. “I have lunch ready to set on the table. All you have to do is sit and rest.”
“We ate in town.” Without an apology, Pearl headed back outside to shout at the children to come in and get started on their chores.
Sarah adjusted Baby Davie on her hip and patted his back, trying to comfort him.
With any luck, Pearl had brought the newspaper back from town and it was full of job advertisements.
Sarah might be down on her luck, but that only meant there was no place to go but up.
Good luck had to be around the corner. Right?
Gage climbed the Buffalo Inn’s carpeted staircase to the third floor where he knew his daughter would be waiting. Gentle spring sunshine streamed through windows and cast a golden glow onto the bed where his little girl sat, her nose in a book.
“Pa!” Lucy leaped off the mattress, her book tumbling to the quilt. “Did you buy this one? Do we got a new home?”
He laughed as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Hold on now, that’s no way for a little lady to behave.”
“I ain’t no lady, Pa. Did you buy it?” Her eyes searched his and she clapped her hands together. “You did! I know you did.”
“Yep. We got ourselves a home. Now don’t go getting your hopes up too high. The place needs a lot of work. Did you behave for Mrs. McCullough?”
“Sorta.” The seven-year-old shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I tried. Honest.”
“She didn’t try hard enough,” Mrs. McCullough reported from the chair in the corner, where she gathered her embroidery things. “I must say I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Gatlin. You charmed me into agreeing to watch this child and I have come to regret it.”
What did Lucy do now? he wondered, but did his best to look apologetic. He might need Mrs. McCullough’s help again. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll pay you extra for your trouble.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. McCullough’s gaze narrowed as he placed dollar bills on her outstretched palm. A small pile accumulated, and she nodded. “I suppose it’s not her fault, the poor motherless thing. You find a mother for that girl. Just my piece of advice.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t think much of her advice, but he held his tongue and closed the door behind her.
“Pa, I’m dyin’!” In agony, Lucy hopped up and down, her twin braids bouncing. “Tell me. I gotta know.”
She had a knack for changing the subject but luckily he wasn’t easily distracted from the problem. “I expect you to do better next time I leave you with Mrs. McCullough.”
“I’ll do my best, Pa, you know that. But sometimes it’s just hard.” Lucy sighed, full of burdens. “I’m only a little girl.”
“You aren’t foolin’ me one bit, darlin’.” He tugged on one end of her twin braids. “Find your hat and I’ll take you out to our new place. It’s tumbling down, but I can fix that.”
“I know, ’cuz you can fix anything.” She dashed to the bureau. “I got my sunbonnet, but I can’t do the ribbons.”
“Then it’s a darn good thing you have me around.” He caught the blue straps of her sunbonnet and made a bow beneath her chin. “You’re the prettiest girl this side of the Rockies. I’m proud to be seen with you.”
“You have to say that. You’re my pa.” Lucy beamed at him anyway and slipped her small hand in his.
In the livery, he saddled Lucy’s little mare while she pulled sugar cubes from her pocket for the horse. When he had the cinch nice and tight, he gave her a hand up.
“Do you know what, Pa? I’m sure glad I got this new saddle.” Lucy settled into the leather like a natural-born horseman. “It’s got a good horn. Know what I need now? A rope.”
“We’ll see.”
“That’s what you say when you mean no.”
“I mean, let me think about it.” He mounted and led the way toward the main street. “Come on. We’ll take the long way through town so you can see the sights.”
Lucy reined the mare into step beside his. Her ruffled skirt hem caught the breeze and the matching blue sunbonnet shaded her face.
Would she be happy here? He watched her study the storefronts and shoppers scurrying along the boardwalk. A frown dug into her forehead. Her mouth twisted.
Finally she nodded, her inspection complete. “This don’t look like a bad place to live.”
“That’s what I figured.” Gage tipped his hat to keep the high sun out of his eyes.
“Know what, Pa? I don’t see a school. There’s gotta be a school.”
“And so there is, that way.” He gestured down the street that cut between the hardware store and the shoemaker’s. “We’ll get you enrolled Monday morning.”
“I can see it.” Lucy stood in her stirrups, straining to see the whitewashed building down the street. “Oh, Pa, a real school. It’s got a bell and everything.”
“It sure looks fine.” Gage nodded toward a neat little storefront. “There’s a seamstress shop. I figure we can get you fit for new school dresses with the way you’re growing.”
“I