sitting here watching you work. I’m not used to being so lazy.”
“It isn’t called laziness, child. It’s called healing. There’s a difference. All you need to do is sit there and soak up God’s sunlight.” She gave Meg a teasing smile. “But if you feel you must do something, you can help me shell the last of the beans that dried on the vine. I thought I’d fix them for supper. It would give you something to do and be a great help to me.”
“Yes, thank you,” Meg said, excited to be doing something worthwhile after being inactive for so long. “Where are they?”
“In the basket next to the front door.”
Meg went through the back door and crossed the room. The basket was sitting right where it was supposed to be. Meg bent over to pick it up with her uninjured arm. As light as it was, the effort still brought an ache to her chest.
She was about to carry it out when she realized she’d seen the basket before. It, or one very like it, had shown up on the porch with predictable regularity while Elton was in prison. More often than not, it contained vegetables, though sometimes there was coffee or a little meal or flour. When she’d emptied the basket of its bounty, she’d put it back on the porch, only to find it gone the next morning. Then it would show up again in a week or so.
Sometimes, she’d find a skinned and gutted squirrel or rabbit hanging on a nail, always fresh, as if someone were aware of her habits and knew just when she’d be there to find them. It never entered her mind that she should be concerned about someone watching her comings and goings, since she wasn’t the only person who had benefited from the mysterious benefactor. Ace and his mother were rumored to be responsible, but no one had ever proved it one way or the other. Recognizing the basket was as close as anyone was likely to come to solving the mystery.
Readying herself for the task at hand, Meg tied a faded apron around her waist. She’d lost weight since the day of the shoot-out, and Rachel said she was far too thin. Well, maybe her newfound freedom would relieve her of some of her worry, and her appetite would come back. Most likely, she’d just find a new anxiety, like how she was going to provide for her kids. She couldn’t rely on the good folks of Wolf Creek forever.
She was almost to the door when she realized she was thirsty. No doubt Nita was, too. The water bucket sat on the tall table she used for preparing meals, beneath the dishpan that hung on a nail and two shelves that held her few dishes and bowls. The long narrow stand, the same one Ace had leaned against that morning, was pushed against the wall, and the breakfast dishes she’d insisted on washing were draining on a flour-sack towel.
After filling two spatterware mugs with the fresh water Nita had carried in, Meg looped the basket over her right arm and took the drinks outside. It felt good to be useful, even in a small way.
Nita, who was just finishing with the wood, smiled when she saw Meg with the mugs. “Thank you,” she said, taking one. “I was getting pretty parched.”
Automatically, the two women headed toward the shade of the small back porch, where two unpainted, worse-for-wear ladder-back chairs sat. Meg took the one with the sagging woven seat, leaving the better one for Nita, then went back inside to fetch a couple of thick pottery crocks. Nestling them in their laps, the two women began to shell the beans into the bowls, letting their aprons catch the hulls. They worked in companionable silence for a while before Meg said, “I want you to know that I appreciate your help, Mrs. Allen. Your son’s, too. There’s no way I could have come home if you weren’t here. And I certainly couldn’t have brought the children back.”
“We’re glad to do it. And please call me Nita.” She ran her thumb along the seam of a shell. Beans popped out into her bowl. “Tell me about your babies. I’ve seen them around town with you, but don’t know much about them except that they’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Meg beamed with pride. “Teddy is nearly three, and Lucy is going on ten months. I’ve missed them.”
“Haven’t you seen them these past weeks?”
“Yes, but not nearly enough. My aunt and uncle are taking care of them, and with the way they work, it’s impossible for them to get off the farm very often.”
“Farming is a challenging occupation,” Nita agreed. “You have good ground here. It doesn’t seem as rocky as some places.”
“It’s a pretty nice ten acres,” Meg said. “I always wanted to plant some corn and things to help out during the winter, but my husband...he wasn’t much for farming.”
He was more for robbing and cheating and womanizing.
“I couldn’t seem to find time since I stayed so busy with my laundry and mending.”
“Plus the care of two little ones.”
Yes. Her little ones.
She loved Teddy and Lucy more than anyone on earth, but sometimes...there were worries that lay heavily on her heart, and there wasn’t a single soul to talk to about her concerns. She and her mother, Georgina Ferris, whose well-known escapades with the opposite sex were a frequent topic of gossip in town, had been at odds for years, which left her Aunt Serena and Uncle Dave.
Elton hadn’t wanted her having any friends, hadn’t wanted her to have frequent contact with anyone. He’d seen to it that they lived far enough from Serena for visits to be almost impossible, and they’d drifted apart since her marriage. Still, it was her aunt and uncle who had stepped up to take the children while she recuperated.
“Is something bothering you, child?”
Meg looked up and found Nita’s keen gaze fixed on her. There were a lot of things bothering Meg. It was so tempting to let out her doubts and fears.
Tell her, Meg. Tell her that your greatest fears are that you will turn out like your mother and that your children will turn out like their father.
The little voice inside her head appealed to the lonely, needy part of her she kept hidden from the world. She wasn’t sure why she felt so compelled to confess her worries to this stranger, but as strong as the urge was, Meg knew she couldn’t do that.
One of her mama’s favorite sayings was that no one wanted to hear another’s problems, that you shouldn’t air your dirty laundry to the world. Of course, Georgina Ferris’s laundry was dirtier than most.
“I was just wondering if you have other children?” she asked, knowing by the look in the older woman’s eyes that she recognized the lie for what it was.
Nita shook her head. “Even though Yancy waited on me hand and foot, I lost two babies early in my pregnancies and two to illness when they were little more than babies. Ace is my only living child.”
As a mother herself, Meg was keenly in tune to the older woman’s pain, even though the words were delivered with little emotion. Though Elton had still tried to maintain his image of caring and decency during her pregnancy with Teddy, he had slapped her a time or two. There had been another baby before Lucy that had not survived, maybe because Meg had been so worn down and distraught and Elton had been so furious that it had happened so soon. She would never know.
By the time Lucy came along, he had abandoned or lost any good that had ever been in him, though Meg suspected that what little decency she’d seen was nothing but a show he put on for the world. It was a wonder that she’d carried Lucy to term.
Meg and Nita worked silently for several moments, the kind silence that usually came with long acquaintance and deep trust. The soft rattle of dried beans falling into the bowls and the sweet song of a robin wove seamlessly into the tranquillity of the late September day. Simple, everyday sounds. The sounds of life and peace.
Peace. Would God give her peace once she put enough distance between herself and her memories, or was she destined to be forever lost in this numbing emptiness?
Be still and know that I am God. The favorite passage stole quietly into her mind. She took a deep breath and