Part 9 (1/2)
Maelle grinned. ”Babies first roll over, then scoot, then crawl. Finally they take those first stumbling steps, and then-only when they've mastered walking-do they learn to run. But all of those preliminary movements, seemingly unimportant to the casual observer, serve a purpose in gaining strength and balance for the eventual running.”
She took hold of a strand of Libby's hair and tickled her chin with it. ”These 'unimportant' articles, as you put it, will teach you to create meaningful sentences and to communicate in powerful ways to your future readers. Consider these articles your means of rolling over or crawling. You'll get to your feet in time, and you'll be a much stronger, more able runner because you took the time to do the 'unimportant' things first.”
Libby considered the stories she'd sold to magazines. She'd written them as a way to prepare for serious journalism, yet she received payment for them. Would Maelle consider them ”rolling over” or ”running”? She opened her mouth to ask, but the slam of the screen door intruded.
Jackson came around the corner with a tray in his hand. ”I wasn't sure how much sugar to add. I hope it'll be all right.” He handed each of them a gla.s.s and took the last one for himself. Setting the tray on the floor, he perched on the porch railing and took a cautious sip. ”Hmm.” He smacked his lips then took a deeper draw. ”Not bad for a first attempt. What do you think?”
Libby sipped. The lemonade was tart, and her lips quivered with the desire to pucker. But she managed to smile instead. ”It's fine, Jackson. But . . .” She smirked at Maelle. ”I think this particular batch of lemonade would be considered a crawl crawl.”
Maelle had just raised her gla.s.s to her lips, and at Libby's comment she snorted, spewing lemonade down her chin. She mopped at herself with her hand, and both women snickered.
Jackson made a wry face. ”I believe I'm safer not asking what that means.”
The snickers turned to outright laughter.
Jackson sent them a scowl so fierce Libby knew it was fabricated, which added to the gaiety. Soon Jackson was laughing right along with them, even though he couldn't know what was funny.
As the laughter faded, Libby closed her eyes and-as she had so many times in the past-pretended they were a family.
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Pete sat in the corner of the wagon and watched Aaron Rowley and Bennett each brace one hand on the wagon's side and leap over the edge. Their feet hit the ground with a solid thud, and dust rose. Aaron swung his children to the ground one at a time, then held his hands out to his wife while Bennett sauntered to the back of the wagon and released the hatch. ”There you go, folks,” Bennett said with a c.o.c.ky grin. Cookie Ramona and her daughter, Lorna, climbed out. Then Bennett reached over the edge and s.n.a.t.c.hed up his bag. Giving Pete a quick wave, he swaggered toward the orphans' school, completely unaware of the envy tangled around Pete's middle.
Pete painstakingly climbed out, using his good leg and his hands to scoot himself across the wagon's bed. Like an old man would do. He wished he could jump over the side and land two-footed. The last time he'd done that he was a boy of seven, and it had been out of a trolley with his arms full of newspapers. He tapped his peg against the hard ground, willing away the persistent tingle that felt like a sleeping limb. But his foot wasn't asleep. It was gone. Forever.
Matt peered down from the seat and grinned at Pete. ”You gonna grab your bag outta there now, or do you want me to get it for you after I put the horses away?”
”I'll get it.” Pete hadn't meant to snarl, but the words came out on a harsh note that made Matt's eyebrows rise. Pete apologized.
Matt shrugged. ”No offense taken. I just figured you're tired after your train ride, and I'd be glad to tote it in for you.”
”I can do it, but thanks.” Pete reached into the back for his bag, but his arm wasn't long enough to reach. He tried to go up on tiptoe, but he lost his balance. Slapping the side of the wagon, he grunted in frustration.
”Pete, seems to me you got a bee in your bonnet.” Matt held loosely to the traces, his head angled to meet Pete's eyes. ”Wanna let it loose?”
Pete rubbed his finger under his nose and considered Matt's offer to let him talk. Pete admired this man who'd been kind enough to bring him to Shay's Ford almost a dozen years ago, saving him from squandering his childhood working for an uncaring employer. If he were to trust anyone with his resentment about his missing leg-and the people responsible for it-it would be Matt. Pete loved Aaron Rowley, who had raised him, but Aaron wouldn't be able to understand how it felt to grow up parentless and unwanted. Matt had been orphaned at a young age and lived a hard life as a child. He'd know exactly how Pete felt.
Curling his hands over the edge of the wagon, Pete gave a nod. ”I need to let it loose, Matt. And I know what'll get it done. I've known for a long time. I'm just not sure how to go about it.”
Matt tipped sideways, the brim of his ever-present cowboy hat throwing a shadow across his face. ”An' what is it that needs doin'?”
Pete sucked in a deep breath. ”I need to find my folks.”
”Hmm.” Matt scratched his head, sending his hat askew on his head. He jerked the brim back into position. ”Well, seems to me you've got people right at hand who could help with that. Aaron an' Isabelle; Jackson an' Maelle. Have you asked any of 'em for help?”
Pete shook his head.
”Talk to 'em while you're home this weekend. As important as family is to all of them, they'd be more'n willing to help you meet up again with your parents.”
Matt apparently misunderstood Pete's reason for wanting to find his folks, but he decided not to divulge his intentions. Matt was amiable and valued family, having been separated from his sisters for most of his growing-up years. He was an even-tempered, kind-hearted man, but he'd surely chide Pete for holding on to a grudge. And he'd be right to do so. Pete wanted to cast off the ugly feelings-and surely spewing his anger at the emotion's source would finally bring freedom. He nodded. ”You're probably right.”
Matt reached into the back and gave Pete's bag a push that sent it to the hatch. ”There you go now.”
Pete easily swung his bag from the back of the wagon and fastened the hatch. ”Thanks, Matt.”
”You're welcome, partner.” Matt slapped the leather traces down. The horse lurched forward, and Matt called over his shoulder, ”Good luck to you, Pete! I'll be prayin' you find 'em soon!”
Me too.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
Wake up, Libby. There's lots to do if we're to be ready for my brother's wedding at six this evening.”
Libby bounced out of bed and rubbed her eyes. Although the room was shadowed, she could see Maelle wore trousers rather than a skirt. She pointed. ”Can I borrow a pair and wear some, too?”
Maelle gave Libby a little push toward the hall. ”Isabelle would have my hide. Hurry now.”
Thirty minutes later, she and Maelle joined Jackson in his two-seat buggy for the drive to the orphans' school. Sitting three abreast in the narrow seat made for a tight fit, but Libby didn't complain. They watched the sun sneak from its hiding spot beyond the horizon and chase away the gray and pink of dawn, revealing a clear, blue mid-October sky-a perfect backdrop for Mattie and Lorna's special day. And they talked. First about the town's ferry operators' continued opposition to the railroad coming to Shay's Ford, and then about the possibility of Libby returning to work for the town's newspaper when she graduated from college.
The opportunity to spend the rest of her life in Shay's Ford should have filled her with glee-she'd have the chance to stay close to Maelle if she made Shay's Ford her permanent home- but for some reason excitement didn't build at the thought. How could she become world-renowned if she settled in a little-known town like Shay's Ford?
When they reached the school, they discovered Mrs. Rowley in the yard, pacing and watching for them. Even before they alighted from the buggy, she began giving orders. ”Jackson, go to the barn and help Pete, Bennett, and Clancy build benches.” The sound of pounding hammers indicated the others had already started. ”Would you please make sure there will be adequate seating for two hundred guests? I trust you to estimate accurately.”
Jackson gave a mock salute. ”Yes, ma'am.” He hitched his sorrel horse to the post outside the large school building and trotted for the barn.
”Maelle, you-” Mrs. Rowley broke off and scowled as her sister rounded the buggy. ”Oh, you wore those detestable britches! You will will change before the wedding.” change before the wedding.”
Maelle winked at Libby. ” 'Course I will. These are my workin' clothes.”
Mrs. Rowley shook her head, as if clearing it, then went on.
”Cookie Ramona needs your a.s.sistance with the wedding dinner preparations.”
Maelle's face reflected uncertainty. ”You want me to help with the cooking? Isabelle, you know I'm not a good cook.”
”No, you aren't,” Mrs. Rowley agreed, ”but Cookie Ramona is, and she'll tell you everything you need to know. Hurry now- she has mounds of potatoes that must be peeled.”
Maelle scuffed off, muttering.
”And Libby, come with me.” Mrs. Rowley caught Libby's elbow and propelled her across the dusty ground to the barn. The din of pounding hammers was nearly deafening inside the st.u.r.dy building. ”I know it's dreadfully loud, but if this is where Mattie's wedding is to take place, this is where we must decorate the trellis.”
Libby knew Mrs. Rowley wished her brother had chosen to be married in the chapel where she and her husband had exchanged vows ten years earlier-the same chapel in which Maelle and Jackson had united their lives. But Matt insisted he wanted his ceremony at the place where he and Lorna had met. While several buildings comprised the orphans' school, only the barn had a s.p.a.ce large enough to accommodate a sizable gathering.
Mrs. Rowley pointed out an arched wooden trellis at the front of the barn. She skimmed her fingers across the chipped white paint and made a sour face. ”It's a sorry-looking canopy for the bride and groom as it is, but I purchased crepe paper in a variety of soft colors for rosettes. I've already made one-” she reached into a box and withdrew a pale pink rosette as big around as a grapefruit and placed it in Libby's hands-”and I should like to see the entire structure laden with flowers and draped with white tulle. Do you think you can figure out how to twist the paper into rosettes and fasten them with wire to the lattice?”