Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📗

told me as soon as I was able to understand. All this time, I just thought, “I can’t wait for her to come see this place. I know she will love it.” He opened his hands and looked into them, as if seeing the vast acreage of this farm spread out in his palms.  He looked back at me. “And for some reason, knowing you would be here someday gave me hope. I can’t explain why. I’ve been praying for years for you. So please, don’t be sad about coming. You are meant to be here. Always were.”

Always meant to be here...the thought should have rankled my spirit, but hearing him say this was almost like hearing Providential permission. Ernest’s joy couldn’t have surprised me more.

I place myself in his shoes. What if he were to come to my dear home and own it? Though our town home is nothing compared to this farmhouse, I would be pained. I am pained, for my dear home is owned by another. And nothing I can do about it.

Ernest’s smile continued as he waited for my response. My heart was not prepared for such a sweet gift. I wish Uncle had sent Ernest instead of Mr. Bleu to reveal the truth. How much easier this would have been to bear!

I pulled a small bench close and sat next to him. “I’m not sure I am capable of loving this farm as much as you, but I will try.” A lump formed in my throat as I thought again of Mother. “She always wanted me to visit. I refused her wishes, time after time. It’s a wonder she didn’t drag me here herself, if she desired it so greatly.”

Aunt put her arms around both of us, as if we were partners. Ernest looked at me, eyes serious, smile fading into pleasant curves. “You need a pair of stout boots. Spring is coming.”

And here I thought he was about to offer another endearing compliment. Me in stout boots? I couldn’t fathom why.

Wind whipped unmercifully in direct retaliation against laundry day. I winced at the chapped hands Aunt, Helen, and Kirsten would have by day’s end. As expected, I was given an easier chore than the rest. I ironed soggy linens and kerchiefs until thoroughly steamed myself. My hands, though pruned, stayed perfectly warm. Felt good to do something and not sit around wondering about my eternal significance.  I kept to myself at the ironing board.

Aunt, Helen, Kirsten, Ruby and little Toliver sang lively folk songs while scrubbing and heaving buckets and kettles of water. My corner by the stove protected me against blasts of chilly air. Ernest’s proclamation, “You are meant to be here” rang in my ears all morning. Until I saw Mr. Bleu at midday meal. I can see plainly that he does not believe as Ernest. I wonder if he believes it for himself?

Toliver watches me continually, his dark brown eyes peering from beneath tables. Mr. Bleu gives him all the affection a father might and I think of my own. Missing him. Dear, dear Father...

I PERUSED THE FAMILY’S bookshelves and found a large book about botany. Colored plates would help tremendously. The writing is descriptive enough, though I am tempted to color in all the pen and ink illustrations with proper colors. I am in search of one item, actually. The large book Mr. Bleu purposed to read while confronting me. I thought nothing of it at the time, though I find it humorous that such a stern fellow might need a shield to hide behind. I recall it had blue cloth binding with a matching ribbon marker. He must have secreted it to his chamber. Nosy girl, I am. Perhaps I should search for the ledgers instead...

I found the ledgers without much trouble. They are stacked atop the pie safe beneath Aunt’s household book. They are certainly large enough to be ledgers. How am I to know the financial status unless I see the numbers for myself? The kitchen is occupied nearly every moment of the day by someone in the family. Asking Uncle is out of the question. His embarrassment is as fragile as mine. I recall that Aunt occasionally works for the MacDonald’s, but there is no skimping on meals unless I consider the bean and cornbread luncheons. I should abandon this curiosity. I don’t own this place yet. Two months until my birthday. I will be a submissive niece until then, gain some trust Uncle lacks with me and then I will pursue business matters. No need to be in a hurry. I say this, yet I tightly clench my pen as I write. There is no hurry, is there? I am here to stay—maybe forever.

Gloom settles over me this evening. I shall blame Mr. Bleu. We were all sitting in the parlor, the boys wrestled without reprimand from Aunt or Uncle, Little Ruby and Toliver stacked blocks and Helen and Kirsten played cards—something I was never allowed to do as a child. Mr. Bleu, Uncle, and Ernest shared newspaper sections and Aunt had her hands wrapped around a hot cup of chamomile tea. I peered around Mr. Bleu to see if he brought the large volume out again—that weighty shield. I cocked my head to the side to look beneath his chair. He snapped his head up and looked right at me, his lips twisted down, unmistakably irritated. With me.

I confess, I did something I should not have done. I just couldn’t bear him thinking that I was staring at his scars. I played the frightened female and pointed, “Large spider—beneath your chair!” A stupid, unnecessary lie.

The three boys came tumbling over, a shoe sailed and Mr. Bleu stood in time for it smack him in the eye, on the scared side.

He cursed as the chair flipped backwards. The boys chased the imaginary spider beneath the sofa. I’m also sorry to report that Uncle spilled his pipe on the sofa, leaving yet another hole