The Path To Her Heart. Linda Ford
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The meal proved excellent, the conversation interesting. Ed and Don told him of the work in the factory.
“You could probably get a job there,” Don said.
“I’ll look into it.” Boothe planned to check out a few other prospects first.
He expected the boarders would disperse as soon as they finished. Instead, everyone grabbed a handful of things and headed for the kitchen. The women began to wash and dry dishes while Ed and Don shook the tablecloth and arranged the chairs. Boothe tried to keep up but it seemed each knew what he or she was expected to do.
“Aunt Ada certainly has you organized.”
“Not Ada,” Don said. “She was reluctant to accept help. But when Emma saw how much pain she had, she got us all doing our share.”
Emma. Boothe tried to think if it surprised him. She seemed the sort who liked to organize things. Or—his jaw tightened—did she like to be in control? Was it an innate part of being a nurse? Always in control. Always right.
As soon as the dishes were done, the guests moved into the front room. Emma carried in a large tray with a teapot under a knit cozy and cups for everyone. Aunt Ada brought in a plate of cookies. Again, everyone seemed to know what to do. They prepared tea to their liking, served themselves cookies and settled into one of the many chairs. Aunt Ada and Loretta sank into the burgundy couch.
“Do you mind if I give Jessie tea?” Emma asked. She held a cup almost full of milk.
“Can I, Daddy? Please.”
Boothe nodded. He sat on one of the upright wooden chairs and edged another close for Jessie.
Emma sat beside the table and pulled a book to her lap. “We’ve been reading the biography of a missionary to China. You’re welcome to join us.”
“It will soon be Jessie’s bedtime.”
“We’ll stop when it’s time for him to get ready for bed.”
Boothe didn’t know if he liked the gentle way Emma smiled at his son. He wasn’t about to trust another woman getting close to Jessie. He’d learned his lesson, but Jessie’s eager expression convinced Boothe to agree to let him stay for the reading.
Loretta and Aunt Ada knitted as Emma read. Sarah sewed lace to a dress. Betty sat, her reddened hands idle, her expression rapt as she followed each word. Both Ed and Don leaned back, simply glad to relax. Emma read well, giving the story lots of drama, and Boothe was drawn into the tale.
Soon Emma closed the book. “End of chapter. I’m going to stop there so Jessie can go to bed.”
Boothe jumped up, guilt flooding his thoughts. What kind of father was he to forget his son’s bedtime? “Come along, Jessie.”
Jessie took his hand but stopped before Emma. “Thank you, Miss Emma. It’s a good story. Is it really true?”
“It is. It’s exciting to see how God did such wonderful things for them. Doesn’t it make you feel safe and loved to know God does the same kinds of things for us?”
Jessie nodded vigorously.
A few minutes later, Boothe tucked him into bed.
“How long do we have to stay here?”
Boothe smoothed the covers over the small body. “I already told you. We’re going to live here.”
Jessie’s eyes were dull with sleep yet he had enough energy to flash his angry displeasure. “Auntie Vera said we could live with her.” His words quivered. “I want to live with her and Uncle Luke. I want to go home.”
“This is home now. Besides, if we leave, you won’t be able to hear the rest of Miss Emma’s story.” Boothe couldn’t believe he’d used Emma as a reason to stay. Only for Jessie’s sake.
Jessie rubbed his arm and gave Boothe a watery, defiant look. “My arm hurts. I want Auntie Vera.”
Alarm snaked up Boothe’s spine. Were Jessie’s cheeks flushed? Was he fevered? He pressed his palm to his son’s forehead. Did he seem warm? Boothe didn’t know.
He pulled the covers down and looked at the dressing. A spot of pink stained it. He touched the skin on either side of the white cloth. Did it seem hot? Or was it simply warm from Jessie having his arm under the covers?
Boothe eased the blanket back to Jessie’s chin. He had Emma to thank for stirring up unnecessary fears. The wound would heal just fine. Jessie was safer without the interference of any nurse or doctor.
He’d seen Emma eye Jessie’s arm several times throughout the meal and afterward. She would do well to respect his wishes for his son. He would not allow an interfering woman—no matter how kind she seemed—to put his child at risk. Nor let his heart wish things could be different.
Chapter Three
Her bedroom lay in late fall darkness. Emma rolled over, turned on her bedside lamp, pulled her Bible to her chest and read a few verses. She prayed for her parents and her brother. Lord, make sure they’re warm and have enough to eat. Last winter they’d run low on coal and used it so sparingly that the house was always cold. While she was grateful for a warm, safe place to live, she felt guilty knowing Sid and her parents did not enjoy the same luxuries.
As soon as she finished her prayers, she’d run down to the basement and stir up the furnace. She paused. Was the house already warm? Had Boothe already stoked up the fire? How pleasant to waken to a warm room. She returned to her prayers, bringing her patients before God. A couple had been in the hospital for several weeks, fighting dust pneumonia. Lord, a good snowfall would put an end to the dust. But You know that. Just as You know everything we need. She prayed for friends and neighbors. Finally, when she couldn’t put it off any longer, she prayed for Boothe. There was something about him that upset her equilibrium. She didn’t like it. Lord, help him learn to trust again. And heal Jessie’s wound. She’d heard Jessie crying in the night. It was all she could do not to run down and check on him. That wound was nasty and no doubt painful. But Boothe had forbidden her to do anything for his son.
She took time to thank God for all the good things in her life. Unable to avoid the truth, she thanked her Lord for Boothe. He’s an answer to prayer for Ada, even though he is certainly not the man I would have sent to help. But again, You know best. Perhaps he needs something he will find here.
She jumped from bed, dashed across the hall to the washroom and splashed water over her face. Back in her room she pulled on white stockings, slipped into her uniform and pinned a clean apron on top. She toed into her white shoes, tied them neatly then headed downstairs to help Ada with breakfast.
At the kitchen door, she halted.
Boothe presided over the stove, frying bacon. Ada tended to the toast. A pot of coffee bubbled. Emma turned to the dining room, intent on setting the table. She stopped at the doorway. “The table’s set.”
“Boothe did it,” Ada said. “He’s catching on quickly.”
“I noticed the house is already warm. That’s nice.” Emma glanced at Boothe. He looked smug as if expecting he’d surprised her.
She shifted her gaze away. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself nor where to look, and headed for the window. The square of light revealed the yellowed grass scattered with dried leaves. Emma shivered then turned to catch Boothe watching her.
“It’s going to be cold today.” He offered her a cup of coffee.
She took it and cradled her hands around its warmth. “I heard Jessie in the night. Is he okay?”
“He’s sleeping. I’ll leave him until he needs to get ready for school.”
“Was his cut hurting him?”
Boothe glowered at her. “He had a nightmare. It will take him a few days to feel secure here.”