Her mother glanced at Abigail’s bowl. “Are we out of milk?”
“The boys need it.”
Lois tucked the blanket around baby Billy’s exposed toes. “They’ve eaten. Help yourself, sis.”
“Nursing the baby, you need milk more than I do.”
Abigail said a silent prayer then dug into the bowl. When she’d finished, she poured the last of the milk in a glass and took it to Lois. Trailing an index finger down the sleeping baby’s velvety cheek, Abigail relived the night when the panic of the fire sent Lois into labor. With Doc tied up caring for the injured, Ma and Abigail delivered this precious baby. An incredible moment Abigail would never forget. “I only heard Billy cry twice last night.”
Lois kissed the newborn’s forehead. “He’s a good baby. At this rate, in a few weeks, he’ll be sleeping through the night.”
Abigail had barely slept herself, trying to think of a way to help Lois’s family and handle the expense of feeding eight mouths that didn’t involve working for a Cummings.
But no idea had come.
Huddled close to his mother, four-year-old Donnie sucked his thumb. Something he’d reverted to since the fire. Or perhaps his new baby brother was to blame. Abigail kissed the top of Donnie’s fair head. “Love you.”
Donnie popped out his thumb. “Luv you, Auntie Abby,” he said then stuck his wrinkled thumb between sweet rosebud lips.
She knelt beside six-year-old twins Gary and Sam stretched out on the floor wearing their rumpled nightshirts, playing with metal farm animals. Survivors of Abigail and Lois’s childhood, their paint was chipped and worn. “How’s the livestock this morning?”
Sam’s soft brown eyes twinkled. “Dogs got into the chicken house.”
“Oh, no. Did you lose many?”
Though he tried not to smile, a dimple appeared in his cheek. “Six.”
“So sorry.”
“I’m feeding the cows,” Gary said.
“And they appreciate it.”
“The chickens didn’t die, Aunt Abby,” Gary whispered. “Sam made that up.”
“Did not!”
“Did so.”
She tousled both blond heads. “Making things up is part of the fun, Gary,” she said, then carried her bowl toward the sink.
“If you boys are going to be farmers, you’ll need to build secure chicken coops so dogs and foxes can’t get at them,” Joe said.
“When they grow up, I hope they’ll further their education, prepare themselves for another line of work.”
“Nothing wrong with farming,” Joe said in a sharp tone.
“Of course there isn’t,” Abigail hurried to say. “But we’ve seen that land can disappear.”
Joe harrumphed. “Can’t live life expecting the worst.”
She hadn’t meant to offend her brother-in-law, but when they’d lost the farm, Joe’d lost his job too. His gambling started not long afterward.
At the sink, Ma poured hot water from the teakettle then worked up some suds. “I’ve been thinking about asking Martha Manning for a job clerking at the Mercantile.”
Her mother didn’t have the energy to handle a job and oversee her grandchildren. “Lois needs your help with the boys. I’m going to spend the day checking possibilities.”
Not exactly the truth, but not a lie either. If she was fired, she’d look for something else.
“I talked to Agnes about waitressing in the café,” Lois said. “She doesn’t need more help.”
“You’ve no business working with a two-week-old baby,” Joe said, his brow furrowed. “I thought I’d ask the Moore brothers if I could clean their house.”
Lois shook her head. “How would you handle the work with a broken leg and arm?”
“I’d be slow, sure, but I’d manage.”
“To sweep and mop floors? Burn the trash? Wash windows? Doc said to stay off that leg so it can heal.”
Eyes bleak, back rigid, Joe closed the Bible then glared at the crutch propped in the corner. “I can’t sit idle while bills pile up.”
Lois patted her husband’s arm. “God will take care of us.”
“I know He will.”
Abigail wouldn’t wait on God to provide. She plopped her straw hat in place, then jabbed the crown with a hatpin.
Peter wrinkled his nose, lightly sprinkled with freckles from time in the sun. “A pile of bills is a bad thing.”
The boy had seen that early on.
“Don’t worry, son. God created us with an amazing ability to heal. Why, I’m better already. Won’t be long till I can race you down the stairs,” Joe said.
“I’ll beat you, Pa!”
A tingle of gratitude ran through Abigail. Thank You, God, for healing Joe’s broken bones.
Her breath caught. With that power to heal, how long before George Cummings would no longer need her assistance and she’d lose that income? Even if Joe could work, the Lessmans’ needs exceeded his potential earnings.
On the floor Sam and Gary mooed, clucked and baaed at the top of their lungs.
Lois raised a finger to her lips. “We can’t hear ourselves think.”
“Animals don’t know to be quiet, Ma,” Gary said.
“In that case, why don’t you take them outside?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Their smiles revealing missing teeth, the twins scooped up their flocks and herds and plopped them in the box.
“Play on the back steps,” Lois reminded them.
Donnie popped his thumb out of his mouth. “I wanna go. Can I, Mama? Can I go too?”
“Sweet lamb, you can’t go outside without an adult.”
Donnie let out a shriek of protest.
Joe waggled a finger at him. “That’s enough, Donald William.”
“I want my yard,” Donnie wailed, tears welling in his crystal-blue eyes.
With her free arm, Lois scooped her son close. “Shh, you’ll make Billy cry,” she said,
