Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,11
Rebecca, bronze-haired and dark-eyed, corrected her brother. “In cursive, Timothy. That’s even more special.” She looked at Miss Jane soberly. Witnessing the murder of her parents by Dakota warriors had settled the mantle of parenthood over Rebecca’s thin shoulders only a few months ago. She would never return to innocent girlhood. “Was there any mail?” she asked.
Miss Jane shook her head. “Not yet, dear.”
Twelve-year-old Aaron Dane interjected wisely, “It takes a good while for letters to come from St. Louis, Rebecca.”
Rebecca shifted her gaze to the ceiling, then to Timothy. “Yes, but it only takes a few minutes for a telegraph message. And the reverend said he requested a prompt reply. Those were his exact words. Anyone would know he meant to telegraph.” Her voice wavered. “Anyone who really cared about lost relatives would—” She stopped abruptly. “Are there more peas in the garden?” she asked Miss Jane in a perfectly calm voice. “Timothy and I can pick them.”
“Me, too!” Meg Dane said quickly. She slammed her books down on the table. “I’ll help!”
“Not before you all have some milk and cookies,” Miss Jane said. She walked across the room into the pantry. Reappearing with her arm wrapped around a large gray-and-blue crock, she removed the lid and frowned. She bent her head and peered fiercely at the children over her gold-rimmed glasses. “Now who do you suppose ate the last one?”
Timothy giggled. Two brown curls on either side of his head bounced as he pointed to the taller boy next to him. “Aaron did it!” When Aaron nudged him, Timothy added, “But I helped.”
Miss Jane sighed. “The guilty must be punished.” She set the crock on the table and pointed to Aaron and Timothy. “You’ll have to make more.”
Grinning, Aaron began to roll up his sleeves. Timothy headed for the pantry to get flour and sugar.
“Cook-eeeeee!” Hope shouted suddenly, pointing at the crock. Everyone’s eyes grew wide as they stared, disbelieving, at Hope.
“Cook-eeee,” Hope repeated firmly.
“The cookies are all gone, Hope,” Rebecca said, showing the baby the empty crock.
Hope thrust her lower lip out. She looked up at Gen mournfully. “No cook-eee, ma-ma.”
The four children clustered around Hope.
“Say Aa-ron, Hope.” Aaron leaned down and peered into the baby’s face.
“No—” Meg shouldered Aaron out of the way. “Meg. Say Meg.” Aaron picked up Hope and headed outside. “I’m teaching her to say my name first!” he taunted the other three, just as Reverend Dane came up the back steps.
“Hope can talk!” the children shouted gleefully. “She called Gen Mama. She said cookie.”
Simon took off his hat and grinned at the baby, who poked his cheek with a chubby finger.
From where she sat at the table, Gen watched Simon smiling at Hope. Suddenly the children grew quiet. Simon blinked in surprise.
Aaron spun around. “Gen! You won’t believe it. She called Father Pa.”
Three
If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.
—Luke 14:26
“I’ll be along in a while, Samuel.” Simon stood at the open church door, bidding his fellow missions committee member good night. “I need some time alone to think about what we discussed tonight.”
From where he stood on the church steps, Samuel looked up at the full moon just visible through a break in the thick clouds hovering over St. Anthony. He adjusted his oversized hat. “I know you are hesitant to venture off without your children, Simon. But even if they went down to Davenport with you, they wouldn’t see much of their father. You’ll be spending nearly every waking hour with the prisoners. The board is right to urge you to leave the children here and to go alone—at least initially. Once we know the fate of the prisoners, you’ll have a better idea about where to settle your family. For right now, St. Anthony is the best place for them. Nina and I are delighted to have them stay.” He reached out to put his hand on his friend’s bony shoulder. “You know we all look on your children with great affection. What with Miss LaCroix and Miss Williams’s attentions, I daresay your main worry will be how to abide them after they’ve been spoiled within an inch of their lives.”
Simon nodded. “But I still want to pray on it.” He stepped back into the church.
With a sigh, Samuel handed a ring of keys to his friend. “You’ll lock up then?”