The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,67
in an’ have some, too, if you ain’t et.”
“I haven’t, and I will not refuse a bowl of your shepherd’s pie.” Miss West handed the lamp to Nanny Fay and then grabbed the railing and pulled herself up on the porch.
Addie managed the single step with suitcases in hand and followed Nanny Fay and Miss West into the cabin.
Nanny Fay laid the book on a little stand near a rocking chair and gestured to the door of the bedroom she’d indicated would be Addie’s. “You can take them bags to your room after you’ve et. Leave ’em there by the door for now.” She waddled toward the rear of the cabin.
Addie followed the woman’s directions, then trailed Miss West to a square table covered by an oil cloth. She’d thought the cabin quaint earlier, but somehow the glow of lamplight enhanced its simple beauty. Nanny Fay’s furniture was all obviously handcrafted from rough-hewn lumber, but every chair or bench wore a bright-colored throw or patterned pillow. Woven tapestries and a variety of wreaths made of dried flowers and leaves hung on the log walls.
Mother and Daddy’s parlor at home had nearly been overtaken by photographs—Mother loved displaying images of family members, especially Addie. But only one photo graced Nanny Fay’s cabin, and it held a place of honor on the thick length of wood serving as a mantel above her rock-lined fireplace. As she slid onto one of the stools at the table, Addie stared at the grainy image portraying a young girl with long dark braids and a winsome expression. Was the girl Nanny Fay’s daughter? If so, where was she now?
Nanny Fay turned from the stove with two crockery bowls. She placed the bowls in front of Addie and Miss West, then pulled spoons from her apron pockets. “There you are. Now, I ain’t got milk to offer, but I got water boilin’ so I can steep you some tea.”
Miss West’s eyes lit. “Birch tea?”
The old woman’s face pursed into a sympathetic pout. “Your bones achin’ again?” She reached up to a shelf lined with small glass jars, all filled with what looked like ground dried leaves, and lifted one down. “I was hopin’ with warm weather here, them aches’d ease for you. But a cup o’ birch tea’ll take the edge off your hurtin’.” She twisted the lid on the jar, turning to Addie. “Mebbe strawberry- or raspberry-leaf tea for you? ’Less you got achy bones, too.”
Addie shook her head. “My bones aren’t achy.” In her mind’s eye, an image of Emmett’s bandaged hands intruded. She tipped her head. “But would birch tea ease the pain of open wounds?”
Nanny Fay frowned. “You got open wounds?”
“No, ma’am.” Addie told her about Emmett’s blisters and the blood-soaked bandages. “I’m sure he’s hurting, and he’ll have to shovel coal again tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do nothin’ about that.”
“Oh.” Addie fiddled with her spoon, head low. “It’s a shame there isn’t something that could help.”
“Oh, there is somethin’ that could help. Lavender oil to soothe an’ ground yarrow root tea to speed the healin’.”
Addie sat up. “Wonderful! He’ll be so relieved.” She could hardly wait to tell him about Nanny Fay’s cures.
Miss West sighed, but not one of her usual catching-her-breath sighs. This one seemed laden with woe. “Addie, Nanny Fay could help Emmett’s wounds. But she won’t.”
The woman who’d so graciously offered a room in her house for twenty-five cents a week to a total stranger wouldn’t help someone from her very own community? “But why?”
“Because Emmett’s father wouldn’t allow it.”
Bettina
BETTINA SLEPT IN THE BARN Monday night, even though she moved all her things back into her room after supper. Pap was madder’n a wet hen about losing the boarding money from the new book gal, and she felt safer with some distance between them.
Come morning, he was still grumbling and blaming her for scaring off Addie, but she kept quiet and fixed him his favorite breakfast. So she didn’t get swung at. No new bruises to worry about. A few more days, and the old ones would be faded enough she could wear a short-sleeved blouse. It was June already. People would start thinking she was wrong in the head if she kept wearing winter shirts. She might faint dead away from sweating, too. The sun wasn’t even full up, but already the air was heavy and hot.
Pap left for the wagon, and she enjoyed a peaceful hour alone in the house before she saddled Mule, grabbed