you think you can figure out how to twist the paper into rosettes and fasten them with wire to the lattice?”
Libby examined the paper rose. Her head was already beginning to throb as a result of the off-beat percussion concert provided by hammer, nails, and enthusiastic builders. But the rosette didn’t appear to be too complicated. She could complete the task. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well. I trust your creative abilities will turn this decrepit lattice structure into a thing of beauty. There’s little we can do to hide the fact that Mattie and Lorna are marrying in a stable, but at the very least they should have a lovely place to stand.” Sadness tinged Mrs. Rowley’s voice.
Sympathy swelled in Libby’s breast. She touched Mrs. Rowley’s arm. “Ma’am?”
“Yes, Libby?”
“I was just going to say . . . Jesus was born in a stable. I suppose if a barn was good enough for His birth, it’ll make a fine place for Matt and Lorna to become man and wife.”
Mrs. Rowley looked at Libby in surprise. Then her lips curved into a soft smile. “You’re very right, dear. Thank you for the reminder.” She gave Libby’s hand a quick squeeze. Releasing it, she stepped back. “I’ll send out some help. You’ll need it to get this done in time.” She turned and scurried out of the barn.
Moments later, two girls, one of whom held a thick bolt of white netted fabric, entered the barn and looked around as if confused.
Libby waved them over. As they neared, she realized she’d never seen these girls before. “Are you new?”
The pair nodded in unison, and one said, “Come on the train two weeks ago. I’m Hannah. She’s Hester. We’re twins.”
Libby needed no clarification. If they hadn’t been dressed in different colors, she wouldn’t have been able to tell one from the other—their unsmiling faces were identical in every way. Remembering how out of place she felt her first days at the orphans’ school, she offered the girls a warm smile. “Well, I’m very relieved you’re here, Hannah and Hester. I need your help.” She quickly explained the process of creating rosettes and set them to work. Although they were young—probably no more than twelve—they proved amazingly adept. She praised their ability, and Hester shrugged.
“Nothin’ to flower twistin’. Could do it already by the time we was four.”
“Four?” Libby paused in attaching a lavender flower to the trellis and stared at the girl. “Do you mean four years of age?”
“Yes’m.” Hannah sat cross-legged on the ground and quickly formed a perfectly shaped rosette out of yellow crepe paper. “Me an’ Hester helped Mama make little poppies to sell on the corner. Got two pennies a dozen for ’em. It helped pay the rent.”
Libby shook her head in amazement. “I’m sure your mother was very grateful to have your help.”
Hester went on working without looking up. “Oh, not so much, but then she was sick. Hard to be grateful when you ain’t feelin’ good. Now she’s dead.”
Libby’s chest tightened at the girl’s blithe recital, and she paused to touch Hester’s tangled blond hair before reaching for another flower. Here she thought she had suffered immeasurably by losing her parents. But at least she’d not been forced to work from a very young age. In some ways, perhaps she’d been fortunate.
By noon, with the twins’ help, the trellis wore a lovely swag of tulle coiling amongst a bevy of pastel rosettes. The arch bore little resemblance to the scarred trellis that once supported vines in the school’s flower garden. Libby sighed in satisfaction. The canopy would certainly earn Mrs. Rowley’s approval. She thanked the girls for their assistance, and the pair shuffled off without so much as a smile in return.
Watching them go, a rare prayer formed in Libby’s heart: God, let someone come along to adopt Hannah and Hester and teach them to be carefree little girls before they grow up all the way.
She gathered the remaining scraps of paper, dropped them in the box, and tucked the box in the tack room in the far corner of the barn. Then she headed for the house to ask what Mrs. Rowley would like her to do next. Halfway across the yard, she heard someone call her name. She turned to spot Lorna, Matt’s fiancée, racing toward her.
Lorna came to a panting halt in front of Libby, grabbed her hands, and gasped, “Oh, Libby, something awful’s happened. I’m gonna need your help.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Libby held a cluster of wild pink foxglove