of the group and the most responsible; John Paul, a year younger but a free spirit who ran through the woods as if he’d been born to nature; Nellie, who some considered the most beautiful of all the children; and Edward, not yet four. A year earlier, Eliza had made plans for Louella to go to Morgantown and live with Nina, the second youngest of the Palmer sisters, but when the time came Louella refused to go. She claimed with Edward still a baby and Eliza too sick to care for him, she was needed at home.
“Next year,” she told her mama. “Next year or the year after, I’ll go.”
The winter of 1914 was bitter cold, and the snow that fell in early November froze before they could clear it from the porch. That entire winter Eliza never left the house, not once. She’d sit by the window and wait, hoping for a letter from one of the children or a visit from Caldonia.
Her cough became far worse, and she lost what little appetite she had. Not even Caldonia’s soup could entice her to eat. After only a few sips, she’d set the spoon aside and say she was in need of rest.
Before the trees began to bud, Eliza no longer slept through the night. She’d fall into bed exhausted and wake in the wee hours of morning barely able to breathe. While the sky was still dark, she’d pull a wool shawl around her shoulders and sit on the porch, remembering the sound of the house when it was filled with children. Although the departure of each child caused a piece of her heart to be torn away, it was as she’d planned.
She’d loved Martin, but he’d been right when he accused her of loving the children more than she did him. The children had been her greatest joy in life. It was her love for them that gave her the strength to send them away. She not only loved them more than she’d loved Martin; she also loved them more than she did herself.
That spring when Pastor Dale came to visit, Eliza spoke to him about Nellie.
“She’s a beautiful child with a kind heart and I want what’s best for her, but my sisters are up in years and I’d be hesitant to send a seven-year-old to any of them.”
Pastor Dale nodded. “There’s a family in Huntington; friends of my sister. They’ve got a big home and love to give, but she’s been unable to bear children of her own. If you wish I can ask…” There was a certain kindness in his not speaking the actual words.
“I’d rather hoped Nellie would be with other children; brothers or sister, perhaps.” Eliza coughed into her handkerchief and folded it over to hide the crimson stain.
“Ruth Hudson is a good woman. I believe she’d make sure Nellie went to a fine school and had friends to play with.” He leaned forward. “I know how painful it is to think of something like this, but knowing the Hudsons as I do I believe they would willingly take Edward also so that brother and sister would remain together.”
Eliza sat for a moment saying nothing. Tears welled in her eyes.
“If only…” She could not bring herself to speak the thought. A million or more times, she’d sat on the porch and thought of how it might have been if only Martin had loved his children as she did. If only it hadn’t snowed that night… If only they could have remained in Barrettsville… There were countless If onlys locked inside her heart, but they were like caged butterflies: beautiful, but hopeless.
“There’s no need to think of Edward right now,” Pastor Dale said. “He’s young; keep him with you, and perhaps in a year or two…”
Eliza wondered if she had a year or two but said nothing and nodded.
On a Sunday morning that sparkled with sunlight, a Ford touring car turned onto the dirt road and rumbled up the hollow. When it came to a stop in the Hobbs’s drive, the woman was first to get out of the car. Eliza was in the porch swing with Nellie by her side and a wool shawl pulled around her shoulders, despite the warmth of the day.
The woman was young and beautiful with hair the color of Nellie’s.
“You must be Ruth Hudson,” Eliza said and smiled.
“Yes, I am,” Ruth said. Returning the smile, she motioned to the man following behind her. “This is my husband, Willard.”