She had been so absorbed admiring the house that she hadn’t noticed the rest of the farm. The yard and other farm buildings were in poor condition. More than one rail in the garden fence was broken. The barn door was standing half open, and several chickens, loose from the coop, wandered here and there.
Before Katherine could say a word, Mary was out of the buggy and in the house.
Katherine looked around for a place to leave the horse and buggy, eager to follow. But Ruth’s horse, a gentle old mare, had already raised one hoof and appeared to be dozing. She secured the brake and followed Mary into the house.
Finding herself in a little entry hall with stairs in front of her, she was unsure where to go. To the right was a charming little parlor with rose-print wallpaper, comfortable-looking chairs, and a sofa; a dining room with a long, sturdy table and chairs lay to the left. Mary was nowhere to be found.
“Katherine?”
Hearing her friend’s call, Katherine immediately ascended. Halfway up she heard the worst coughing she had ever heard in her life, and the sound made her dash up the last few steps. There were several doors to choose from at the top. All were closed save one. She entered the room and nearly gasped at the sight of a woman in bed, covered with a handmade quilt. Her face was drawn and pale, and it grieved Katherine to come to the conclusion that this was Dorothy Kirby.
Mary sat on the edge of the bed trying to urge her sister to drink from a cup. “The fire’s low. Go through the dining room and there should be some wood in the kitchen.”
The tightness in the older woman’s voice gave Katherine speed, and she flew down the stairs as directed to the kitchen in the rear of the house. The wood box had several logs in it, and seizing a few of the thicker ones, she lugged them back upstairs. It didn’t take her long to get the fire going again.
She turned to find Dorothy looking at her. She swallowed hard. It felt like a walnut with its green spring husk still attached was trying to go down her throat. Would her presence alarm the sick woman? Dorothy couldn’t possibly know who she was.
She started to step out of the room when Mary motioned for her to come near.
“Pneumonia,” Mary stated as she approached.
“Is that Katherine?” A catch grew in Katherine’s throat at the sound of the poor woman’s hoarse, weak voice.
“Yes, but hush now,” Mary soothed. “We’ll save introductions for later, Dolly.”
But the woman shook her head. “Been praying for her. Like you asked.” She made an attempt to give Katherine a weak smile but began to cough again.
“Maybe she’ll quiet down if I leave.” While gratified that Mary had asked her sister to pray for her, Katherine was more eager to let the woman rest.
Mary shook her head, seemingly resigned to something Katherine was unwilling to consider.
“Toby …,” Dolly began.
“I know. He’s fighting.”
Dolly shook her head and looked toward her night table.
Mary took the letter lying there and read the first few lines and then handed the letter to Katherine.
Toby had died at Cold Harbor, Virginia, a little less than a year ago.
“Jonah?” Mary’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Tears smarted at Katherine’s eyes as she watched Dolly shake her head.
Mary bit her lip and drew the letters from Daniel from her reticule. “Daniel’s all right. He’s in Petersburg.”
Her sister nodded and closed her eyes. Her breathing was ragged for a minute or two. It became shallower and shallower, and Katherine gently grasped Mary’s shoulder as Dorothy Kirby left to go to her reward.
Tears flowed freely down Katherine’s face as she sat down on the edge of the bed and held Mary as she sobbed.
Oh Father, she prayed, dear Mary has lost so much. Keep Daniel safe and let this sad war come to an end. Soon.
Bootsteps sounded on the stairs, and Katherine rose, standing protectively over Mary who still sat on the bed. A huge,
Before Katherine could say a word, Mary was out of the buggy and in the house.
Katherine looked around for a place to leave the horse and buggy, eager to follow. But Ruth’s horse, a gentle old mare, had already raised one hoof and appeared to be dozing. She secured the brake and followed Mary into the house.
Finding herself in a little entry hall with stairs in front of her, she was unsure where to go. To the right was a charming little parlor with rose-print wallpaper, comfortable-looking chairs, and a sofa; a dining room with a long, sturdy table and chairs lay to the left. Mary was nowhere to be found.
“Katherine?”
Hearing her friend’s call, Katherine immediately ascended. Halfway up she heard the worst coughing she had ever heard in her life, and the sound made her dash up the last few steps. There were several doors to choose from at the top. All were closed save one. She entered the room and nearly gasped at the sight of a woman in bed, covered with a handmade quilt. Her face was drawn and pale, and it grieved Katherine to come to the conclusion that this was Dorothy Kirby.
Mary sat on the edge of the bed trying to urge her sister to drink from a cup. “The fire’s low. Go through the dining room and there should be some wood in the kitchen.”
The tightness in the older woman’s voice gave Katherine speed, and she flew down the stairs as directed to the kitchen in the rear of the house. The wood box had several logs in it, and seizing a few of the thicker ones, she lugged them back upstairs. It didn’t take her long to get the fire going again.
She turned to find Dorothy looking at her. She swallowed hard. It felt like a walnut with its green spring husk still attached was trying to go down her throat. Would her presence alarm the sick woman? Dorothy couldn’t possibly know who she was.
She started to step out of the room when Mary motioned for her to come near.
“Pneumonia,” Mary stated as she approached.
“Is that Katherine?” A catch grew in Katherine’s throat at the sound of the poor woman’s hoarse, weak voice.
“Yes, but hush now,” Mary soothed. “We’ll save introductions for later, Dolly.”
But the woman shook her head. “Been praying for her. Like you asked.” She made an attempt to give Katherine a weak smile but began to cough again.
“Maybe she’ll quiet down if I leave.” While gratified that Mary had asked her sister to pray for her, Katherine was more eager to let the woman rest.
Mary shook her head, seemingly resigned to something Katherine was unwilling to consider.
“Toby …,” Dolly began.
“I know. He’s fighting.”
Dolly shook her head and looked toward her night table.
Mary took the letter lying there and read the first few lines and then handed the letter to Katherine.
Toby had died at Cold Harbor, Virginia, a little less than a year ago.
“Jonah?” Mary’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Tears smarted at Katherine’s eyes as she watched Dolly shake her head.
Mary bit her lip and drew the letters from Daniel from her reticule. “Daniel’s all right. He’s in Petersburg.”
Her sister nodded and closed her eyes. Her breathing was ragged for a minute or two. It became shallower and shallower, and Katherine gently grasped Mary’s shoulder as Dorothy Kirby left to go to her reward.
Tears flowed freely down Katherine’s face as she sat down on the edge of the bed and held Mary as she sobbed.
Oh Father, she prayed, dear Mary has lost so much. Keep Daniel safe and let this sad war come to an end. Soon.
Bootsteps sounded on the stairs, and Katherine rose, standing protectively over Mary who still sat on the bed. A huge,