Roses for Mama Read Free Page B

arranged tidily over properly crossed ankles. Sara never seemed to remember—or care about any of those things, though Angela was sure she had told her about each of them at least a hundred times.
    “I do worry about Derek sometimes.” Thomas broke in on her thoughts through the darkness.
    Angela’s head came up quickly. “What do you mean?” she asked. “What’s he done? He’s never given me a moment’s trouble.”
    “That’s just it,” responded Thomas thoughtfully. “When I was his age—well, I was giving both Papa and Mama a bit of trouble.”
    “You—?”
    “Don’t you remember the number of times I was sent to my room or had to carry extra wood or miss a ball game? Boy, I was always in trouble of some kind.”
    Angela smiled. It was true. Thomas had been in hot water a good deal of the time.
    “Well, Mama and Papa knew how to manage it,” Angela said, feeling that it gave strength to her argument. “But how will we—?”
    “The same way, I guess,” Thomas cut in. “The youngsters need discipline—even if they haven’t got a mother or father.”
    “I’m afraid it’s going to be so hard. I mean—I don’t mind cooking and cleaning. I think I have done a fair job of that. But, Thomas—I’m not sure I am quite so good at—at mothering.”
    She could hear his soft chuckle. “Well, you are a mite young to be doing it,” he reminded her. “At seventeen most girls aren’t married yet—let alone mothers of half-grown kids.”
    “Yes—and most young men of nineteen aren’t responsible for a family of five, either,” replied Angela. “You’ve been running the farm for three years. Well, four really. You had to take over even before Mama—”
    Angela stopped. It was too difficult to say the words, even now. She wrapped her hands in her apron and let the conversation become thoughts.
    It had all been so strange. So ironic. They had moved west because her mother had not been well and the doctor said that the cooler, clear air of the region might be easier on her lungs. Her father had sold his productive Iowa farm and loaded everything they could take with them in three wagons.
    The trip had been a real adventure. Angela still had many memories of it, but the younger children could remember virtually nothing of the move west.
    Thomas remembered, of course, because he was older than Angela. And the stories he told about the trip revealed that, to him, it had been an adventure of a lifetime.
    They had found new land—a new life—and their father had set about building a farm again. He put all his strength and energy into building the house and barns. Into erecting straight, even fences. Into plowing land to prepare it for seed. Into clearing rock and planting a windbreak.
    The farm soon responded, taking on the well-cared-for look of their previous one. Her father was a good farmer, a hard-working man, and soon the farm was the most productive, most attractive one in the area.
    Her mother’s health did improve—at least for a while. She seemed to breathe more easily, seemed to have more energy in her slight frame. And then a winter cold put her back in bed and the family watched as she gradually lost ground in her long fight for health. But even from her bed she continued to guide her family. Angela remembered the long talks, the careful instructions. Looking back she realized now that her mother had been grooming her for the task ahead, but Angela had not been aware of it at the time. It was so easy for her to pretend that her mother would soon be well again, that things would return to normal.
    But it was their strong, healthy father who left them first. An aneurysm, the doctor had said, shaking his head sadly. “We never know when they might strike—or whom. Sometimes they pick the most unlikely.”
    So it was Thomas who first had to shoulder the responsibilities of an adult. Thomas—at age sixteen—took over all the farm duties.
    Their father had taught him well. He was a hard