The two boys looked at each other and giggled. “Uh-huh.”
“You know anyone who might like to sell us some eggs, maybe milk too?”
“Uh-huh, my ma has lots of chickens.”
“Where might we find your ma?”
“At our house.” He pointed over his shoulder. “You want I should take you there?”
Forsythia rolled her lips together to keep a straight face. “Now, that would be a mighty neighborly thing to do.”
Both boys jumped up and trotted up the road with her, then turned onto a wide path. When they neared a house, they ran ahead, yelling, “Ma, Ma, we got comp’ny.”
Forsythia trotted up the lane, an orchard on one side and a pasture with several cows on the other. Chickens scratched around a house that hadn’t met a paintbrush in a long time. A black-and-tan hound crawled out from under the porch and, after a prolonged stretch, trotted out to greet the horse and rider, tail wagging.
A woman wearing a faded apron and a bright smile pushed open the screen door and stepped out, a rifle leaning against the wall. A little girl peeked out from behind her. “Welcome, stranger. The boys said you’re looking for eggs and perhaps a chicken?”
“We are indeed. My sisters—and brother—and the wagon are some ways behind me.”
The woman patted her daughter’s head. “Where you headed?”
“Nebraska by way of Independence, Missouri, where we plan to join a wagon train.”
“Well, we’ve got eggs. ’Sides milk and soft cheese, and I can slaughter a chicken, if you’ve a mind. Oh, and butter. The store you passed buys from us too.”
Forsythia’s mouth watered.
“I can butcher that chicken while you go back and bring your wagon here. Late as it is, you might could overnight here, fill your water barrel from our well. It’s safe here.”
“I sure appreciate your offer. I know we’ll want the food you mentioned, and I’ll pass on your invitation. It’ll probably be an hour or so before we get back.”
“That’ll be fine.”
“Thanks.”
Forsythia turned Starbright around and nudged her into a slow lope back to meet the wagon. Thank you, Lord Jesus. She found herself humming the words, adding more until the words and notes had become a song, one that made her want to shout and sing it out. And get it written down.
When she saw the wagon ahead, she leaned forward enough to urge Starbright into a gallop. The wind on her face tried to tear her hair out of her bun, and her sunbonnet beat a tune on her back.
“My land, girl, what’s goin’ on with you?” Del called as Starbright slid to a stop, grinning nearly as much as her rider.
Forsythia beamed at her sisters. “I have the best news.”
“What, we are in Nebraska?” Lilac grinned back at her.
“Not hardly, but I met a family who sells eggs, and they invited us for supper and to spend the night there. They have two boys who were sitting on the mercantile steps in town, and they waved and I stopped and I followed them. . . .” Her words tripped over each other before running together.
Lark raised a hand from the wagon seat. “Whoa. I think I missed half of what you said, so start again, and perhaps slow down a bit.”
“Sorry.” Forsythia wanted to hug them all.
“Forsythia Peace Nielsen, I’ve never seen you so excited.” Del stroked the horse’s sweaty neck. “She was in such a hurry to share her news, she made you race back to us. Sorry, girl.”
“I know.” Forsythia leaned forward and smoothed Starbright’s mane to one side. “Just think, girl, you might get to spend the night out in a pasture. No hobbles.”
She told her tale again, more coherently this time, and in less than an hour, their wagon rolled up at the end of the family’s lane. The two boys were waiting for them and caught a ride up to the farmhouse.
“Does your family do things like this often?” Forsythia asked them.
“Not much. Not many wagons no more.”
“What is your last name?”
“Herron, ma’am. You can stop here. Pa will show you where to park your wagon.” The boy leaped from the wagon seat to the ground while his brother slid off the horse, their dog running from the house, barking a welcome.
Someday, Lord, let us welcome strangers like this. The smile Mrs. Herron wore to greet them underlined Forsythia’s thoughts.
With the oxen and Starbright set free in the pasture, they followed their host back to the house, where Mrs. Herron had cookies and lemonade set on a table under a tree.
“I think I must have died and gone to heaven.” Lilac bit into a cookie. She answered the beckoning of the eldest Herron daughter, and they sat side by side on one of the various logs that made up a circle.
“It looks like you have company often,” Forsythia said.
Mr. Herron nodded. “We have church out here when the weather permits. In the barn or the house otherwise.”
“You’re a minister?”
“Of sorts. I figured the Bible talks about meeting in homes, so we could do that too. Someday we might try to build a church building, but for now . . .” He waved his arm to encompass the place. “Meeting at night allows folks to get their work done and then come worship. It’s a shame you can’t stay for our meeting tomorrow night.”
Please, Lark, please, Forsythia caught herself pleading. Let us stay.
Why was she hesitating?
’Cause I don’t know what’s best to do, that’s why. To enjoy the evening and head out at first light? Or accept the invitation and ignore her fear? Fear. Why in the world am I afraid of this blessing? When she thought of it that way, Lark felt like kicking herself. She could feel her sisters’ eyes on her. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Herron, for your gracious invitation. I wish I could think of some way to repay you.”
“Repay?” Joseph Herron burst out laughing. “Ah, Clark, we’re only sharing what God has
