Lark almost offered to help in the kitchen but clamped her mouth shut just in time. That would be a dead giveaway. “I haven’t milked cows for a while. Could I help you so I don’t forget how? After all, we’re hoping to have livestock again when we find our land.”
“Up in Nebraska, you said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want his hands to get soft, would we, boys?” Mr. Herron asked his sons, grinning.
Taking her place with her forehead planted firmly in a cow’s flank, Lark let her mind wander. The cow’s swishing tail brought her back to a three-legged stool in a barn in Indiana. “Easy, old girl,” she murmured, glancing at the cow’s head to see she was finished with her grain. “I’m hurrying as fast as I can. You have a lot of milk to be pulled out.” Someday I hope we will have cows like this, pigs and chickens, a new home with new friends in a town that only you know about, Lord God.
She swung the milk bucket off to the side when she finished and stood to stretch. “You have a milk can to pour this into?” she asked Mr. Herron.
“Up by the grain bin. You sure you want to milk another?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” Milking cows was a great place for letting one’s mind roam. Unless you had a kicker who liked to plant her foot in the bucket.
As Lark poured the steaming milk through the straining cloth spread over the mouth of the can, she inhaled. Perhaps you should tell this man who you really are, whispered that voice inside her head. And perhaps I shouldn’t, her other side answered back.
Her shoulders inched upward toward her earlobes, where they seemed to reside permanently these last weeks. Could it have anything to do with needing to be constantly on guard? She hadn’t realized the pressure till arriving at this taste of heaven. Tears pricked unexpectedly. That wouldn’t do.
“You all right?” Mr. Herron asked as he paused beside Lark.
“Will be.” Lark cleared her throat and flexed her fingers. “It’s been a while since I milked.”
They ate supper at a big oval table that managed to seat them all, four sisters, five children, and their parents. Afterward, while the girls put the kitchen to rights, Mr. Herron and the boys hauled wood out to the fire pit.
“Mr. Herron,” Lark asked, “do you mind if we get out our instruments? We have a guitar, fiddle, and harmonica. We just need to tune them up. I thought perhaps we could all sing a bit.”
“Well, bless my soul, what a gift that would be. And a mouth organ, no less. Now, that surely don’t take up much room in the wagon.”
“No, it doesn’t, but the others don’t either, as we hang the cases from the ribs of the wagon.” She looked over at hearing giggles and saw Lilac with her paper and pencils out, probably drawing one of her comical animals for the children.
Lark dug her harmonica out of her shirt pocket and settled on a log.
One of the little girls scooted up next to her and grinned up. “My name’s Essy. It’s special to have you here to play.” Her lisp made her big smile and friendly eagerness even sweeter. “Someday, when I get big, I want to play one of those.”
“You could play it right now.” Lark showed her how to blow into it and make different notes. “You hold it like this.” She heard the others tuning up and blew a C, making the little girl grin even more. “Sometimes you have to blow gently and other times harder.” Lark placed the harmonica in Essy’s small hands. “Blow on this side.”
Several notes came out. Essy handed it back. “Can we do that again tomorrow?”
“We certainly can.” I guess that means we’re staying over another day. She glanced up to see her sisters nodding and beaming.
She played the opening bars of “She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain,” and the others joined in singing and clapping. Other songs followed, and soon the Herrons were calling out their favorites.
“Isn’t that some pretty? Never thought I’d get to hear your music-makin’ again.” The male voice brought the musicians to a halt as they turned to gape at the speaker.
“Isaac, glad to see you, son.” Mr. Herron stood to greet the young man, and one of the boys leaped up and ran to grab his hand.
Lark stared at him, shaking her head. She’d thought never to see the drifter again, and here he walked up right in the middle of singing, like before. At least now they knew his name was Isaac.
“You know these folks?” Herron asked.
“I met them one night on the trail. Heard music and singing as if from a heavenly choir. I thought to stay away, but I couldn’t, and here you all are days westward.”
“How come you’re here?” Lilac asked.
“I was hungry and stopped at the store to ask if anyone needed some work done in exchange for a meal, and they sent me out here. The Herrons made me feel like family and told me about a neighbor who needed some help, so here I still am.”
“We want him to stay, but he only agreed to a little while. Sit yourself down, son,” Herron urged.
“Will you play some more?” Essy’s whisper could have carried back to the store.
“What would you like me to play?” Lark asked.
“‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’”
One of the boys groaned, but his mother gave him a look.
Lark chuckled inside as she played. The memory of her mother giving Jonah that same look made her blink back tears. Someday, Lord, I want a daughter like this.
“Let’s have one more and then call it quits. Morning comes mighty early here,” Mr. Herron said.
The sisters swung into “Blest Be the Tie That Binds,” and everyone stood to sing.
As the notes drifted off like the smoke from
