“Of course.” Throat stinging in disappointment, she nodded, watching his broad back and arms begin the swinging rhythm of cutting once again.
Well, Lord, thank you. She headed back to the house with Mikael. It’s a start.
By Saturday, the hay lay cut and drying, and the garden plot was ready for planting. Lark gave Jesse—and his uncle—the day off, and the sisters walked the rows of their garden, seeds in hand. Laughter and chatter rose like steam from the earth in the summer sunshine, the children playing about them. They planted the seeds they’d brought from home, carrots, beets, turnips, and cabbage, and also those ordered from the store, lettuce and beans and seed potatoes. It felt so good to get the vegetables in the ground.
“Tomorrow let’s go to the church service,” Lark said as they washed their soil-dusted hands once the planting was done. “It’s been too long since we gathered for worship.”
“Oh, that would be such a gift.” Forsythia drew a deep breath at the thought. “I wonder if they have anyone to play music yet.”
“I’m not sure. The town is pretty small still, with how many families left after the Indian scare last year.”
“Did anything actually happen?” Lilac dried her hands.
“No, but people were terrified by the rumors.”
“So much happens because of fear and misunderstanding.” Forsythia thought of Little Bear and the friend he had been to them on the trail. How was he faring, and his family on the reservation? And now the distance between her and the doctor . . .
“Then to the Caldwells’ for supper, right?” Del scooped a wakening Mikael from his cradle and kissed his cheek, earning one of his increasingly frequent smiles. “There’s much to look forward to this Sunday.”
Only a few families had gathered in the simple church building at the end of the main street on Sunday morning, but Forsythia already recognized a number of faces. The Jorgensens, and Adam and Jesse, of course. The banker, Mr. Young, and his family. Mr. Caldwell and a kind-faced woman who must be his wife. And a few other people she’d met briefly in the store or passed on the street.
Someday, hopefully, this would be home and all these people their friends. Surely gathering to worship the Savior together was a good step in that direction.
Rev. Pritchard, a slender, earnest young man with slightly disheveled hair, rose to begin the service. Del had told them he was an itinerant preacher, going back and forth between Salton and another town about ten miles away.
“This is the day the Lord hath made,” he said, smiling broadly over the little congregation. “Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
Yes, Lord. Forsythia closed her eyes and quieted her heart. Help me be glad in you, though I don’t know what the future holds. But all will be well, as Ma always said. Maybe not in our way, but in yours.
After the simple service, they gathered out in the sunshine to visit. Del held Mikael while Robbie ran to play with the other children scampering about. Sofie clung to Forsythia’s skirts, sober-faced.
“You haven’t seen this many people in a long while, have you, little one?” Forsythia picked up the toddler and kissed her hair, braided tightly and tied with a blue ribbon in honor of the day.
Sofie sniffled and leaned her head on Forsythia’s shoulder.
“You aren’t coming down with something, are you?” She laid her hand on Sofie’s forehead. She wasn’t feverish, but she seemed a bit under the weather.
“Sythia.” Lark waved her over to where her sisters stood talking with the reverend.
With a glance to see Robbie engrossed in a game of tag with some other little boys, Forsythia crossed the churchyard with Sofie in her arms.
Lark introduced her to Rev. Pritchard. “I was asking the reverend if he’d like any help with the music on Sundays. He says yes.”
“Accompaniment would be a tremendous boon to our services.” Rev. Pritchard rocked on his toes, beaming. “Someday I hope we can have a piano, as we do in my other parish. I fear our a cappella tunes lack the luster and life instruments bring. But with juggling two congregations—you can imagine there’s much I haven’t managed to accomplish yet.”
“It was still lovely to join the congregation in song, a cappella or not.” Forsythia shifted Sofie on her hip. “But we’d be delighted to bring our instruments next Sunday, if a guitar, fiddle, and harmonica aren’t too rustic for you.”
“By no means. Surely any instrument is fit to make a joyful noise unto the Lord. And after all”—he flung his arms wide toward the dusty road and unpainted buildings—“we are plenty rustic here to begin with.”
Forsythia laughed. He seemed like a pleasant, good-hearted young pastor, if a bit enthusiastic. She glanced back to check on Robbie and noticed the doctor watching her. What was he thinking, seeing her laugh and chat with a friendly young man?
She turned back and focused on what Rev. Pritchard was saying. If Adam wanted to talk with her, he was free to do so. In the meantime, let him wonder. The thought gave her a wicked little frisson of pleasure. Forsythia Peace Nielsen, shame on you. And on the Lord’s day too, Ma’s voice niggled in her mind.
“You must be the Nielsen sisters.” A gentle hand touched Forsythia’s shoulder. “I couldn’t leave without greeting you all briefly, though I know we’ll see you tonight.”
They turned to see Mrs. Caldwell smiling at them, her dark hair laced with silver. Her husband stood back but gave them all a friendly nod.
“Thank you for inviting us.” Lark shook the woman’s hand. “I meant to ask, is it all right if we bring the children?”
“Oh, goodness, yes. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” Mrs. Caldwell beamed at Sofie, earning a shy smile in return. “I won’t keep you now, but we’ll see you about six? I look forward
