Mark started to protest, but Eliza put her hands on her hips. “I insist, Mr. Flint. Even if you don’t want to accept the food, do it for Layla. She’s going to need the help.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Mark replied finally, and he accepted the jar of peaches from her. Then, he walked around the rest of the store, picking up goods that he thought the family might be able to consume that night or the next.
***
It took a little over an hour to convince Emmett to accompany them back to the farm, as well as collect some of his belongings, stuff them into a trunk, and load everything into the buggy. Mark was relieved to see that Layla could talk Emmett into making the journey. Throughout the short trip to the ranch, Mark watched as Emmett shivered uncontrollably out of the corner of his eye. Almost every time he twitched, Layla would fuss with his overcoat. Eventually, she gave up and just pulled a blanket out of his trunk and draped it around his shoulders.
When they rounded the bend, Mark spoke softly to Layla and Emmett. “We have a guest room. It is on the first floor, next to my office. It’s rather small, but as there is a bed and a chest of drawers in it, I believe it should work out just fine. Do you think that will suit, Layla?”
She nodded appreciatively. “I do. I hadn’t thought of the little room, so I would say my father could sleep in my room, but I think this will be better. I want to remain close to Heath on the second floor, and I will better be able to check in on my father throughout the day if he is on the first floor.”
“I agree,” Mark replied as he brought Felix to a halt just a few feet from the front door. While Emmett was still capable of walking on his own, his shaking had not subsided, and Mark worried about how much work it would be to get him into the house and to the bedroom.
Mark leaped lightly from the buggy and swiftly moved to assist Emmett and Layla from their positions. Emmett leaned heavily on Mark, who placed his hand firmly on the older man’s waist. Once Layla assumed a similar position, they climbed the steps. Mark was grateful that they had determined keeping Emmett on the lower level was best, as even though the porch steps were wide and generally manageable, Emmett struggled to lift his legs high enough to mount them.
After shuffling beyond the office, Mark pushed open a green door that closely resembled the doors upstairs. A small window was directly in the middle of the room, but as the day was gray, little light illuminated the area. A small writing desk covered in dust as no one ever used it rested in one corner. In the other, there was a tall but slim bed covered in a hunter-green quilt that Mrs. Calkins made for Mark when he first moved to Willow Lake. Mark released his hold on Emmett to turn down the bed.
“Come on now, Mr. Fitzpatrick. We’ll get you settled in here for a little rest, and if you’re feeling up to it later, we’ll bring you some supper,” Mark said kindly as he returned Emmett’s side and helped Layla maneuver him toward the bed.
“That’s mighty kind of you, Mr. Flint,” Emmett said through chattering teeth. Layla and Mark lowered her father to the bed and groaned when his backside touched the sheets.
Layla pulled the green quilt up around her father’s chin. Without taking her eyes off him, she whispered, “Mark, do you think we should get him another quilt? I don’t know why he’s shivering so much. I think maybe we need to warm him somehow.”
“One moment,” Mark said. He pulled out a green and white afghan that matched the quilt from one of the dresser drawers and handed her the bedding. “Mrs. Calkins made quite a few items when I first moved here and again when Heath was born.” He gestured to the item Layla was holding, but she wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes were still locked on her father, and she draped the afghan lovingly over him.
Feeling like an intruder, Mark inched away from Emmett’s bedside.
Layla was speaking quietly and reverently, and Mark knew at once that the words were meant for her Heavenly Father. “Lord, we ask that you protect this family. My father is ailing, and we pray that you bring him comfort and peace.” Mark closed his eyes and bowed his head as Layla prayed in a strong voice. “I know that my father needs your guidance, but I pray you will also help me … and the other members of my family … as we proceed in the days ahead. We pray all these things in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.”
“Amen,” Mark echoed and gulped around a lump that formed in his throat. His eyes opened slowly, and a wave of comfort flooded his entire being. He had forgotten how it felt to take his troubles to the Lord and take comfort in sharing his burdens with his Creator.
“Layla,” Mark said kindly. “Let’s allow your father some time to rest.” He held his hand toward her, waiting for her to take it.
Chapter Twenty
The next day, Layla felt marginally better. Her father seemed to have slept well the night before, and when she and Heath visited that morning, he’d even sat up in the small bed so he could interact with the baby. As the day progressed, Layla slowly recalled what it felt like to take care of her father before she married Mark. Her father really wasn’t a terrible handful, and she just needed to check on him from time to time and bring him large glasses of water or cups of strong black coffee.
While Layla was preparing dinner, she thought of how everything seemed to have changed in just one day. She remembered how Mark volunteered to bring her father into the house and how compassionate he had been when they moved Emmett into the guest room. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she thought of the way he had prepared a robust supper the night before using supplies Eliza had given him from the store.
Layla moved about the kitchen, humming to herself to ensure Mark had a special supper. She wanted to repay his kind deeds by cooking something he might really enjoy. When a meal really seemed appetizing to Mark, he would lower his head over the dish and inhale deeply. Giggling when she thought of this, she hoped she could produce a meal tonight that would be worthy of that appreciative sniff.
“What’s Daddy’s favorite dish?” Layla asked Heath. She’d brought his chair in from the dining room to the kitchen so he could sit up in it while she prepared the meal.
Heath shouted, “Dada!” and Layla was delighted to hear him add the second syllable.
She tickled the baby under the chin and said, “Yes, Heath, Dada is a good man, and we are going to make him the best meal ever. Layla thinks you are very smart and so—”
“LaLa,” Heath sang in a sweet voice, and Layla froze.
“LaLa? Is that your name for me?” she asked, her heart melting a little. A hand fluttered toward her chest, and she held it there for a minute while she looked at Heath adoringly. He was truly one of God’s miracles. She stroked the top of Heath’s head. “Thank you, sweet baby.”
“LaLa,” Heath repeated and then banged on the countertop with a wooden spoon Layla had given him, which made her chuckle.
Layla’s heart soared as she cooked a meal she thought Mark would like. He had seemed rather pleased with the chicken and oranges she’d made the other day, but since she didn’t want to repeat the meal so soon, she decided to make chicken with roasted potatoes. She quickly prepared a hearty gravy while the carrots and peas boiled in a pot hanging over the hearth.
“Dada,” Heath said, occasionally punctuating the beat he was tapping out with his spoon.
“Yes,” Layla said to the baby. “What else do you think we should make Dada? Do you think we have time to fix up a cake? I remember he liked the vanilla one I made not too long ago. I imagine he’d like that, and maybe we could put some of those leftover peaches on top. What do you think, Heath?”
