“I suppose. With all the food I eat and the rest I need, I begin to feel like a pig being readied for the slaughter.”
Abigail laughed. “That is not a pleasant thought. Go on, go have a rest.”
Watching Julia walk off, Abbie fought down her worry over the woman. Julia was a deeply sensitive woman who loved this fellow Robert. If anything happened to the young man, she hated to think of how it would devastate the girl. Julia carried his child, but she was not sure the woman had the strength to remember how important that was.
It was a worry she could not solve or plan for so Abbie decided to put it aside. She had almost finished all her flowers on the hem, hiding the majority of the spots, and idly thought on what she could do next. Then a little shadow fell over her sewing and she looked up to stare into Noah’s bright eyes, surprised to find him downstairs. None of the children came down, but Noah was obviously getting confident of his welcome, at least from her.
“Hello, Noah. What might you want?” she asked.
“Are you gonna read to us tonight?”
“I thought I would. Why? Don’t you want me to?”
“Oh yes, but I was wondering if you know how we could get a new book. You’ve done read all the others to us and we were thinking it’d be real nice to have something new.”
She frowned as he sat down next to her in the chair, gently nudging her to the side until he had the room he needed. Abbie realized she had no idea how to find a new book for the children. She then tried to think if she knew any stories so that she might just tell them one but her mind was suddenly totally empty.
“I think I will have to ask the other ladies. Hunt around a little. I have no idea where or how one could get one in this town.”
“The store?”
“I thought about that, but I saw nothing in there the few times I went in. The man has enough trouble just getting in food supplies. I doubt he thinks much of getting things like a children’s book. But I will ask.”
“Maybe your soldier friend would know?”
“Huh. Maybe he would. I will ask him, too.”
“I will tell the others you are going to go looking,” he said, hopped off the chair, and raced off to go back to the children’s room.
“What did you just promise the child?” asked Rose as she sat down in the chair opposite Abbie.
“I did not promise anything. They want a new book to hear at story time and I said I would look for one.”
Rose laughed. “To a child that can sometimes sound like a promise. Why not just tell them a story?”
“Thought about that but suddenly could not think of a single one. Odd, because my da was always telling me stories.”
“Ah, yes, that is often the way. You will recall them but not when you need to. I am not sure where or how one could get hold of a child’s storybook in this town. Most of the ones who had children and would have one fled the minute the Union marched in. I doubt they left any behind.” Rose looked away and rubbed her chin. “Maybe I can find out if any of the women know a good story and we can write it down.”
“Make our own book?”
“Something like that. I have some ledger books we could use or the general store had a few journals for sale. Most women do not keep them because they are expensive or they just don’t see the point in writing about what is an ordinary day. You know, ‘Well, I washed Henry’s long johns today,’” Rose said in a slightly higher tone of voice. “Not really of interest.”
“Fair enough,” Abbie said and chuckled. “We will see how many have something to contribute.”
“Between all of us, we must have a few. I suspect we could make up a good book.”
Abbie nodded. She and Rose complained about the lack of goods due to the war for a while and then Rose wandered back to where the other women sat. Abbie tried to recall if she had put aside a favorite child’s book in her chests but could not remember. It would be worth a look, she decided, and then came a rap on the door.
Mrs. Beaton got up from her knitting and went to answer the door. A moment later Abbie heard the sound of a very familiar male voice. Her heart skipped and she cursed herself for an idiot. It obviously could not tell the difference between romance and friendship.
“The lieutenant is here to see you, Miss Jenson,” Mrs. Beaton said in a cool voice. “I put him in the parlor.”
Like he is a vase, Abbie thought, and bit back a smile as she rose and walked to the parlor. Matthew stood by the window, staring out, with his hands clasped behind his back. He stood straight as if at attention like the soldier he was. She shut the door and he turned to face her and her mindless heart skipped a beat again.
“I dinnae believe Mrs. Beaton is verra fond of soldiers coming round to visit the ladies here,” he said.
“No, she isn’t, but she is smart enough to know she can do little about it, I guess. And I begin to think Mrs. Beaton is fond of very little. I also think some soldiers come round not just to see a woman but to get a touch of all they left behind, if that makes sense.”
