Chapter 25

The soup kettle was awkward to carry with her cloak blowing against it as she went down the steps and started across the empty churchyard. The cold wind kept anyone from lingering to talk. The sky looked loaded down with gray. More snow could be on the way.

She set the soup pot down to adjust her cloak and pull on her gloves. She wasn't too weak to carry a pot of soup back to Gordon's house. Her house now, she reminded herself.

Before she picked it up, the low growl of a dog caught her attention. Then laughter, but not the good kind. A jeering laugh.

At the far edge of the churchyard, Ada June was hunched over beside a big oak tree as she held on to her dog's neck ruff. Cleo Rayburn's two boys circled her like wolves around prey. The dog wasn't fighting to get loose, but his bared teeth let the boys know he might.

The older boy picked up an acorn and threw it at Ada June. She kept her head down as she pulled her dog back against her. The boys laughed again. Those troublemakers Gordon warned her about.

Mira looked back at the church to see if Gordon and the boys' father were coming out. But the door stayed closed. She could go for them, but she had the feeling their father might be one of those troublemakers Gordon had hinted about in the church. He had been polite enough on the surface, but he looked anything but glad to be there.

Besides, the children in Sourwood needed to know she would not put up with nonsense. She didn't have to wait for school to start to let them know that.

The boys were so busy with their taunts they didn't notice her walking toward them.

"Stop that right now," she ordered.

Her loud tone startled them. The younger one looked guilty as he stared down at the ground.

The older boy, maybe eleven or twelve, put his hands on his hips and glared at her. "Who's gonna make me?"

She stared back at him without a word. A teacher didn't have to argue with a child, merely hold her ground without wavering.

The little boy pulled on his brother's arm. "Come on, Connor. This ain't no fun no more."

Behind them, Ada June kept her head down and held her growling dog.

The boy named Connor slid his gaze away from Mira. He smacked the little boy's hand off his arm.

"You can both go sit on the church steps to wait for your father," Mira said. "He surely won't be proud of you harassing a girl."

Connor scowled at her. "We weren't doing nothing like whatever it is you just said. We was just talkin' to her."

"And throwing things at her."

"I didn't throw nothing at her," the younger boy said.

"Shut up." Connor shoved the little boy.

"Do you want me to get your father?" Mira said.

"You don't know beans. Pa would be on you, not us. He don't care a whit what we do to her." Connor jerked his head toward Ada June. "Nobody in Sourwood wants the likes of her and her dog round about church or anywheres else."

"That's enough, Connor." Mira gave him her sternest look.

"Enough of you tellin' us what to do."

"I'm hungry, Connor. I'm goin' home." The little boy took off in a run.

Connor stared after him, then frowned at Mira. "I'm goin' too, but it ain't your doing. It's cause it's dinnertime."

As soon as the boy started away, Ada June jumped up to take off the other direction.

"Wait, Ada June," Mira called.

The girl slowed, then stopped to look back at Mira. The dog was right against her legs.

"Do you have a few minutes to help me? I have this pot of chicken soup and my cloak keeps catching against it. Could you carry it for me?"

The girl's shoulders drooped, but she turned around and went to pick up the kettle without a word.

Mira chattered to the girl all the way across the yard. "It feels like snow, don't you think?"

The girl shifted the pot to her other hand. The sleeves on her coat showed her wrists. Her dress below the coat looked filthy, and she had on those dreadful boots. The child's hair resembled a brush pile.

"I've been thinking about school," Mira said.

Ada June's shoulders sagged again as she stared down at the ground. Mira knew she was thinking about the "no dogs in the schoolhouse" rule.

"I wondered if you might like to get an early start on learning and come have lessons with me before school opens."

The girl's head jerked around to stare at Mira as though judging whether she could trust Mira's words. Then her eyes lit up as she nodded.

Mira thought about telling her she'd have to talk if they had school together, but that could wait. "Why don't you stay and eat some of Miss Effie's chicken soup with Preacher Gordon and me? You can help me get the fire going and the soup heated. If you have time."

"Bo?" Ada June spoke the one word she'd said to Mira the day before.

"Of course. He can come in. Any time."

A smile broke out on the girl's face and stayed all the way to the cabin. She went up the steps ahead of Mira and straight to the fireplace, where she hung the pot on one of the hooks over the smoldering fire. Then she went back outside to get wood and had the fire blazing before Mira got her hat off. With a small hook, Ada June moved the pot to the side of the blaze.

The dog settled near the fireplace with a contented puff of breath. Ada June held out her hands toward the flames. She was tall for her age, only a few inches shorter than Mira. One of Mira's dresses might almost fit her. The skirt would be too long, but skirts could be hemmed. Waists could be gathered in.

Mira hesitated, not sure about mountain customs. Maybe she should ask Gordon before she offered the girl a dress.

"Would you like to take off your boots? I've some slippers you can wear."

In answer, Ada June lifted her feet out of her boots. Mira went into the bedroom to dig out the slippers and a pair of stockings from her trunk.

Ada June sat down on the floor in front of the fire and jerked off her stockings with holes in the toes and heels to pull on Mira's. She slid her feet into the slippers, then held her feet out to admire them before she stood up and did a little shuffle dance. Her dog's tail flapped against the floor.

"Looks like they almost fit. You can wear them whenever you're here," Mira said. "Let's wash our hands so we can set the table. Preacher Gordon should be along soon."

After a look at her hands, Ada June shrugged and followed Mira to the little table where there was a wash pan and soap. Mira dipped some lukewarm water out of the kettle on the hearth. Ada June watched Mira wash her hands first. Then she scrubbed her hands the exact same way.

When Mira adjusted one of the combs in her hair, Ada June pointed to her own head. Mira looked at the girl's hair. No doubt she could use a comb, but what if she had some kind of vermin in her hair?

Well, what if she did? Combs could be washed. She fetched her comb and the small mirror from the bedroom where she had worked with her hair so abjectly that morning. Ada June propped the mirror on the mantel and tried to jerk the comb through her hair.

When it caught on tangles, she made a face and said her second word around Mira. "Ow."

"Looks like you have some birds' nests in that hair," Mira said.

Ada June gave her a funny look and felt her head.

Mira smiled. "Not real ones. Just tangles." She reached for the comb. "Here, let me see if I can work out those knots."

Mira pulled a chair over to the fire and motioned for Ada June to sit on the floor. "If it pulls too much, raise your hand to let me know."

After the girl settled in front of her, Mira worked the comb through a strand of her shoulder-length dark-brown hair. She picked out a few pine needles. "Gracious, child, did you sleep in a tree last night?"

Ada June shook her head. "On."

"On?"

A nod was her only answer. Communicating with one-syllable words wasn't easy, but Mira didn't push for more. She merely added her own short word. "Oh."

Ada June didn't move as Mira worked the comb through her hair. Nothing was in the girl's hair that shouldn't be, except pine needles. She wanted to give the girl a hug but worried she would jerk away.

Worries. She needed to stop worrying over everything. Her first Sunday morning in Sourwood had been good. In church, sweet little Emmy Lou's warm body in her lap had been a blessing. One that made her believe someday her prayers would be answered and the child she cuddled might be her own.

Hers and Gordon's. A child might be a better bond between them than a burst of romantic foolishness. She smiled a little at the memory of the night before and hoped those at church would give her a chance to prove she didn't lack good sense.

A few had given her an assessing look. That was only natural. As long as they gave her a chance to teach their children. The children had to give her a chance too. For that to happen, she'd have to handle the troublemakers like Connor Rayburn.

But that didn't have to be today. Today she could enjoy combing this child's hair. She could take unexpected pleasure in the dog settled by the fire. She even felt a spark of happiness in knowing Gordon would soon come through the door so they could share their Sunday dinner.

How many dinners had she eaten alone? Too many to count. And today she would have a husband across the table and a dear child guest beside her. She could start counting her blessings instead of lonely dinners.

The only noises in the room as she continued to work the comb through Ada June's hair were the tick of the clock, the crackling of the burning wood, and the dog's snuffling breath as he slept. Contented sounds. Blessings. She had no reason to think the afternoon wouldn't hold more.

She started humming "The Lily of the Valley," the hymn they sang at church. She sent up a joyful prayer when Ada June began humming along with her.