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Once again Jed tried to slouch off, but Ellen cornered him in the hallway. “You can’t leave me here,” she declared, to which he scowled.
“You seem to be handling all these little ones fine, Miss Bossy.”
Ellen wasn’t quite ready to be left alone with this boisterous bunch. She wasn’t used to so many children, having spent her life with adults. She pointed the spoon she’d been holding at him. “You stay,” she commanded, and for a tiny second it seemed as if humor lighted Jed’s gray eyes before he shrugged.
“Suit yourself. I’m hungry, anyway, and you can’t have ruined the pie, at least.”
Over supper the children talked non-stop, informing Ellen of many salient facts. Peter was eight and Caro was seven, they all went to the island school in Stella except for Ruthie and Andrew, of course, as he was just a baby. Peter had been the most ill; Papa had prayed over him with tears running down his cheeks.
“They all thought I was going to die,” Peter explained with obvious relish.
“That’s when Mama sent for the minister,” Caro added.
“Where’s your papa now?” Ellen asked. “It’s too dark to be out in the fields.”
Caro shrugged. “He forgets to come home for dinner sometimes.”
“Does he?” Ellen said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Just like Mrs. Hepple, then.” She saw Jed chuckle, although the laughter quickly turned into something more like a scowl.
“He doesn’t forget,” Peter said quickly, glaring at his sister. “He’s probably out in the barn, seeing to the cows.”
Or perhaps in the taproom with the station master, Ellen thought. She did not know what to make of anyone in this family. With a sigh she pushed herself up from the table. “We’ll all help with the dishes, and then we’ll sort out baths,” she decided.
“But it’s not bath night!” Peter cried, horrified.
“Perhaps not, but you’re filthy.”
They only cracked two plates while washing up, and the clock in the front parlor chimed seven o’clock.
“I should go,” Jed said, looking relieved to finally be making his escape. “Ma’s expecting me.”
Ellen nodded, stiff with dignity. “Thank you for helping. I expect Aunt Rose will be home soon.”
Jed nodded back. “All right, then.” He sloped off to the front door, and Ellen watched him go with a strange sense of longing. As unpleasant and contrary as he could be, there was a steady sureness about Jed Lyman that she needed amidst the chaos of the McCafferty home.
Peter tugged insistently on her sleeve. “We don’t really have to take baths, do we?”
“Yes,” Ellen replied. “You do.”
Ellen couldn’t find a bathtub, though, and the thought of heating all that hot water on the stove made her feel so tired she decided they could all make do with sponging down with pump water in the kitchen.
Ellen had just managed to get all three girls in their nightgowns, hair freshly plaited, with Peter hopping around and hooting like a savage in his nightshirt, when the front door opened.
“Mama!”
The children rushed to her, and she awkwardly put her arms around them, a baby still cradled in the crook of one arm.
“Darling ones. I’m sorry I’m late. Did Mrs. Hepple take good care of you?”
There was a moment’s silence and Ellen stepped forward. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Ellen Copley. I’m afraid Mrs. Hepple left to see about a pie and didn’t return.”
Rose McCafferty stared at her in surprise, and Ellen saw that she was a pretty woman, with san
dy hair put loosely up, and light blue eyes like Da’s. There was a certain weariness to her rounded shoulders, but there was also strength and humor in her face, and she managed a little gasp of laughter now.
“Oh, my dear! How terrible for you, to be greeted with these wild ones. And you’ve bathed them, I see! You must be a saint.”
“No,” Peter said, “but she’s strict.”
