True Colors (17 page)

Climbing back into Nadine’s bed, I bunched up the quilt and tucked it under my head. Then, and only then, was I able to get to sleep.

That Sunday, after church, I’d planned to look for Daisy, but I didn’t because Hannah came home.

I’d been so excited to have her back, but waiting for Mr. Gilpin to drive her home from the hospital, I couldn’t sit still. Hannah had only been gone a few days, but it seemed like months. Would she have changed?

Mr. Gilpin pulled into the yard and helped me get her into the house. Hannah leaned heavily on our arms, her face white with pain. She didn’t even look like Hannah. She looked thin, her skin wrinkled and sagging. She certainly didn’t look like someone who could carry a bag of grain under each arm.

She looked
old
.

Hannah sank back in her chair and closed her eyes. I tucked an afghan around her, the red and white one she’d knit over the winter.

“If you’d only cleaned off those cellar stairs,” Mr. Gilpin said, shaking his head.

Hannah winced.

“You know what hurts the most?” she said.

Mr. Gilpin leaned in close, concern etched on his face. Hannah opened her eyes and looked at him.

“Admitting you were right,” she said.

Mr. Gilpin grinned.

Hannah needed help with everything, even feeding and dressing herself, but the worst was giving her a bath. I tried not to look at her as I helped her in and out of the tub, but I could feel the blood rush to my face.

“I’m sorry, Blue,” Hannah said, and the way her mouth
was set, I knew it was embarrassing her, too. “I hate feeling so helpless.”

I thought of Hannah’s grandmother being a nurse in the Civil War. If she could help wounded and dying soldiers, I could help Hannah take a bath.

At least I didn’t have to worry about cooking. The quilting ladies dropped off casseroles and baked goods every day.

Mrs. Potter came by bringing us supper. I peeked under the dishcloth. Mmmm, scalloped potatoes, and apple brown Betty for dessert. I would have just served up crackers and milk.

“You know, Hannah, I could stay here for a while if you need me,” Mrs. Potter said.

I stole a glance at Hannah, hoping Hannah would say yes. It would be such a relief to have Mrs. Potter help Hannah with bathing and dressing.

“Thank you anyway,” Hannah said, “but you’ve got your own family to tend. Blue’s taking good care of me.”

I straightened my shoulders. I
would
take good care of Hannah, and I wouldn’t complain.

“Well, I can see that,” Mrs. Potter said, patting me on the head. “But it’s a lot to ask a ten-year-old.”

“Blue’s very mature for her years,” Hannah said, and I squirmed. I wondered if she’d feel the same once she found out about Daisy. Well, I was going to try to get it all sorted out so she wouldn’t
have
to find out.

But I didn’t have time to search. I couldn’t leave Hannah—what if she needed help getting to the bathroom while I was gone, or fell? I thought how Hannah had always made running a farm seem so easy. Well, maybe
easy
wasn’t the right word; there was nothing easy about farming. Nadine would have known the right word. Hannah had just made the farm run like clockwork. Now it was more like a broken clock.

I don’t know what I would have done without Raleigh. Besides all the milking, he helped me hitch up Dolly, and we took turns mowing the two largest fields. I watched the sky with an anxious eye, hoping the hay would dry and we’d be able to get it into the barn before the next rainstorm.

Raleigh repaired broken tools and equipment, oiled Dolly’s harness, even weeded Hannah’s flower garden, which had gotten overgrown. No matter what, he was always cheerful, and he pitched in on any chore without complaint. He was easy to be around. As long as I didn’t ask him to go swimming. Raleigh didn’t even like
wading
in the water. He didn’t like it when I swam, either. I reminded myself to ask Mr. Gilpin, sometime, to tell me the story of how Raleigh almost drowned when he was a boy. I was glad I wasn’t afraid of the water—I couldn’t imagine not being able to swim after a long, hot day.

We finished up the last two milkers, and Raleigh helped
me carry the pails to the milk house. While we were washing up, Raleigh looked out the window.

“Cat,” he said.

Sure enough, Cat was sitting on top of the hay wagon.

My stomach dropped. When was the last time I’d fed her? Two days ago? Three? How could I have forgotten her?

“Oh, Cat, I’m so sorry!” I said, and hurried to fill a bowl of milk for her, but when I carried it out to her, I saw there was already a bowl on the ground, one of Hannah’s good china bowls. I hadn’t put it there.

“Raleigh, did you feed the cat?” I asked.

Raleigh nodded.

“Thanks,” I said. “I forgot to. I’m glad you remembered.”

Raleigh gave me a shy smile, and I wished Mr. Wright could see him right then, see how Raleigh had come by, every day, pitching in to help out with whatever needed doing. I sure didn’t see Mr. Wright offering to help us out any. But I wouldn’t have wanted Mr. Wright to come by. I didn’t ever want Raleigh to hear what Mr. Wright had said about him. Putting Raleigh into a “home” would be the worst thing they could do. Raleigh was happiest when he was outside, working in the garden or haying or helping out at the ball field.

Raleigh pointed to Cat.

“Cat,” he said. “Pat cat.”

“No, she doesn’t like to be patted,” I said. “She’s wild.”

Raleigh shook his head. He patted his chest and motioned with his hands as if patting a cat.

“Pat cat,” he repeated. “Pat cat.”

I felt a sinking feeling as it dawned on me what he was trying to say.

“You mean
you
patted the cat?” I asked.

Raleigh nodded, and those nice thoughts I’d just had about him faded away like morning fog. All these weeks of feeding Cat and she’d never let me get near her, but she’d let Raleigh waltz in to pat her? It wasn’t fair.

“Well, I guess you’d better be getting home,” I said. I felt bad saying that—Hannah would be expecting me to invite Raleigh in and feed him, even if it was just crackers and milk—but I didn’t feel like inviting Raleigh in. “It’s almost suppertime.”

Raleigh’s face lit up like a lantern. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Baby Ruth bar, which made me even madder. Raleigh might not have much money, but he had enough to buy candy bars.

Raleigh held the candy bar out to me. He had bought it with his own money. For me.

I felt small inside. Raleigh had so little in his life, and I was being jealous just because he’d patted a cat!

“Thank you, Raleigh,” I said. I could have eaten it right there, the whole thing, but I didn’t. If Raleigh could be generous, then so could I. I’d share it with Hannah after supper.

I took off my boots and stepped into the kitchen. Hannah was gripping the sink, her face white.

“What are you doing?” I almost yelled.

“Getting supper,” she said. “I think I can manage our meals from now on.”

As worried as I was, I knew there was no arguing with Hannah. Once she had her mind made up, you might as well try to move a granite boulder with a teaspoon.

By the time the baked potatoes and meat loaf were ready, Hannah was too worn out to eat, but she’d proved she could do it. And the next morning, when Raleigh and I came in from milking, she had a pot of hot oatmeal ready for us.

Dr. Hastings stopped by as she was tidying up and scolded her for doing too much too soon.

“Might be time you thought about retiring,” he told her. “Sell the farm, get yourself a little place in town. Take it easy.”

Hannah picked up her broom and chased Dr. Hastings out of the house.

“Quack,” Hannah said. “What would I do if I retired?”

That’s when I knew Hannah was going to be all right.

Hannah decided she was ready to start baking again. If I put all the ingredients out on the counter for her, she was able to mix and stir them with her left hand. Once again, the house smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg.

“We need to get back to our regular deliveries, so we
can be adding to your college fund,” Hannah fretted, and I felt guilty she’d been worrying about that. Of all my worries—Hannah, Daisy, Mr. and Mrs. Tilton getting a divorce—the one thing I had
not
been worrying about was the college fund jar!

I needed to get the hay in, too. Those two fields weighed heavy on my mind. Even with Raleigh’s help, it would take days to get all that hay in the barn. We’d cut too much at one time.

I tossed all night, worrying how Raleigh and I were going to get the haying done by ourselves, and yawned so hard at breakfast I thought my jaw was going to break.

I needn’t have worried.

chapter 23

I hadn’t even finished my oatmeal when we heard a tractor. Mr. Thompson, Mr. Wheaton, and Esther’s husband were the only farmers in the area who had tractors.

Hannah stepped out onto the porch, and I followed behind her, half a graham roll in my hand.

Mr. Green drove his tractor into the yard. I saw three pickups and two cars pull in behind him. Mr. Hazelton, Mr. Gilpin, even Mr. Trombley.

“I might not be much help, but I’ll do what I can,” Mr. Trombley said. “After all you’ve done for us.”

“He’s got one arm, and I’ve got one leg,” Mr. Gilpin said. “Working together, we might just about be worth one person.”

“I don’t know how I’ll stand it,” Hannah said. “Sitting here while other folks are doing my work for me.”

“Think of it this way, Hannah,” Mr. Gilpin said. “You’ve
always done for others when they needed help. Let them return the favor.”

The men headed for the fields, and the women came inside.

“We miss you at the meetings, Blue,” Mrs. Fitch said.

“Yes, I hope you’ll be coming back,” Mrs. Potter said. “We’ve only got three weeks to get the anniversary quilt done.”

“And I’m no help at all with this broken wrist,” Hannah said. “But I’m pleased you’re here.”

I left the women quilting and joined the men in the fields.

Mr. Green hitched up the side-delivery rake and got busy raking while the other men pitched the hay onto the wagons.

Mr. Gilpin and I worked alongside each other with the bull rakes, raking up the stray scatterings of hay.

Huge, billowy summer clouds floated across a sky the color of the bachelor’s buttons in Hannah’s flower garden, swept along by a wonderful breeze that kept us cool. It would have been a perfect day if only Hannah were out working with us.

I knew the quilting ladies would be watching out for her, but even so, I kept glancing back at the house.

“I know, I worry about her, too,” Mr. Gilpin said. “But Dr. Hastings said she’ll be fine. Did you hear him tell Hannah she might want to retire?”

I nodded.

“She chased him out with a broom,” I told him.

Mr. Gilpin laughed.

“Doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Mr. Gilpin said. “He’s lucky she didn’t go after him with one of these pitchforks.” And as worried as I was, I had to laugh at the thought of Dr. Hastings running down the road with Hannah waving a pitchfork at him.

“Good to see you laughing,” Mr. Gilpin said. “I know you’ve been awfully worried about Hannah, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she outlives us all. She’s a remarkable woman.”

“Maybe someday you’ll write a book about her,” I said.

Mr. Gilpin raised his eyebrows.

“Maybe
you
will,” he said.

Me, write a book? I was sure the very thought would make Miss Paisley faint dead away.

Birds startled up out of the grass edging the field: red-winged blackbirds, meadowlarks, and Hannah’s favorite, bobolinks. She said they sounded like summer. To me, they sounded like someone plucking rubber bands.

“Bobolinks were always my mother’s favorite sound,” Mr. Gilpin said.

“What’s your favorite sound?” I asked.

“Spring peepers,” Mr. Gilpin said.

It surprised me to find out my favorite sound was Mr. Gilpin’s, too.

“Hannah’s is bagpipes,” I said. “Her grandpa played them.”

“Well, now, I like the sound of the pipes, too,” Mr. Gilpin said. “I’d like to learn how to play them.”