An Amish Christmas Promise. Jo Ann Brown

Чтение книги онлайн.

      She was a total mess.

      But so was everyone else in Evergreen Corners.

      Carolyn laughed as she thought of how Gladys Whittaker, their mayor, never used to appear in public without every hair in place. Since the flood, mud on her face seemed to be the mayor’s favorite fashion accessory. Elton Hershey had had stains on his pants when he gave the sermon on Sunday. Nobody had complained about their kindhearted pastor, because everyone was fighting to get rid of mud from their clothing, too.

      She squatted by the brook that had changed course. There was talk that the water would be forced back into its proper channel, but it was a low priority while people needed places to live.

      Washing mud off her hands, Carolyn winced as her back reminded her of the hard work she’d done. She’d joined five others cleaning out a house that had been inundated. Once they’d gotten the mud off the floors, they spent hours removing soaked drywall before mold could grow inside the walls. She’d carried the heavy pieces of wet plaster to a pile in the yard while someone else had sprayed the two-by-fours with a mold killer.

      Her hands ached as well as her elbows, shoulders and back. It’d be quicker to count the muscles that didn’t hurt. Taking care of two children and raising chickens and baking hadn’t prepared her for such physical work.

      Hearing the flap-flap sound of a helicopter, Carolyn glanced up. It was rising from the football field behind the school. She wondered what had been delivered. She hoped fresh milk. The children were complaining about the taste of powdered milk. There were a half-dozen dairy farms on the other side of the ridge, but no way to get to them. Too many roads and bridges had been destroyed, and what would have been a ten minute drive before the flood now took hours.

      She stood, holding her hands against her lower back to silence the protest from her muscles. When she saw four chickens pecking at the ground, she smiled. Mr. Aiken had told them to feel free to use whatever they found in the barn. She’d seen a bucket of corn by one stall. A couple of handfuls might draw the chickens back. That would ease the children’s distress.

      What Kevin and Rose Anne needed was a home. Their house hadn’t been big, and most of the ancient mechanicals had needed attention she didn’t know how to give. She and the children had become accustomed to faucets dripping. She’d locked off the back bedroom, fearful Kevin and Rose Anne would tumble through weak boards into the cellar. Now, the cellar hole was the sole remnant of the comfortable old house.

      Seeing some broken boards heaped against stones at the brook’s edge, Carolyn went to pull them out of the water, one by one. If nobody else claimed them, she could use them to build a new chicken coop.

      “For all I know, Father,” she said as she dropped another board on top of the two she’d pulled out, “these are what’s left of my old coop. But I want them to go to whoever needs them most.”

      A shadow slipped over her, and Carolyn looked skyward. Was it going to rain again? Panic gripped her throat, threatening to keep her from drawing another breath.

      “Would you like some help?” came a deep voice.

      She turned. Michael’s light-blue shirt and black suspenders weren’t as filthy as her dress and apron were, and she guessed he’d come from the volunteers’ orientation class. The sessions were simple, but outlined who was in charge of what and when someone should seek help before making a decision. They had ended the chaos of the first two days after the flood.

      “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

      “You didn’t.”

      “Something is upsetting you. I’ve seen more color in fresh snow than on your face.”

      She let her sore shoulders relax. “Okay, you did scare me. I was deep in my thoughts.”

      “This is all that’s left?” He looked down into the cellar hole. “There’s nothing but mud.”

      “Everything washed away. The furnace, the water heater and the jars of fruits and vegetables I put up in August. I haven’t told the children yet. I know they aren’t going to be happy with grocery store canned vegetables.”

      He wrinkled his nose. “Sometimes it seems you can’t tell СКАЧАТЬ