That evening, Angel started Mark’s reading lessons. She had infinite patience, and worked with him for at least an hour. She had various methods to help children learn to read from when she had tutored. Simple things, like holding a piece of plain paper under the line Mark struggled with, helped a lot. She made a list of words Mark had trouble remembering. She had him say the words from the paper before they began their reading lesson. Then, when he grew too tired, she closed the book and the boys ran upstairs and jumped on their beds, waiting for her to read another chapter in their book. They’d finished The Swiss Family Robinson, and were now on Westward Ho!
Nate wandered to the boys’ room during story time, leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets. She grinned when he appeared again. He probably enjoyed it as much as the boys did. Angel took a moment to observe her family as they settled in for story time. Four clean, shining faces, eager for her to start. Julia-Rose had crawled into her lap, her fingers finding their way to her mouth. She smoothed the blond curls from the baby’s forehead, and with a contented sigh, picked up the book.
Chapter 11
“What is it?” Matt asked.
Angel and the four boys stood in the kitchen, staring at a round, brown disk sitting in the middle of the table.
“Well, it’s a cake.” She cleared her throat and frowned.
“Cakes are supposed to be fluffier.” Luke held his hands out, demonstrating.
She peered closer. “I must have left something out.”
John patted her on the arm, his face solemn. “Maybe it will look better when you put the frosting on it.”
Angel grimaced. “I already did.”
Nate entered the kitchen, carrying Julia-Rose, dressed in a red, white and blue dress Mrs. Darby had made. A bright red bow held back her blond curls. The little girl reached for Angel. “Mama.”
She took her from his arms and gave her a big kiss on her chubby cheek. The baby giggled.
“Are we all ready for the fourth of July parade, picnic and dance?” Nate rested his arm on Angel’s shoulders and stared at the table. “What’s that?”
“What do you mean?” she said, drawing herself up. “It’s a cake.”
“She must have left something out,” Luke offered, nodding.
“I’ll say.” Nate grinned. He glanced at Angel. Tears swam in her eyes, and his smile faltered. “Maybe if you put frosting . . .”
Four small heads slowly shook a warning.
“What’ll I do?” She turned to him, one tear sliding down her cheek. “Every family is supposed to contribute a dish or dessert. I can’t bring this cake.”
Nate used his thumb to wipe away the tear. “It’s okay, honey, we’ll think of something.”
“I know.” Mark shouted. “There’s a really big jar of pickles Mrs. Darby gave us. In the pantry. We could bring that.”
“Yes.” Nate smiled his son. “Go fetch it, and let’s get going.”
Angel juggled Julia-Rose in one arm as she grabbed the blanket she’d readied for the picnic. A jar of pickles somehow didn’t seem a proper contribution, but certainly better than the disaster of a cake, so she shrugged and headed for the wagon.
The boys raced out of the house, and jumped in the back in a jumble of arms and legs and laughter. She settled with the baby on the front seat, took the jar of pickles Nate handed her, and placed it snugly on the floor between her feet.
She inhaled a refreshing breath. Bright sunlight trickled through the trees, casting webbed designs on the deep green grass as they rode by. A soft breeze lifted the tendrils that had escaped her bonnet, waving them around like a multitude of flags. She pointed to the puffy clouds, challenging the boys to find pictures in them.
Occasionally, a cloud would block the sun, easing the heat. The soft hum of honeybees, mixed with the chirping of birds as they sought nourishment for their young, created a symphony of nature’s music.
Oregon was certainly a beautiful place. After the first few weeks, she’d missed New York less and less. The air here seemed cleaner and crisper, and the only odors were the fresh ones of animals, vegetation, and earth.
Palpable excitement crackled in the air as the wagon rumbled closer to town. Oregon had only been a state for two years, so celebrating Independence Day was still new. Red, white and blue flags had been hung around town, creating a festive air.
Although The War Between the States tore the country apart, the fighting took place so far away, its effects hadn’t touched most of the townspeople. Some residents had family members who fought in the war, and checked the newspaper every day to receive battle information as soon as it became available. But for the rest of the town, it seemed almost a foreign conflict.
Angel’s thoughts drifted to Sylvia in Virginia. She kept up with the war news herself whenever in town. Although she’d expected to receive a letter from her stepmother by now, so far she hadn’t heard a thing.
She would be lying to herself if she pretended she didn’t care about Sylvia’s safety. No matter what she had done, Sylvia was still her stepmother, and this silence concerned her.