Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📕

No despair touches their sense of adventure. The crack of timber and trees lifted by the roots only brightened their ignorant eyes. They will dull with the reality of clean up and rebuilding.

And that leads me to my most concerning question. Does Uncle have the money to rebuild? I certainly do not.

I am weary. The long night spent with my back pressed against a dark, moist brick wall of a root cellar after such a day as yesterday has exhausted my spirit. Mr. Bleu still has father’s box. I am glad, for otherwise it might have ridden away on the wind.

I rescued my journal and inkstand. Packed my trunk, so thankful my room and its belongings are intact. I am to be relocated to Cedar Gate. Ernest plans to camp here in the root cellar. The rest of the family are off to the preacher’s home, for Hammond’s continued recovery. The old stone tavern in town, no doubt too expensive to house them. I can scarcely see how they will all fit within the cottage. I wonder why Helen and Kirsten were not invited to come with me.

Uncle has refused Mr. Bleu’s help, but I saw Ernest talking to him—shake hands. I know Mr. Bleu will do whatever he can, regardless. Maybe that’s the trouble. Who can tell?

All of the locals are here with lengths of oil cloth and wheel barrows to preserve what they can and haul off to a bon fire what they can’t. Apparently, our farm was the only place damaged, aside from a few small buildings.

I am bewildered. The wagon from Cedar Gate approached and drew me away from this place of destruction.

Philip and Chess rushed past me, wearing coveralls. “Hi-ho Miss Trafton!” Chess waved. “Quite a barn dance last night, huh? Brought down the walls. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Philip rolled his eyes. “The girl lost her home, dunce.”

“Look on the bright side. She’s staying with us!” He winked at me—right in front of his mother! The cheek.

Did they not realize I’d already lost my home months ago? Losing a second—I still can’t grasp it. Despair compounded.

A pair of horses that were hitched to another nearby wagon stamped their feet, ready to march. Philip gave her a polite bow. “We’ll do what we can to help out.” They climbed up and left with another wave.

“Thank you, both!” I shouted to them. More words lodged in my throat. Chess looked back, no longer grinning like it was a joke. Uncle should feel so loved by the outpouring of this community.

“Where are Helen and Kirsten?” Mrs. MacDonald looked up to my driver. “You’ll just have to turn around and fetch them.” She lifted a confident grin in my direction.

The driver shook his head. “Ain’t coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wanted to stay with their papa, I reckon. He’s bad off.”

“Oh no. Are his wounds life-threatening?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Didn’t see hide nor hair of ‘im.”

I hopped down from my perch. “Mrs. MacDonald, he’s had some sort of seizure or stroke, quite unexpectedly—several hours before the tornado hit.”

“How awful!” Concern rose in her eyes.

“Yes, it is.” I wanted to spew out how awful he’d really been. His anger-ridden words still clamped my heart.

“What on earth will you all do?” I knew what she was thinking. A destroyed farm, a sick farmer. Not the best start for the season. More like a doomed one, if you ask me. But there is Ernest, and Mr. Bleu...they will set things right.

Mrs. MacDonald shooed the wagon away with her hands. “Go back for them anyway, Joe. I’m sure the Meades don’t have enough room in that tiny parsonage.”

“I’ll get ‘er unloaded and see to it.” He climbed down and began lifting my trunks to the porch. I confess a little anxiety about my few worldly possessions left behind.

Helen and Kirsten had hugged me before I left, but I felt no affection. Aunt likely forced them. What has Uncle said? Someday, I hope I can talk to them about this. Perhaps this evening, if they can be convinced to leave Uncle’s side. I will put their minds at rest without giving away Mr. Bleu’s secret. They can trust me. For the first time, I knew I loved them not just for myself.

Mrs. MacDonald led me inside. A hot bath waited behind a screen in the loveliest room I’ve ever seen. A spicy floral scent swirled about me. I couldn’t wait to drop into the canopy bed, but I dare not write in my journal there. The pure white bedding deserved no ink drips.

Slipping into a hot tub of water is a normal, everyday occurrence. Not today. I wished Helen and Kirsten would join me in this abundant atmosphere. What fun we could have here in this unexpected blessing! And Helen would be near Chess and figure out her feelings for him. Perhaps she’d understand and move on.

I soaked in the warm water until it grew cool and donned a simple sprigged dress with an apron. I might be a guest here, but I knew better than to behave above my station. I plan to help as much as allowed.

Mrs. MacDonald did not refuse me! She did insist I take a cup of tea and a bowl of stewed chicken first. We spent the entire afternoon helping the cook fry doughnuts for the men working at my farm. We stacked piles of them into large newspaper lined baskets. We also brewed coffee in oversized kettles and sent the whole lot down the road.

When we’d finished, we sat in rocking chairs that lined the large back porch. The sun would set in a few hours, and the day’s work would continue come morning.

“How long will it take before we’ll be able to live there again?” I asked this aloud, not expecting Mrs. MacDonald to know.

“With everyone working, I’d say a good month.”

“I hope you know how grateful I am...”

“Posh. We orphaned girls stick together, remember?”

“Yes.”

“I think it’s wonderful that you are here. Providential, if you