A Promise to Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

clothing that seemed to wear out on an almost hourly basis.
    His list of responsibilities was overwhelming. It was impossible to even contemplate bringing little Bertie home because Joshua was seriously afraid the infant wouldn’t survive in this household right now. His chest ached with missing his young son, and he felt like giving up—but real men didn’t give up. Men soldiered on. Always.
    The children were half-asleep now, jostled by the rolling motion of the wagon. Ellie and Trudy had given up their fight and leaned against each other, their eyes closed. Agnes’s head lolled against her chest. Polly was curled up asleep in a nest of hay he had thrown in to cushion their trip.
    He brought his mind back to what he would feed all of them when they got home. Cornmeal mush and warmed-over soup beans were the best he could come up with. They had been having a lot of that lately.
    It almost made the rations he had eaten in the war look tasty.

    â€œI don’t need no hired gal.” The old woman’s face lit up when Ingrid knocked on her door with her battered valise in hand. “But you’re as welcome as rain to stay here with me awhile if you’ve a mind to.”
    Ingrid had met Hazel Smith when the older lady had come calling on Millicent. Hazel was nearing seventy and lived alone on the outskirts of the village with a dog that looked like it had more wolf in it than dog. At the moment, the wolf-dog was quietly positioning itself between her and Hazel. Its behavior was not yet threatening, but Ingrid could tell it was giving the situation careful thought.
    Millicent had told her that Hazel had moved here with her trapper husband long before White Rock had become a village. The old woman had unkempt gray hair and wore men’s britches, a belted calico shirt, and an old battered hat. She grew her own garden, shot her own meat, and ate fish that she caught and cleaned.
    Millicent, needless to say, did not approve of Hazel, her life, or her choice of apparel. The feeling appeared to be mutual.
    Hazel had dropped by the Bowerses’ home only once while Ingrid was there. She had ended up quarreling, quite heatedly, with Millicent over the war. Ingrid discovered later that the only reason Hazel had stopped by at all was to see the young immigrant girl who had answered the advertisement George had placed in a Detroit newspaper. There wasn’t a lot happening in White Rock, and for a few days the news of her arrival had apparently been the town’s primary source of gossip.
    For a short time, Millicent had enjoyed the attention Ingrid brought. It made her the first woman in White Rock to employ a “servant,” which is what she insisted on calling her. Ingrid preferred the term “hired girl,” which was what the other townsfolk called her—to Millicent’s annoyance.
    â€œIf that woman ever gets on your nerves,” Hazel whispered as Ingrid walked her to the door after her one memorable visit, “you just come on over and stay with me till you figure out what you want to do.”
    It seemed an odd thing for the old woman to say, but Ingrid had tucked it away in her mind just in case.
    â€œI have no place to sleep,” Ingrid said. “Millicent tell me . . . get out.”
    â€œI figured that might happen,” Hazel said. “What did you do to upset her?”
    â€œI broke tea set.”
    â€œThat fancy china teapot all the way from England?” Hazel whooped with laughter. “I bet that was one furious Southern belle you had on your hands.”
    â€œIt was accident.”
    â€œWell, of course it was an accident. A girl like you don’t go around smashing good china on purpose. How did you get those welts on your face?”
    â€œShe whip me.”
    Hazel’s laughter stilled and her eyes narrowed. “She what?”
    â€œShe hit me with whip.”
    â€œWell, I’ll be.” Hazel’s mouth formed a