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Colleen would take some to town at the next market day. Pickled pigs’ feet were especially prized by the local German population.
    She heard the cow beller from the barn. Had her father not gone out to milk? She wiped her hands on her apron and went in search of him. Not in the bedroom, nor in his chair. “Pa?” No answer. Slipping her arms into her chores coat, she checked the springhouse. The bucket waited patiently, as did the egg basket. Muttering under her breath, she grabbed the two handles and headed for the barn.
    She found him sound asleep in the haymow. How long had he been here? When had she seen him last? She knew of but had ignored the flask she’d seen passed around as the day’s work had lengthened. As if the women were supposed to be dumb and blind as well as keeping on without even a cup of coffee.
    “Pa.” She pushed at him with the handle of the hand-carved pitchfork. While many farmers used the new iron forks, the threepronged one he’d carved who knew how many years ago still suited them. A ready excuse for not spending money they didn’t have on a newfangled fork.
    She prodded him again, less gently this time.
    He sputtered and opened his eyes, then rose up on his elbows, shaking his head. “What in—” Glaring at her, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can’t a man rest in peace after a day like we just been through?”
    “You’ll rest in peace all right. I thought you’d gone out to milk and do the chores so I could finish up with the hogs.”
    “Now, Colleen, you jist don’t know how weary a man can get, hefting those hogs, scrapin’ and cuttin’. Why, my back . . .”
    Colleen shook her head. “I just hope you were there until the end and didn’t leave your work for the others.” The humiliation of it made her face grow hot.
    “Held on to the last, I did.” He flopped back. “Jist give me a minute or two more, and I’ll…”
    Colleen forked hay down for the cow and climbed back down the ladder. “You can catch your death up there for all I care. I’m not coming back for you.” She milked the cow, threw oats to the chickens, and rubbed two dried ears of corn together so the hens had an extra treat of shelled corn. She’d noticed that when her father fed the hens, he just threw the corncobs on the floor for them to fight over.
    For supper she warmed up what was left of the baked beans and the stew, sliced herself a piece of bread, and instead of eating at the table, sank down into the rocking chair she’d pulled closer to the stove. She set her plate on the reservoir and sipped at her tea. While it was a good thing the temperature was dropping so that none of the meat spoiled, the warmth from the drink felt mighty good down in her belly.
    Should she go get her pa or let him sleep out in the barn? You could at least go throw a horse blanket over him. If he gets chilly enough, he’ll come inside . The argument in her head raged all through her meal. He wouldn’t freeze to death in the haymow. Knowing him, he’d burrow down into the hay without even waking. He’d done so before.
    “Oh, Ma, if only you were still here. Not that I’d want you to leave your heavenly home and return, but…” What can I do about my father? The let me floated through her mind again. Hmm .

CHAPTER FOUR

    Trains tore along at an unbelievable rate.
    Colleen felt as though she needed to hang on to the seat around every corner, and when they crossed a trestle with the river far below, she closed her eyes and covered her mouth to still the shriek she felt rising. The fastest she’d ever traveled was a slow gallop, and that wasn’t even halfway from town to home.
    “How you doing, ma’am?” The conductor stopped beside her, a gentle smile easily showing the carved commas that ridged his dark cheeks. Corkscrews of silver peeked from under the band of his hat.
    “I…ah…fine.” She knew her eyes were round as sugar cookies. “Really.” She sucked in a deep breath.