Angels Make Their Hope Here Read Online Free PDF

Jan, Pet, and Ernst Wilhelm, seated for their morning repast at the Wilhelms’ kitchen table, turned in her direction. “Tell Hat to sen’ me some sour milk and bread ’cause I’m hungry!” Duncan called loudly, then sat. When Dossie bowed her head in automatic concession to his command, a small cloud of shame passed over him. Though perfect obedience was what was wanted and expected in a young female, Duncan did not like to see Dossie cringe. If anyone would ask, it is why he’d brought her here. He could not stomach what he’d seen of her treatment at the hands of the lowlanders.
    The boys, too, had learned to obey. Perfect obedience or suffer the punishment was what all of the People observed. Though, for Jan and Pet, it was not always clear whom to obey.
    “Petrus has work to do here, Duncan. I need him at the brewery. He cannot go today,” Ernst Wilhelm said and started the tug-of-war. The cousins exchanged a glance, then continued with their mush and bread and coffee. This argument would not be settled by them. “Petrus must stay here today.”
    “That big oaf there is worth two men, and I need him. We’re negotiating for a string of mules. Jan can’t handle them alone,” Duncan said.
    “My son ain’t no oaf, and he ain’t born to do your bidding!” They were bald faced in their scrapping about who should tell the boys what to do. But Wilhelm was the more exercised because his wife ceded authority for her son completely to her brother.
    “Calm down, Wilhelm. I ain’t stealing yer boy. I’m just borrying him. What say you, Hat?” Duncan asked, asserting his authority with his sister. The boys hung their heads and waited for the answer.
    “Let him go, Mr. Wilhelm. The three banded together is better,” Hat pronounced.
    “Squaw!” Wilhelm snarled at his wife. “You would side with Duncan against daylight. Your brother don’t own my son!”
    Petrus Wilhelm and his father frightened Dossie. It was not solely on account of the fuss and tussle that erupted when Duncan and Ernst Wilhelm spoke but because they were so pale. Neither of them was brown tinted by sun or circumstance. Petrus Wilhelm did not, at first sight, look anything at all like his mother. More’s the pity, Dossie thought, for she believed Miz Hat was the prettiest woman she had ever seen. Pet had his father’s lank brown hair and, though his body was modeled on his father’s, it was not yet as hard and fat. Pet had the same small sky-blue eyes, the identical long, bony nose, the sameblushing complexion as his father, and the similarity was often remarked upon. Though Mr. Wilhelm raised his voice in shouts, Duncan Smoot did not cower before him. And though Petrus Wilhelm was the image of his papa, he was obedient to his uncle.
    Pet wanted to rebuke his father for insulting his mother, but he did not. No boy in these hills rises against his father unless he is prepared to hurt him. This was Pet’s eternal turmoil, because he loved Papa, though he would defend his mother with his life. That, too, is the mountain boy’s code.
    “Papa,” Pet said, pushing back the empty bowl of mush. His youthful appetite satisfied, he was eager for riding and raiding and adventure with Duncan and Jan. They were a band.
    “I got to go and look after Jan. He’s soft and liable to get hurt,” Pet said and slapped playfully at Jan’s head. “It’s only a day gone. Me an’ Jan’ll work like beasts when we get back. Uncle needs an ox. That’s me.” He spoke in the self-deprecating tone of voice that always succeeded in extricating him from a fuss with Hat and Duncan and his papa, but pissed Jan.
    “Don’t let your uncle get you killed,” Ernst Wilhelm said. He rolled his eyes at Hat, though she had cast her eyes to her lap. “And take care of Jan. Your mama will be inconsolable if he gets hurt.”
    Duncan and the boys returned at suppertime. The band had cajoled three jacks and a jenny from the landing after driving a bargain with a boat