Coldwater Revival: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

still eat it,” Papa said. He laughed and tucked a box beneath each arm, banking his head, grazing Mama’s cheek with his lips. I supposed the boxes curtailed further smooching, for he turned and walked to the hallway, speaking over his shoulder. “It’s for sure the boys and I won’t miss having to fill the wood box for a while.”
    After stocking the kitchen and cellar, Mama and The Ollys unpacked our belongings, hanging clothes in real closets, not on hooks. They made beds, stored linens, and dusted furniture Papa and the boys had situated about the house.
    While Papa worked in the barn, sorting implements and storing saddles, harnesses, and feed, Elo secured Old Jack and Lily in the corral and released our milk cow, Rumple, and her calf, Itsy Bitsy, to the pasture. Nathan and I made sandwiches and poured glasses of milk for everyone.
    “Caleb and Micah! Quit flipping those light switches,” I scolded. “You’re going to wear them out.” I hated fussing at the boys about something I would love to be doing, the wonders of electricity being truly fascinating.
    On-off, off-on, the light switches traveled. Screwing my face into what I hoped was a feral glare, I marched to the twins and perched my head inches from their bright eyes. “I told you not to turn the lights on and off. Papa’s gonna get you good.”
    The twins peered into the depths of my eyes, Caleb gauging the gravity of my warning. He glanced at Micah and passed him a silent message, then outdoors they scampered, seeking a new road of mischief to travel.
    Though I knew of the existence of the mysterious, mute language the twins shared, I had not yet glimpsed its interpretation. Inaudible signals coursed the air, linking the twins’ eyes in a sharing of thoughts. This uncanny communication, almost mystical in nature, kept me hopping all the time.
    I sank to the window seat in the bay area of the kitchen, restlessness spurring my heart until I spied my brothers dangling from a tire swing in the front yard. Emma Grace, I warned myself, you can’t let them out of your sight for a minute.

    A feeling of estrangement crept across the first evening in our new home. In place of soft lantern glow, overhead fixtures reflected brightness off paperless walls, revealing the plight of our condition. “Worthwhile weariness,” Mama had called it. Having brought order to our domicile in a single day, we were too dog-tired to prepare a hearty supper. We filled our stomachs with cold potato soup, cold cuts, and cold biscuits. Afterward, we gathered in the fancy parlor, our furniture appearing rough-hewn when compared to the polished floor and high-beamed ceiling. I feared to blink an eyelash, lest the magical scene disappear before my eyes and I awaken in my bed at home.
    “What’re you ladies sewing on?” Papa asked. “Making some fancy pillowcases for Widow Lindstrom?” He stilled his hands on the whittling stick and set a gaze on Mama and The Ollys. Had not a mischievous grin twitched his sandy-gray mustache, one might have trusted his sincerity.
    “Now, Roan …” Mama began.
    “I heard she’s having an awful time of it. Down to threadbare sheets—linens you could poke your fingers through.”
    “And from whom, exactly , did you hear that?”
    “Well … I’m thinking it was Henry Lee. Yep, her nephew Henry Lee told me how bad off she was. Poor thing can’t tell a doorknob from a cucumber. Take care when you hand over all that fine stitchery. The excitement might up and kill her.”
    Being well acquainted with Papa’s teasing, The Ollys spewed batches of giggles at his outrageousness.
    “Don’t pay him a bit of mind, girls. He knows quite well what we’re working on—and why .”
    Seems the ladies in our household were intent on stocking Holly Heleen’s hope chest, but Papa wasn’t about to let them work without a little grievance. Mama penciled trailing designs on a flour sack, her flair for curlicues and wispy vines taking shape before our