Hidden Places Read Online Free PDF Page B

there.
    ‘‘Are you all right, Luke?’’
    ‘‘He f-fell.’’
    ‘‘I know. It wasn’t your fault. He’s much too weak to be out of bed in the first place.’’
    ‘‘He asked me.’’
    ‘‘And it was nice of you to help him, Luke. But you have no business being out here without a hat or mittens. Go back inside now, before you catch your death. I’ll help him.’’
    I watched Luke plod back to the house, following his own trail of footprints. A few minutes later, the privy door creaked open. Mr. Harper leaned against the door frame, bundled in Grandpa Wyatt’s old coat. My anger boiled over.
    ‘‘What do you think you’re doing running around outside? We have indoor plumbing upstairs, you know. You trying to kill yourself, mister?’’
    ‘‘I needed—’’
    ‘‘If you couldn’t manage the stairs, you could have found what you needed under the bed.’’
    ‘‘I have no right to ask that of you, ma’am. I’m a stranger to you. I don’t have a dime to my name and no way to repay you for what you’ve already done.’’ His voice was soft, his face very pale. His teeth chattered in spite of the heavy wool coat he wore. He looked so pitiful I quickly swallowed all the harsh words I wanted to shout at him.
    ‘‘You need to get back inside. Put your arm around my neck and I’ll help you.’’
    ‘‘Thanks. I’m feeling...a little...dizzy.’’ He closed his eyes and slowly slid toward the ground, leaning against the doorframe. ‘‘I’m...sorry...’’ he mumbled.
    ‘‘Stay put. I’ll get the boys to fetch the sled.’’
    It seemed to take forever to load him onto the sled again and haul him the short distance to the house; longer still to wrestle him up the porch steps, through the kitchen, and back into bed. All the while, my anger kept swelling inside me like yeast in a batch of dough. I didn’t know why, exactly. I wasn’t angry at Gabriel Harper—he hadn’t done any harm to me or my kids, only to himself. Why, then, did I feel like throwing things or breaking something? I would have worked out my rage on the woodpile if Mr. Harper hadn’t chopped so much wood already.
    Instead, I fixed fried potatoes and scrambled eggs for breakfast, then bundled the kids up once they had eaten and sent them outside to play in the snow, since the storm had finally stopped. I wanted to tend to the stranger’s leg by myself. While I waited for the water to get hot for a fresh compress, I did something I hadn’t done since my husband died—I prayed. Except you couldn’t really call it a prayer, I don’t think, since most of it was just me yelling at God inside my head.
    I had asked for an angel, I told Him, and instead He sent me a dying man! Couldn’t He see how upset my kids were by all this dying? It was bad enough that God had taken my husband from me—although I admit I probably deserved to be punished for all the lying I’d done. But what on earth had Jimmy and Luke and Becky Jean ever done to deserve losing their daddy? Or their grandfather? Didn’t God care that Jimmy had to do a man’s share of the work now, or that little Luke barely said two words anymore, or that Becky didn’t eat enough to keep a sparrow alive? Maybe I deserved to be punished, but my three children sure didn’t. This farm was their home, and how in heaven’s name did God expect me to keep it running until they were old enough to run it themselves if He didn’t send me any help?
    ‘‘And speaking of help,’’ I told God, muttering the words out loud, ‘‘you’d better make up your mind to help that poor, raggedy man laid up in that bedroom because I won’t have him dying on us! I won’t stand for it, I tell you! I’m all through begging and pleading for things because you don’t seem to hear me when I ask nice. You’ve got to make him better, you hear? And if he’s your idea of an angel, then you’d better send somebody else, mighty quick!’’
    I’d been making quite a racket, slamming