Love Inspired November 2013 #2 Read Online Free PDF

behind that innocent child’s face and those big, bright eyes, eyes so much like his. But there the similarity ended, as he had been a thoughtful boy, cautious and logical. And he had never dared to throw the tantrums Amelia did when things didn’t go her way.
    Caleb reached the bottom of the stairs and strode into the kitchen, where—as he’d suspected—he found Amelia, Fritzy and trouble. Amelia was helping out in the kitchen again.
    â€œVas ist das?” he demanded, taking in the ruins of what had been a fairly neat kitchen when he’d gone to bed last night.
    â€œStaunen erregen!” Amelia proclaimed. “To surprise you, Dat.”
    Pancakes or biscuits, Caleb wasn’t certain what his daughter had been making. Whatever it was had taken a lot of flour. And milk. And eggs. And honey. A puddle of honey on the table had run over the edge and was dripping into a pile of flour on the floor. Two broken eggs lay on the tiles beside the refrigerator.
    â€œYou don’t cook without me!”
    Fritzy’s ears pricked up as he caught sight of the eggs. That’s when Caleb realized the dog had been gulping down a plate of leftover ham from Saturday’s midday meal that the neighborhood women had provided. He’d intended to make sandwiches with the ham for his lunch.
    â€œStay!” Caleb ordered the dog as he grabbed a dishcloth and scooped up the eggs and shells.
    â€œI didn’t cook,” Amelia protested. “I was waiting for you to start the stove.” Her lower lip trembled. “But...but my pancakes spilled.”
    They had apparently spilled all over Amelia. Her hands, face and hair were smeared with white, sticky goo.
    Then Caleb spotted his boot on the floor in front of the sink...filled with water. He picked up his boot in disbelief and tipped it over the sink, watching the water go down the drain.
    â€œFor Fritzy!” she exclaimed. “He was thirsty and the bowls was dirty.”
    They were dirty, all right. Every dish he owned had apparently been needed to produce the floury glue she was calling pancakes. “And where are my socken? ” he demanded, certain now that Amelia’s mischief hadn’t ended with his soggy boot. He could see the wicker basket was overturned. There were towels on the floor and at least one small dress, but not a sock in sight.
    â€œCrows,” Amelia answered. “In our corn. I chased them.”
    Her muddy nightshirt and dirty bare feet showed that she’d been outside already. In the rain.
    â€œYou went outside without me?”
    Amelia stared at the floor. One untidy pigtail seemed coated in a floury crust. “To chase the crows. Out of the corn.”
    â€œBut what has that to do with my socks?”
    â€œI threw them at the crows, Dat.”
    â€œYou took my socken outside and threw them into the cornfield?”
    â€œ Ne, Dat.” She shook her head so hard that the solid cone of flour paste on her head showered flour onto her shoulders. “From upstairs. From my bedroom window. I threw the sock balls at the crows there.”
    â€œAnd then you went outside?”
    â€œYa.” She nodded. “The sock balls didn’t scare ’em away, so Fritzy and me chased ’em with a stick.”
    â€œWhat possessed you to make our clean socks into balls in the first place? And to throw them out the window?” Caleb shook his finger at her for emphasis but knew as he uttered the words what she would say.
    â€œYou did, Dat. You showed me how.”
    He sighed. And so he had. Sometimes when he and Amelia were alone on a rainy or snowy day and bored, he’d roll their clean socks into balls and they’d chase each other through the house, lobbing socken at each other. But it had never occurred to him that she would throw the socks out the window. “Upstairs! To your room,” he said in his sternest father’s voice. He could go without his noonday meal