Prairie Storm Read Online Free PDF Page B

the sanctuary of the traveling show, had Lily ventured to sing aloud. Like a miracle, music had bubbled forth from her voice—arias, ballads, even meaningless jingles she had heard among her schoolmates. Beatrice had encouraged Lily to add singing and drama to the show, and as she performed, the young woman began to feel alive for the first time in her life.
    â€œI gave my love a cherry that had no stone,” she sang to the drowsy baby.
    â€œI gave my love a chicken that had no bone.
    I gave my love a ring that had no end.
    I gave my love a baby with no cryin’.”
    Then with Abigail, Lily finally had known true love. Oh, Abby! Her baby’s precious face formed in her memory. Deep blue eyes, downy golden hair, a sweet toothless smile. In the sea of misery, mistakes, and futility that Lily’s life had become, Abby had been the only ray of hope. Gazing into that angelic face, a lonely woman could forget her father’s rage-twisted features, her husband’s wandering eyes, even her own desperate race down a darkened path with no end.
    For the hundredth time, Lily’s mind rebelled at the idea that the child was dead. Her heart refused to believe she would never again kiss that petal-soft cheek. Even her body had refused to acknowledge that the child no longer needed nourishment. Swollen, aching, tender, Lily hugged the orphaned Samuel close as she continued singing.
    â€œA cherry when it’s blooming, it has no stone, A chicken when it’s pipping, it has no bone.
    A ring when it’s rolling, it has no end.
    A baby when it’s sleeping, there’s no cryin’.”
    â€œNo cryin’,” a rich voice echoed the final three notes. “Amen and amen.”
    A tiny female face with skin as dark and shriveled as a prune peered through an opening in the wagon’s canvas covering. Gasping in shock, Lily clutched the baby tightly. When the old woman’s bright brown eyes took in the sight of the nursing woman and contented child, a wide smile spread across her face.
    â€œMercy, mercy, mercy. Don’t this beat all?” A gnarled hand with clawlike fingers reached out and gave the baby a pat. “Howdy-do.”
    â€œHello,” Lily said warily. “Do I know you?”
    â€œNot yet, but you will. I’m Margaret Hanks. Folks round here call me Mother Margaret.”
    Lily stared in confusion. What business did this woman have snooping around in other people’s wagons? Samuel had almost dropped off to sleep, and Lily herself was exhausted.
    â€œExcuse me, ma’am,” she began, “but I’m—”
    â€œOh, I know you, sure enough. You’re the lady come to look after the baby. Folks is talkin’ about it all over town, and I come out to see you for myself. When I heard you in here singin’ like an angel, I knew God hisself done sent you. Mercy, mercy, mercy, child, and bless your heart.”
    Lily couldn’t hide her smile, though she couldn’t understand why her heart warmed so quickly to this odd little stranger. “I don’t mind,” she said softly. “I lost my own baby.”
    â€œI heard that, too. Child, I lost three of my fourteen, and my heart ain’t never healed from the pain of it. Listen to Mother Margaret, now; why don’t you and that baby come on over to our house and take supper with us? We got fried chicken and greens. Cherry cobbler, too. You eat with us, and then you stay the night in one of our beds. We’ll make you a place with us, yes ma’am, and may the Lord be praised for his almighty wisdom. Amen and amen.”

Chapter 3
    L ILY cradled the baby and willed herself to remain seated. Why did the old woman’s words inspire such a sense of assurance and calm? How could a stranger know what a hot meal and a warm bed would mean to a grief-stricken traveler? And what had propelled this Mother Margaret across the prairie in the darkness?
    â€œI know it