them,” I answered Marigold. “But I’d be happy to cook them if you wish.”
“That’d be wonderful, dear,” she said quickly. “It’ll give me a chance to help the little baker here finish cutting the last few biscuits. Josiah likes three hard fried when he can get them and I’ll take one scrambled.” She turned happily to Ellie. “You’re doing a great job, sweetie.”
Eliza smiled as Marigold helped her fill a second tray of biscuits for the oven. But I noticed Josiah’s frown and got the sinking feeling that he was very unhappy with our presence.
“I can cook my own eggs,” he said.
“Nonsense,” Marigold told him. “I want you to read to me, same as usual.”
I wasn’t sure what to think as he moved to the table in silence and picked up a leather-bound book from a small shelf in the corner that I hadn’t even noticed before. Obviously, he respected his aunt enough to do what she asked even when he didn’t like it.
“Chapter 139,” Marigold prompted.
I didn’t know what to expect as he turned pages and began to read, but it was a psalm, from the Bible. I recognized it immediately, though I couldn’t remember when or where I’d heard it before.
“O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off.”
Did Mr. Walsh appreciate the Scripture as much as his aunt did, or was he simply being nice? It was impossible to tell, but I wished he would refuse her request, or at least stop after the first verse or two. Marigold had set a skillet and grease beside the stove for the eggs, but it was frightfully hard to concentrate with the Word of God going on in the background.
“Thou compasseth my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways.”
I tried to busy myself and pay no attention. He wasn’t reading to me, and the words had no bearing on my situation. Why bother with them?
“There is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether. Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.”
Marigold’s wonderful gas stove lit with ease. Noisily, I fumbled in a drawer for the utensils I needed and melted a dab of grease in the pan. Mr. Walsh wanted three eggs, hard fried. Just what John had always requested. Must be a family thing. I reached for the egg basket as he read on.
“Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it. Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence?”
The words stopped me cold. An egg slipped from my hand, I don’t know how. But before I could catch it, the thing cracked against the corner of the stove and slid to the floor with a squishy plop.
Josiah stopped reading and looked up at me. Wonderful. I certainly was not making a very good impression. Staring down at the egg on Marigold’s hard wood floor, my eyes filled with tears. This was so stupid. It was absolutely the worst moment to draw attention to myself. I hadn’t been trying to flee God’s presence. I’d only wanted a roof over our heads. And now – now here we were in this strange house in Illinois with perfect strangers. And I was acting like an absolute ninny in front of them, to be so clumsy and so . . . so emotional.
Marigold hurried toward me with a cleaning rag. “Don’t you worry about it, now, dearie,” she admonished quickly. “One egg is no big thing. Nobody here’s starvin’.”
Glancing over at my daughter, I could see the hint of anxiety in her eyes. Had she wondered if Aunt Marigold might get mad at my carelessness? Or even ask us to leave? Such an outcome would be devastating.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to say, maybe as much to Eliza as to anyone else.
“Like I said, it’s no big thing,” Marigold repeated. “We’ve got plenty more this morning.”
True enough. But that started me wondering. Did they have other mornings when they did without? Josiah had said a neighbor sent the
“That’d be wonderful, dear,” she said quickly. “It’ll give me a chance to help the little baker here finish cutting the last few biscuits. Josiah likes three hard fried when he can get them and I’ll take one scrambled.” She turned happily to Ellie. “You’re doing a great job, sweetie.”
Eliza smiled as Marigold helped her fill a second tray of biscuits for the oven. But I noticed Josiah’s frown and got the sinking feeling that he was very unhappy with our presence.
“I can cook my own eggs,” he said.
“Nonsense,” Marigold told him. “I want you to read to me, same as usual.”
I wasn’t sure what to think as he moved to the table in silence and picked up a leather-bound book from a small shelf in the corner that I hadn’t even noticed before. Obviously, he respected his aunt enough to do what she asked even when he didn’t like it.
“Chapter 139,” Marigold prompted.
I didn’t know what to expect as he turned pages and began to read, but it was a psalm, from the Bible. I recognized it immediately, though I couldn’t remember when or where I’d heard it before.
“O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off.”
Did Mr. Walsh appreciate the Scripture as much as his aunt did, or was he simply being nice? It was impossible to tell, but I wished he would refuse her request, or at least stop after the first verse or two. Marigold had set a skillet and grease beside the stove for the eggs, but it was frightfully hard to concentrate with the Word of God going on in the background.
“Thou compasseth my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways.”
I tried to busy myself and pay no attention. He wasn’t reading to me, and the words had no bearing on my situation. Why bother with them?
“There is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether. Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.”
Marigold’s wonderful gas stove lit with ease. Noisily, I fumbled in a drawer for the utensils I needed and melted a dab of grease in the pan. Mr. Walsh wanted three eggs, hard fried. Just what John had always requested. Must be a family thing. I reached for the egg basket as he read on.
“Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it. Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence?”
The words stopped me cold. An egg slipped from my hand, I don’t know how. But before I could catch it, the thing cracked against the corner of the stove and slid to the floor with a squishy plop.
Josiah stopped reading and looked up at me. Wonderful. I certainly was not making a very good impression. Staring down at the egg on Marigold’s hard wood floor, my eyes filled with tears. This was so stupid. It was absolutely the worst moment to draw attention to myself. I hadn’t been trying to flee God’s presence. I’d only wanted a roof over our heads. And now – now here we were in this strange house in Illinois with perfect strangers. And I was acting like an absolute ninny in front of them, to be so clumsy and so . . . so emotional.
Marigold hurried toward me with a cleaning rag. “Don’t you worry about it, now, dearie,” she admonished quickly. “One egg is no big thing. Nobody here’s starvin’.”
Glancing over at my daughter, I could see the hint of anxiety in her eyes. Had she wondered if Aunt Marigold might get mad at my carelessness? Or even ask us to leave? Such an outcome would be devastating.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to say, maybe as much to Eliza as to anyone else.
“Like I said, it’s no big thing,” Marigold repeated. “We’ve got plenty more this morning.”
True enough. But that started me wondering. Did they have other mornings when they did without? Josiah had said a neighbor sent the
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