THE PATH TO A PROMISE CHAPTER 5

 

CHAPTER FIVE

Henry led Olive past the outhouse, beyond a grove of bare trees thick with dense sumac, brambles, and cedars. Their footsteps crackled and snapped through the leaf-strewn path as they circled and stopped at the woodshed, hidden from view.

“The wind isn’t quite so strong here,” he said, holding onto her hand. For days, he rehearsed what he wanted to tell her. Now standing before her, his senses fell away, leaving him like a helpless fool. This was the moment, and he had to make it count.

Olive stood still, breathing deeply as her heart fluttered from the escapade. Her rosy cheeks were plump and cold, and she held her hands behind her back. Her hair, pulled into two braids, fell over slim shoulders. A woolen cap covered the top of her head, and a jeweled pin held it in place. A long brown coat covered her dress, and cotton stockings plunged into sturdy black boots.

“I’ve missed you. Have you missed me?” The warmth of his smile echoed in his words as his eyebrows raised inquiringly.

They stood just inches apart, leaning against the side of the old shed. The building blocked the sunshine, and there, in the shade, the temperature was a tad cooler. Their breaths came out like little puffs. The wind picked up and shook the trees as if a reminder that their rendezvous was in jeopardy.

Smiling back at Henry, Olive’s shy voice lilted. “Yes…”

Henry chuckled and hugged her to his warm chest. They stood in the embrace for moments, both quiet. He pulled away and held her at arm’s length. “Olive, there’s something I want to say.” He stopped, looking into her perfectly round face with those large doe-brown eyes and shining cheeks.

She searched his handsome face. “What is it?”

He swallowed and opened his mouth, but no words came out. Ducking his head, he chuckled and slapped his knee with his gloved hand. “It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

Her brown eyes lit with curiosity as her brows raised high. “Henry, you better hurry 'cause if Mama and Papa miss me, they’ll have a hissy fit!”

He gathered a breath and pushed the words out at her. “I know how you feel about me, and I feel the same about you!” Once he said the words, a thrill shot clean through him, and he felt his face heat like it might burst into flames at that moment. Relief made his knees want to buckle, but he stood straight. “Pearl told me what happened with your folks. Lizzie didn’t mean to get us in trouble. But it's okay; I’d get in trouble for you anytime.” His words rushed out like a locomotive at full speed.

As quick as lightning strikes a tree, he bent his head, and their lips touched in a light kiss. Pulling her to him, he kissed her again and then squeezed her hard. He broke away, and his words tumbled out. “I want to marry you.”

All she could say when she opened her mouth was, “Oh.” Sucking in breath, she plunged her hands into her coat pockets

Henry cackled with laughter. “Is that all you have to say, Olive Johnson?” Dark eyes danced merrily with humor at the look on her innocent face. “You beat all I’ve ever seen!” He planted a sweet, warm kiss firmly on her forehead. "Will you marry me?"

"I don't know…" Olive answered. "I've been thinking about you a lot."

Leaning against the woodshed, Henry pushed his hat off his forehead and scratched his ear. “Then we need to start courtin'!”

But before she answered, Bud Johnson stepped into view. With a strained face and a strong voice, he questioned, “Daughter, what’s going on here?”

“Pa!” Olive’s voice rang with dread. Her slight body shook as she tried to steady herself and meet her father’s fiery eyes. Clutching the building, she swayed, and her belly rolled. She was going to retch right here in front of Henry! How much had her father heard? More than that, what had he seen? She had just jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. Pa might even get the hickory switch after her backside when they got home. Hot tears sprang to her eyes; she gulped back a string of explanations. She looked at Henry, who looked like he was confronting a grizzly bear.

Henry pushed out the words, “Mr. Johnson, we want to start courtin' with your blessing."

Bud’s cold gray eyes bore into the younger man. “I forbid it.” The statement was a snarl. His hands clenched into shaky fists.

Henry stood erect, looking at Bud. “We both like each other!"

Bud’s right eyebrow lifted in a face that looked like Carthage marble. “That right, Child?” He glanced at Olive.

Olive inched closer to her father. Her knees wobbled when she raised her chin. She willed herself not to cry and pushed the fear aside. This was her one moment when she could either make a mess of everything or try to reach her pa and make him see reason. No longer would she be a ninny.

“Henry’s telling you the truth.”

She watched Bud's left eye twitch and his shoulders sag. Hope fluttered in her chest. Relief swelled in her heart. What was he going to say?

Olive licked her cold lips and took hold of his arm. “I’m apologizing, Papa. I should have asked if I could talk with Henry instead of sneaking off.” Hot tears gathered in her eyes again, and she tried to blink them back. But it didn’t stop them. Instead, they rolled down her reddened cheeks, betraying her feelings. She stood like a soldier before her father, but her legs felt like Ma’s homemade egg noodles drying on the counter.

Henry extended his hand. “And I’m sincerely sorry. I never want to get Olive in trouble.”

Bud’s brow pushed higher, his face grew sterner, and he ignored the two standing before him. Children’s merry shouts and laughter echoed down the valley. Olive and Henry were antsy. His daughter trembled, probably from fright more than the chilly air. Looking at her and then to Henry, he sighed. “I’ll accept both your apologies.” He took Henry's hand in his and shook.

Henry smiled back, pumping his arm up and down in nervous abandonment. “Thank you, sir!”

“Thank you, Pa!” Happiness skittered across Olive’s cold face and bloomed through her brown eyes.

Bud announced, "Time to go.” Taking Olive by the arm, he took a step, but like a lightning strike, he turned to Henry and invited him to sit with them at church the following Sunday.

Henry's heartbeat like his father’s bass drum. “I’ll try to make it every Sunday, Mr. Johnson. I care about Olive, and she cares for me. I’m asking your permission to come courting next week.” He dared to glance at Olive. She looked like she’d swallowed her mother’s canary. With a heart full of courage, he continued, “May I drive her home today?”

Bud nodded his head, his long mustache bobbing. “That’ll be fine.”

Henry nodded with relief. “Thank you, sir.” He wanted to whoop, holler, and dance around the woodshed but held it back. Instead, he looked Bud square in the eye.

Bud harrumphed and scratched his hairy chin. “Don’t tarry, you hear?” He let go of his daughter’s arm and said to her, “Your mama and I will talk to you when you get to the house.” He turned and tromped through the brush back to the church.

***

Besides relenting and allowing Henry to court Olive, Bud and Nancy let Olive return to Lizzie’s farm, and Pearl went home. Once again, Olive and Lizzie were back together. Things had returned to the way they were before all the problems started. Clara Mae was happy to see her Aunt Olive and would not leave her alone, begging to be held or played with.

On the night of December 15, Brooming County received its first snowfall of the season. The evening began with gentle rain tapping against the windowpanes, but as the temperature dipped, the raindrops transformed into delicate snowflakes, drifting silently to the ground. By morning, a glistening coat of snow frosted the fences, trees, and fields, creating a world of shimmering white. The snow carried the promise of Christmas as folks hurried to finalize their holiday plans, their hearts warmed by the season's quiet beauty.

Olive stitched Christmas gifts for her family. A new Sunday vest for Ben, a red cape for Pearl, and an embroidered set of handkerchiefs for Lizzie and her mother. Amid her projects, she was quilting a warm lap throw for Henry. On one of the trips to Rocky Corners to Milligan’s Millinery, she found a child’s dress pattern in an old Godey’s Book. Taking Clara Mae's measurements, she drew a pattern on paper, fashioning it from memory. Using the material of a pink gingham day dress, she stitched a dress. Clara Mae would look like a pink angel.

Lizzie returned from gathering the eggs, stomping her work boots on the welcome mat by the door. She told Olive, “There’s more than a skiff of snow in places out there. I had to pull hard to get the chicken house door open.”

Hanging her hat and coat on the peg by the door, she went to the warm living room. She heard a noise in the kitchen and looked to see Clara Mae sitting in her highchair at the table, finishing scrambled eggs and a glass of milk.

Olive held up the pink cloud of a dress. “It’s almost done. What do you think?”

Lizzie clapped her hands. “Oh, it’s lovely! And she’ll look pretty, Sister! I wish I were out of this dreadful black widow’s suit! It’s boring. I want to wear colors again!” She placed Clara Mae on the floor. “Two years is a long time to wear something that makes you look like an old dirty sock!”

“You’ll be out of mourning soon, Lizzie." Olive’s curiosity got the best of her. “Do you still miss Dan?” She watched her sister's face change, and the brightness disappeared.

Lizzie nodded. “I miss him every day, especially at night when he doesn’t walk through that door. The pain of his death washes over me just as much as it did the first time Pa came to tell me he’d been shot.”

“I’m sorry,” Olive whispered. She should not have said anything about it.

“No, don’t be.” Lizzie sniffed, then drank from her water glass. “I’m getting better at dealing with it. I’m just learning how to face reality and move ahead. I have to. I have her to think about.” She lifted her daughter out of the chair and placed her on the red braided rug so she could play with a set of wooden alphabet blocks.

“Do you think you’ll ever marry again?”

Her sister’s eyes grew round at the question. “I’ve not thought about it.”

Olive smiled at her sister. “Let’s think about the Christmas tree festival in Rocky Corners.”

“Yes, we can take Clara Mae to see Santa Claus.” Lizzie’s face brightened as she finished her breakfast.

As the days grew shorter and the skies darkened earlier, the approach of Christmas Day filled the town with a mixture of anticipation and warmth. Everyone in Rocky Corners busied themselves with preparations for the holiday celebration. At the downtown crossroads near the old artesian well, the townsfolk erected a towering cedar tree, its fresh, piney scent mingling with the crisp winter air. The tree stood tall and proud, adorned with shimmering tinsel, popcorn strings, glittering tin stars, delicate wooden crèches, and small red bows.

Generosity overflowed as townspeople donated extra items from their shops—colorful ribbons, jars of preserves, and handmade trinkets. The women filled their kitchen with the savory aroma of roasting turkeys and hams, and the scent sweet treats made with cinnamon, cloves, and sugar wafted from ovens. The air buzzed with excitement, especially among the children, who eagerly awaited Santa Claus' arrival with his sled pulled by magical reindeer.

The community spirit extended into the evenings, as the town's churches hosted nightly gatherings, filling the air with hymns and Christmas carols. The sounds of David Winters' brass band echoed through the streets, their lively tunes adding a cheerful rhythm to the holiday festivities. The music accompanied every gathering, from the church socials to the lively holiday parties, binding the town together in a shared celebration of the season.

By the afternoon of December 23, a cold wind blew in from the west, and the temperatures plummeted with each hour. Looking out the window at the swaying trees, Olive thought it could easily snow again. Gray clouds gathered in a darkening sky—snow clouds. She noticed a flock of Canada geese moving south—another winter sign.

Olive watched as Lizzie hurried toward the house from the barn. A horse and rider moved toward her. Henry rode hard, slapping the reins against the horse’s flanks. He pulled up short and fell to the ground, talking to Lizzie. His words came out in puffs of icy chill. Olive watched Lizzie’s face turn from smiling to frowning. Covering her eyes with her hands, she shook her dark head. Henry took her by the shoulders, and they moved toward the house.

When Olive opened the door, it felt like her heart would fall from her chest. Something was wrong! The two came inside. Lizzie was shivering, crying repeatedly, “No, no, it can’t be!”

Henry was trying to calm her. Looking at Olive, his stormy, tear-filled eyes held hers momentarily before he spoke. “My brother died this morning.”