1886. Hattie Phelan, too sick to work in the factories, moves to live with her distant relatives in Iowa with Constance Daugherty, her fellow tenant from Chicago. Hattie, embittered at the death of her mother and leaving her father in Chicago, is an...
I was finally able to get out of bed, which meant I could visit Miss Rebecka. I decided to bring the basket this time so that Nancy could get a break after doing it for so long.
I laid a plaid towel in the basket, setting inside a jar of apricot preserves. Aunt Margarette made the best I had ever tasted. One of the only apricot preserves I had tasted, but it was still delicious. Apparently, these preserves were the ones that Aunt Margarette sold during the Harvest Fair, which I had missed during my feverish spell. Nancy grabbed five of the two dozen muffins that Aunt Margarette had made yesterday, wrapping them in another towel. I added one of the pot-holders I had made while on bed rest as well.
I looked at the mirror hanging on the other side of the pantry door and made sure all my hair pins were in place, taming any fly-aways I could. I put on my hat, grabbing the basket before heading out the door, a shawl wrapped around my shoulders.
It didn't take too long for me to reach the Rickman homestead by foot. The place seemed empty. I knocked on the door and it opened, revealing Kenneth. I kicked the mud off of my boots before following him inside.
"Where's David?" I whispered to Kenneth as he led me to the stairs.
"Asleep," Kenneth replied before glancing my way. "He is fine, though."
I was led into Mrs. Rickman's room where I found her lying on her bed with Wally at her side.
"We just wanted to drop this off for you," I said, setting it on Miss Rebecka's side table. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, I wanted to thank you," Miss Rebecka said, taking my hand. "You saved my little boy, and I never got to thank you."
"You are welcome," I smiled before looking at the older woman with worry. "How are you feeling?"
"I've been better. I'm more tired and can't shake the cold, thanks to the colder weather."
"I'll be praying for you," I replied, giving her hand a squeeze. "I must be getting back. I have a lot to catch up on at home."
"Wally, why don't you escort her home?" Miss Rebecka said, looking at her son with a smile. He looked at her strangely before standing up to walk us out.
"That's unnecessary, Miss Rebecka—" I started, but she waved it off.
"It'll do him good to get some fresh air." She laughed, shooing us out.
On the walk back, we were silent. He noticeably made his pace fit mine since I was not up to my usual speed, which I was grateful for. It wasn't until we were almost at our property line when I started talking to him.
"How are you actually doing, Wally?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"Not good."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I am just afraid of what the future holds."
"I'm sorry."
"Can you stop saying 'sorry,' please?" Wally asked, turning to me. "You keep saying you're sorry for me, and that's not helping me at all. I'm faced with a huge responsibility I'm not meant to bear and all you say is 'sorry' to me!"
"What do you want me to say, Wally?" I asked, stopping in my tracks in front of our driveway. "I know if I tell you what I know to be true, you won't accept it, and now you don't want me to empathize with you. Do you just want me to say 'throw away your life and run off just like Nathan did'? No! That'd be stupid of me."
"But—"
"'But' nothing!" I interrupted. "Do you realize that Jesus carried a responsibility that wasn't His to carry, yet He did anyway for the greater good? You have an opportunity to serve your family and in doing so, serve the Lord, and yet you whine and pout about it!"
"What happened to you?" Wally asked, bitterness evident in his voice.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, defenses going up inside of me.
"Nothing." He shook his head. "You're just different."
"Is that a good or a bad thing?" My heart dropped, stomach churning with anger.
"I'm not sure yet," he stated curtly before walking off.
My breathing grew irregular as I felt my blood boil. I took a deep breath before calming myself down.
'What happened to you?' didn't seem like a phrase that hurt, but it cut me deep. I felt I had changed for the good but his tone was so negative.
I should ask the same to you, Wally, I thought bitterly. What happened to you? The calm, funny, and godly Wally was gone now. What had happened to him? Something deep down told me that those good parts of him left with his da. And it scared me to think that Wally was heading down the path I once was on.
It seemed our roles had switched. I knew what he was going through and I knew I had to try to help him. Even if it meant him pushing me away. He had helped me by planting seeds in my life, so it was my turn to help him. If he'd let me.
What happened to you, Walter Rickman? I thought, watching his retreating figure hunch over as he trudged down the road. I know firsthand the pains and trials of that road. Lord, help him not to be bitter towards You. He needs You more than ever now.
Whatever happened to the Wally I knew?
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