The Cowboy Father. Linda Ford

She climbed behind the wheel of their old, unreliable automobile and turned toward home. She admired Emmet’s devotion to his child. It reminded her of the love her father had lavished on her and her sisters. Louisa smiled as fond memories of her father filled her thoughts. Ellie was a fortunate child to know such love.

       Not until she reached the turnoff did she remember that the fortunate child was also a defiant, uncooperative child. Tension grabbed the muscles of her shoulders and loosened tears. She let the car coast as she struggled to gain control.

       Blinking back the moisture in her eyes, she looked at her home. Father had dreamed of operating a farm, growing crops and raising cows. But after he died and the Depression hit, the family had been forced to make sacrifices. They’d let most of the land go to the bank in exchange for the house, the outbuildings and a few acres. The Morgan family didn’t have much—their home, a barn, a cow, a calf and a reluctant garden—but it was so much more than many had. Over and over Louisa had observed families—beaten and broke—load their meager possessions to the sides and roof of their vehicle and drive away. Many couldn’t afford the gas for driving and left with bundles on their backs. She knew just how blessed she, her mother and her sisters were. Thank you, God, for allowing us to keep our home and stay together. Her illnesses brought further tightening of purse strings that were already pulled about as taut as they could go.

       “I prayed for a job so I could help pay the bills. Lord, You provided one when there were none available. I am not going to accept defeat or complain that it’s hard.” She sent the car toward home at a faster pace.

       Mother watched her approach from the window and came to the door as she stepped from the car. “You look exhausted. Come in and rest.” She twisted her apron in worried hands. “I’m afraid you will make yourself sick again.”

       Louisa hugged her mother. “I’m fine. I have no intention of making myself sick. You can count on that.” Never again, if she had anything to say or do about it. She wouldn’t jeopardize her health. It was far too precious.

       “How did your first day go?”

       She longed to share her frustration with her mother, but she knew it would only worry her. “About as expected. We’re learning to adjust to each other.”

       Sally stood in the kitchen doorway, her eyes watchful. Sally didn’t say much, but she saw a lot. Louisa could duck her head and avoid her sister’s keen gaze, or she could face her and let her try to guess what lay behind her words. She knew the latter was the easiest way to deal with Sally, so she smiled at her. “How was your day?”

       “I’ve been busy. Clara and I went to the orphanage and put in a garden for them.”

       “Good for you.” Ten to twelve children lived at the home on the hill. A barren spot without trees or flowers, but at least the children were housed and fed. They attended school and church and appeared happy enough.

       Mother had lunch ready and they sat down to enjoy it. Afterward Mother went for a nap.

       Sally waited until the bedroom door closed, then gave Louisa a demanding look. “Tell all. How did it really go?”

       Louisa blew out a huge sigh. “Ellie refuses to learn.” She described the morning to her sister, including the part when Ellie made it sound as if Louisa wouldn’t let her go to the bathroom.

       Sally drew back, looked shocked. “She sounds dreadful. Are you going back?”

       “I’m not about to give up.”

       “You’re stronger than I am. I wouldn’t be able to face such a situation.”

       Louisa chuckled. “I’m not strong. You know that as well as I do.” Her thoughts darkened, but she refused to be controlled by her disappointment.

       “You’re strong in a quiet way. Perhaps because you’ve had to fight to get over pneumonia and influenza.”

       The darkness drew closer. The pain beckoned. But Louisa saw it for what it was—self-pity. And refused to open the door and invite it in. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” She thought of Ellie. The child needed to learn how to make the best of her situation.

       She’d return tomorrow and try again. She’d show Emmet she wasn’t unkind to his precious little girl.

       “The kids at the orphanage are sweet. I’m going back after school is out with cookies for them. Why don’t you come with me?”

       Louisa’s heart flopped in protest. See kids? The idea mocked her barrenness. “I don’t think—”

       “I know what you’re going to say. You don’t want to be reminded you can’t have children of your own. But these kids will likely help you. They know how to enjoy life despite their loss and disappointment.”

       Sally’s words stung. “Are you saying I don’t?”

       Sally looked shocked. “I didn’t mean it like that. I only thought seeing them would cheer you up. You know…after dealing with a child who is feeling sorry for herself.”

       “You might be right. I’ll go with you. I’ll even help you bake cookies.” Maybe she’d learn a thing or two about working with children who had suffered unfortunate events in their life that would help her deal with Ellie.

       Somehow she had to prove to herself she could handle the job God had placed in her lap. But she wondered if He had more faith in her abilities than she did.

       Over lunch Emmet listened to a litany of complaints from Ellie. Louisa was too harsh. She didn’t explain things well.

       “I don’t think she likes me.”

       Emmet chuckled. “What’s not to like? You’re a sweet, smart, funny little girl.” He hoped Louisa was right, and this resistance was only an adjustment period. Strange that Louisa and Ellie hadn’t struck it off right away. From his first look at Louisa, he’d thought her beautiful—not just in appearance but in a deeper way. Her beauty seemed to come from within.

       He fisted the idea away. It didn’t matter what he thought of her. Only that she was kind to his daughter. He would tolerate nothing less.

       He carried the lunch plates and glasses to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee. A stack of dirty dishes waited to be washed. “I’ll sit with Ellie for a bit then clean up this mess.”

       Auntie May shooed him away. “I do believe I can manage to wash a few dishes. Or at least let the cats lick them clean.”

       “Leave them. I’ll do them later.” He did not want Ellie eating off cat-cleaned dishes.

       Auntie May’s teasing chuckle made him realize he’d been tricked. “You’re joshing and I missed it.”

       “You sure did. There was a time I’d have never gotten that past you.” She sobered. “I think you’ve grown far too serious.”

       “Sometimes life isn’t a joking matter.” He headed for Ellie’s room.

       “People should never forget to find and appreciate the good things God gives us.”

       He paused to consider her. “I sometimes find it hard to believe in such.”

       “And there lies your problem. Emmet, my dear boy, I’m not saying bad things don’t happen. I’m only saying you don’t need to let them steal away the good things too.”

       He studied the words a moment but could find no personal truth in them. Except for one thing. “I have something I appreciate…Ellie.” He ducked into her room, a wide smile on his face as he planned to enjoy the afternoon with her. But her arms were flung above her head and she snored softly.

       Suddenly the next few hours looked lonely and bleak. He returned to the kitchen.

       Auntie May glanced over her shoulder where—he was relieved to see—she had a wash pan full of hot soapy water.