“I hope so.”
They smiled widely.
She wanted to warn them not to get their hopes too high. She couldn’t guess what accommodations they’d find in Calgary. Please, God, let us have a home by Christmas. She wished she could plan a bountiful Christmas for the girls, but this year would be vastly different from previous years. No china dolls or satin dresses or fur muffs. However, having a home would be the best present she could offer them.
Eleanor looked thoughtful. “I think Mr. Blue is a good thing, too.”
Clara smiled. “He might not appreciate being called a thing.”
“Mama, I’m hungry. Are we going over to eat with that lady?”
“No, Libby. We already ate, thanks to Mr. Blue. But I’ll find something for us. I promise.”
“But, Mama—”
“Girls.” She cut off Libby’s protests. Eleanor kept her thoughts to herself, but her expression said she didn’t care for Clara’s decision any more than Libby did. “Hasn’t God taken care of us so far?”
They nodded.
“He won’t fail us now.”
They studied her intently.
“What will God do?” Eleanor asked.
“Why don’t we ask that nice man for help?” Libby added.
“We don’t know that he’s a nice man.”
Libby nodded stubbornly. “I know he is.”
There was no point in arguing with a seven-year-old who saw things as she wished they were.
“Mr. Blue is nice,” Libby persisted. “He has a good face. Didn’t he, El’nor?”
Eleanor grinned. “I’d say so. I liked the color of his hair. Kind of red but not brick red.”
“Sandy red,” Libby said with the degree of certainty only an innocent child could portray.
Eleanor nodded.
Libby got a dreamy look on her face. “He is very handsome, isn’t he?” she asked her mother.
Clara stared. “I’m sure I didn’t notice.” Which wasn’t entirely true. She’d noticed his eyes and had been impressed with his kindness. That was all. “I’m surprised you did.”
Eleanor sighed. “Grandfather said she was precocious.” She stumbled over the word but Clara knew what she meant. Father had said the same thing to her, and he hadn’t meant it as a compliment.
“Your girls should be learning to mind their manners,” he’d growled.
He meant they should be seen and not heard. Seen as pretty things with vacant heads. How well she remembered the frustration of dealing with Father’s disapproval at any sign of the ability to think for herself.
She returned to reading aloud to the girls, but it was soon obvious their minds wandered and she left off.
The afternoon hours dragged. Her stomach lurched at the smell of food coming from the nearby house.
“Mrs. Weston?” Bonnie called from the other side of the door. “Supper will be served in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, but we won’t be coming.”
Bonnie spoke again. “The food is ready. I’ll just have to throw it out if you don’t come.”
Clara closed her eyes. Being independent was so hard. “Thank you, but we’ll manage on our own.”
“Mama!” Eleanor protested in a shocked whisper.
“Hush.” She waited for the woman to depart. “Girls, we can’t accept help from everyone.”
Was she doing the right thing? Was she trying to prove she could manage on her own when she obviously couldn’t? Was she punishing her girls in order to prove something?
God, what is the right thing for me to do?
She thought of the chapters she’d recently read. God told Moses he would deliver His people. He would bring them out. He’d promised to put words in Moses’s mouth. Could He not just as easily put food in her children’s mouths?
But by what means? If she accepted the offered meal, how could she repay the woman’s kindness?
Seemed she was stuck between two failures. If she accepted charity, it would prove that she couldn’t manage. Yet if she didn’t accept help, the girls would suffer and again prove she couldn’t manage.
She had no doubt Father would use either against her.
A knock sounded on the door; then Blue burst in without waiting for an invite.