Where We Belong: An Orphan Train Novel

CHAPTER TWO

Millersberg, Kansas

Hester Weber Haak

Hester gave her reflection in the vanity's oval mirror a slow perusal. Was she presentable? More important, did she look motherly? Presentable, yes, in her church hat with its cluster of wax cherries pinned securely to her tightly twisted chignon and with her tweed coat over her only dress with lace trim. Even her old pumps looked close to new with the fresh polish and shine. But motherly? Well, what did motherly look like, anyway? Presentable would do.

She turned away from her image and tugged on her best church gloves. The black kidskin didn't match well with her brown tweed coat, something that had never bothered her until today. Would something as simple as wearing black gloves with a brown coat make the child-placement people see her as slovenly and therefore unfit to guide an orphaned girl into womanhood?

She closed her eyes.

The prayer bolstered her, as prayer always seemed to do, and she hummed her favorite hymn, 'Abide with Me,' as she tucked a fresh handkerchief, some coins, and her small comb into her handbag. She reached for her lipstick, but her hand stilled before she picked up the silver tube. It would be foolish to apply it. She'd probably chew it off in nervousness before she reached Marion, and then her teeth would be red. Completely unpresentable and as far from motherly as a woman could get. No, the pale pink blush she'd brushed onto her cheekbones after doing her hair would suffice.

She gave her reflected image a quick nod of satisfaction, hooked her purse on her wrist, and headed out the back door. She took a step toward her vehicle and then drew up short. Her Ford Model T wasn't parked behind the house, where she'd left it after church last Sunday. She looked up and down the alley, confusion making her pulse skitter.

"Miz Hester?'

At her hired man's voice, she hurried in the direction of the call. "Scotty, my car isn't—"

There it was, waiting near the gas pump in front of the Corner Store. Scotty stood beside it, beaming proudly. He patted the shiny tan hood with his arthritic hand. "Tank's full to the top, an' windshield got a scrubbin'. Everything's ready for your drive to Marion.' As she neared, he opened the driver's door. "Figured you'd be all gussied up to meet them children an' wouldn't want gasoline drips on your shoes, so I saw to it."

Dear Scotty... What would she do without him? He'd wandered into town only two months after Dale's sudden death. Some folks thought she'd lost her senses when she not only hired Scotty but also invited him to take up residence in the small storage area in the rear of the store. But she hadn't cared what others thought. In her grief-stricken state, she could barely function.

She needed help, and Scotty was available. Over the past three years, she'd come to depend on his steady, always willing assistance in whatever she asked for. She relied on him, and she believed he relied on her.

She patted his wrist with her gloved hand. "That's so thoughtful. Thank you." She glanced beyond the automobile to the store, and worry nibbled the corner of her mind. It was early yet—not quite seven-thirty—but when the doors opened at eight, shoppers would come. She'd never left Scotty to see to customers all by himself.

She shifted her attention to the wiry gray-haired man. "Are you sure you'll be all right? I hate leaving you to handle things alone when Saturdays are typically so hectic."

He chuckled and rubbed a gnarled finger across his whisker-dotted upper lip. "I reckon I can stack cans in crates an' measure out flour an' sugar good as you. Now, the tallyin' and collectin'—that can be troublesome. But your customers are trustworthy folks. They'll gimme the right amount o' money or write what they owe in the book. Don't fret none about what's happenin' here. Just git yourself to the train station an' pick out a little gal, like you been prayin' to do."

In her mind's eye, she envisioned the child she longed to call her own. A girl nine, ten, or eleven years old—old enough to be somewhat independent yet young enough to still need a mother's tender care. She'd be flaxen-haired, like Hester's dear Dale had been, with expressive hazel eyes and a cherubic face, and she would hold out her arms to Hester and embrace her as her new mother. Tears distorted her vision, and she blinked them away as she gave Scotty's wrist another quick pat. "I trust you implicitly. And I shall return as quickly as possible with the newest member of our family."

"Awww..." Scotty brushed his boot toe in the dust. "Git on with you, now."

Hester laughed. "Yes, sir." She slid in behind the steering wheel, and Scotty ambled to the front of the car and turned the crank. She fiddled with the throttle and choke, holding her breath as she always did until the engine revved to life. She loved this vehicle, Dale's last extravagant gift to her before the illness stole him away. But she often wished he were still here to drive it for her.

At the vehicle's first buck, Scotty backed up. Hester gave him a wave as she rolled past the store. She made a jolting U-turn at the corner, drove to Main Street, and took a bouncy right-hand turn south. Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, she squinted out the front windshield and chewed her lower lip. Behind her, Millersberg slipped from view. Ahead, Marion—and the culmination of her dream—awaited. If all went as she hoped, by lunchtime she'd be a mother.