Anne smiled as she stitched up a hole in Emma's Sunday dress. The three Jones girls were sound asleep beside the small fire on the cool March day, their breathing deep and even. Emma and Mary smiled at the sight as well, watching the little girls' eyelids flutter as they dreamed.
"Well," Emma remarked, ending the wordless lullaby she had been humming. "I'll just be going the mile to town for a spell- we need more soap and I'd like to mail a letter to... Iain."
"Will you be alright? No telling what the ditch-diggers"- she threw a glance at Mary- "might do to a girl wandering around the town alone."
Mary snorted and went back out to the field.
"It's broad daylight," Emma pointed out. "I'll be just fine." With that, she took her shawl from the hook that it hung from, and, taking three pennies and a nickel from a small wooden box, she left. Anne noticed a folded white piece of paper on the table, addressed not to their brother, but a Charles Petersen. Not daring to open it, although she dearly wanted to, she ran out the door.
"Emma!" Anne cried, dashing after her twin. "You forgot this!"
Emma stopped, turning towards Anne. "Oh" she breathed. "Thank you."
"Oh, and Emma," Anne asked, " Who's Charles Petersen?"
Anne had caught her sister off guard. "A friend," Emma slowly and warily replied. Anne raised one eyebrow. "From when we could go to school. When Iain and Mother were still here." she added, exasperation lacing her voice. Being a few minutes younger than Emma, Anne had little power against her. "Go home, Anne," was all that Emma could manage. Then she called to Anne, who was walking away, "Please don't say a word about this to Mary. She'll murder me."
Anne had heard, but didn't reply. She snorted as she opened the cottage's heavy oaken door, built by Iain before he had left them for the railroad. "'Just a friend'," she grouched, closing the door. "She's thirteen- it'll be two years before she's of marriageable age! It's not a friend - Emma's got herself a jo!" She looked around the cottage to see Jane dusting bread crumbs off the table, the two others still sleeping. Anne's face flamed to match her hair. "Don't repeat any of that to Mary," she begged quietly of the little girl.
"I won't," replied Jane equally quietly. "What's a jo?"
Pleased to know that the lass wouldn't tell on Emma's secret-of-sorts, Anne was happy to answer. "A jo is the Irish word for a beau of sorts- how do you say it in America? A suitor?" She sighed in frustration, angry that she couldn't find a way to put it into words, in a language not her mother tongue. She'd never had to explain the word 'jo' to anyone in Ireland. "Someone you're looking to marry."
"Oh," the girl said. "Do you have one?"
Anne was taken aback by the inquiry, and gave a stammered "No, lassie. Not yet."
"What's a lassie?"
"In Ireland, 'tis what a girl would be called."
"Are you Irish?"
"My mother was. You see, Emma, Iain and I were born in Scotland, but then we were forced to go to Ireland."
"Who's Iain?"
Anne was tiring of the seven-year-old's seemingly endless questions. A sigh escaped her mouth. I do seem to be sighing a fair bit lately, she thought. It's these girls. They're getting to me. "Iain is my brother. He's twenty-one this year." She paused. "He's in Denver right now, working with the railroad."
Lizzie woke and sat up at those words. "So's my pa," she marveled. "Do you think he'd know Iain?"
"No. There's more people working for the railroad than you'd think." Soon all the girls were awake and peppering Anne with questions. "All right!" she cried, holding up a hand for silence. "I'll get to your questions in good time. Let me show you around the farm and tell you chores you can do." Taking her shawl from its hook, she observed that the three girls had nothing but the clothes on their backs. She sighed- again. "We'll get you shawls, but use these, for now." She took the MacEilan girls' cloaks and handed them to the Jones girls. "They'll be bit big, but they'll keep you warm. I still haven't gotten used to this odd weather, and besides, it's starting to snow." They tromped out into the lightly falling snow to the clothesline that hung between the chicken coop and the cottage. "We do our laundry every week, on Saturday," she said, going into the coop. "You won't be having much part in that. What you will do will be varying. Maria, you can feed the chickens, twice a day, like this." Even though it wasn't feeding time, she took a handful of corn kernels, spreading them on the floor of the tiny structure. The chickens swarmed around the food. Maria nodded in understanding, swimming in her woolen cloak, but warm.
Anne led them out of the coop, closing the door. "Jane, your main job can be to help me, in the house, but Lizzie, you will work with Mary in whatever she has you do." As the girls nodded, a cry came from over the ridge in front of the cottage.
"Anne! Mary!" it called, and Anne recognized it. It was Emma. She became visible, her cognac eyes shining. "A letter- from Iain!" Emma had reached Anne, holding a package and a folded paper, and was very short of breath. Anne normally would have quickly reprimanded her sister for being such a tomboy, but she was too excited about the letter to. Mary came up to the group, also panting, having come up from the very end of the field. Emma thrust the letter at Anne. "You should read it, Anne," she gasped, still bent over. "Let's go inside-where it isn't snowing."
"Did you run all the way from town?" Mary asked as they crowded in. Emma nodded, and Anne unfolded the paper and began to read.
"Monday, 6 March, 1875.
Dear sisters,
I have been moved to about ten miles from you-"
"Oh! How wonderful!" Mary gasped. Emma hushed her and Anne continued to read.
"I have been moved to about ten miles from you, and should like very much to visit on the weekends if possible, from Friday to Sunday nights, and see you and the farm. Maybe we can start building a loft in the cottage. It's been far too long since I saw you and I have exciting news to share with you.
Your brother,
Iain MacEilan."
Anne folded up the letter. "It's Friday!" she exclaimed.
"He'll be coming tonight!" squealed Emma. She normally never squealed, and Anne was going to reprimand her for making that unladylike sound, but once again, she was too excited.
"What will your brother think of us?" asked Lizzie. Anne had forgotten that it was not only the MacEilan sisters there.
"He'll be assured that we are doing well enough to take you in," she told them. "And he'll love you like you were his own sisters."
* * * *
The rest of the day was a flurry of activity. Even though snow was starting to gather on the ground, Anne insisted that the whole cottage be cleaned top to bottom. With Anne this was no quick chore. It was an obsession of hers, to be clean with company, even if the company was their brother.
Anne and Jane started making dinner when the cleaning had been done, and while Maria and Lizzie looked out the window, Mary and Emma stood on the ridge, looking out for Iain.
Just as the sun sank behind the hills, he came.
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