Hannah's New Home Page 3

  Before the men had even carried in the first chair, Mother and Hannah had decided that the bedroom by the fireplace would belong to the parents, and the bedroom by the kitchen would be Hannah’s. It was strange to walk around a house with nothing at all inside it, but her mother said that as soon as everything was unpacked, it would look wonderful.

  Hannah wasn’t sure it could look wonderful, but she didn’t want to make her mother sad by saying so. All she could see was brown—brown wood walls, brown wood floors, and brown bricks at the fireplace.

  “Look at this nice stove!” her mother said, standing in front of it with her hands on her hips. “This must be new. I’m sure I’ll be able to cook on this.”

  “But how do you know?” Hannah asked. “You’ve never cooked before.”

  “True, but I’m going to figure it out. Do you know why, Hannah?”

  “Because . . . you don’t want us to starve, and we can’t eat at the hotel every day?”

  Mother laughed. “Yes, but that’s not the only reason.” She put her hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “We’re going to make this work because we’re a family, and we each have a job to do. Your father is going to be working very hard to earn money, and I’m going to work hard to cook and clean. He’s taking care of us, and we’ll take care of him.”

  Hannah nodded. “That sounds fair. And I’ll help you.”

  “Thank you. I was hoping you’d say that.”

  When Father and the wagon driver brought in the furniture, the house did start to look better. They put Hannah’s box of books under the window in her room, and she couldn’t wait until they could get a real bookshelf—they’d had to leave her old one in New York. They’d left so many things behind, it made Hannah sad to think about it, but she needed to think happy thoughts instead. That was important. She knew that if she let herself get too sad, she might miss out on the good things in Kansas.

  After Father got her bed set up and Mother put the blankets on it, Hannah sat down in the middle and opened her diary.

  We’re in our new house now. It’s very tiny, and our things look weird here because they’re supposed to live in our old house. I think we’re supposed to live in our old house too, but we can’t. Life is hard sometimes.

  She sighed as she put her diary under her pillow. Life really was hard sometimes, but if she pretended to be the queen of all the elves who lived in this tiny house, it would be a little bit easier.

  She spent the rest of the day helping her parents unpack. It didn’t take long for their house to fill up—it was such a small house, it wouldn’t hold much anyway. Hannah was glad they hadn’t been able to bring all their things because they never would have fit.

  That night, they were so tired, none of them were hungry, so they climbed into bed without worrying about dinner. Hannah was so glad to crawl under her blankets. Even though the bedding had been boxed up on a train for days, it still smelled like home, and she breathed deeply. It was a comforting smell, like laundry soap and Cook’s pies. This new house mostly smelled like wood, and it was very different. She fell asleep with her nose buried in her pillow, thinking about New York and wondering if she’d ever see it again. Maybe they could go back for a visit when people weren’t so angry at her father anymore.

  Chapter Six

  Hannah dreamed she was visiting her cousins out in the country, and they had built a huge bonfire to celebrate the coming of fall. A big pot of apple cider was warming over the flames, and the smell of cinnamon made her mouth water. The smell of the smoke was even stronger, though, and it was starting to hurt her nose.

  As she woke up, she remembered that she really had gone to her cousins’ farm, and she wasn’t sure if she’d been dreaming or remembering—maybe some dreams were really remembering while sleeping.

  But if that was a dream, why could she still smell smoke?

  She jumped out of bed fast when she heard her mother’s voice in the kitchen, sounding upset.

  When Hannah opened her bedroom door, the smoky smell got even stronger, and her eyes stung.

  “Mama! What’s the matter?”

  “It’s the stove,” her mother said. “I did it wrong somehow.”

  Hannah ran over to the front door and opened it wide to let some of the smoke out. Mother pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down, shaking her head.

  “It looked easy,” she said. “Your father brought in some wood before he left, and I thought I could do it. How hard could it be? So I put the wood in the bottom and struck a match, and everything was fine until there was smoke everywhere.”

  She sighed. “I was very spoiled growing up, Hannah. My father had a lot of money, and we always had cooks and maids. I never learned how to do simple things like lighting a stove. Now I wish I had.”

  “It’s all right,” Hannah told her. “You’ll learn soon enough. Where did Papa go?”

  “To return the rented buggy and get a price on buying a horse. I was hoping to have some coffee ready for him when he comes back, but if I can’t even light the stove . . .”

  Hannah put her arms around her mother’s neck. “I love you, Mama, and we’ll figure it out.” She glanced over at the stove, having another memory. “Hmm. I wonder . . .”

  “What, sweetheart?” Mother asked.

  “Well, I used to watch Cook a lot, and she always slid that little door on the back over to the side when she put something on the stove. One day I asked her why, and she said it was to vent the smoke. What does ‘vent’ mean, Mama?”

  Mother shook her head again, a little smile on her face. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it . . . Venting means sending air from one place to another. When you opened the front door just now, you were venting.”

  Hannah frowned, a little confused. “So, how does the stove vent the smoke?”

  Mother stood up and walked over to the stove. “I think this door, as you call it, controls the smoke going up the stovepipe. See, this pipe is like a chimney, and the smoke needs to know where to go.” She reached out to the back of the stove and pushed the door to the side, and after a moment, the air in the house seemed even better. “Run outside and see if smoke is going out the smokestack on top of the roof.”

  Hannah blinked. “But I’m not dressed yet.”

  “Oh!” Mother looked surprised. “I didn’t notice. Hurry and get dressed, then.”

  Hannah ran into her room and chose out her blue flowered dress. She put it on quickly, pulled on her shoes, and ran back into the kitchen so her mother could help her with the buttons. It was hard work getting dressed when she was in a hurry. Then she went outside and turned around, looking up at the roof. Sure enough, a thin trail of smoke was drifting up into the sky.

  She could see another trail of smoke too—this one was coming from down the road. There must be a house nearby. She wanted to go visiting, but she knew she had a lot of things to do at home first.

  “It’s working, Mama,” she said as she came back into the house.

  “Good. Thank you for telling me about the little door, sweetheart. I’ll always remember to use it now.”

  Hannah was glad there was something she could do to help. She just wished her mother didn’t feel so sad about what had happened. Anyone could make a mistake like that.

  When Father came home, he didn’t bring a horse, but he did bring a surprise—a man with a bushy mustache that hung down and covered his top lip. Hannah had a book all about animals, and this man looked exactly like the walrus picture.

  “Clarissa, Hannah, this is Mr. Jones, the man who hired me and brought us out here,” Father said, and the man stepped forward to shake hands. He even shook Hannah’s hand like she was already a young lady.

  “I hope your trip out here was pleasant, Mrs. Stewart,” Mr. Jones said.

  “It was very nice, and we appreciated being able to ride on a Pullman car,” Mother told him. “That made it so much easier.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it. Now, my wife sends this.” Mr. Jones held out a basket that had been hidden behind his back. “She said you were likely unable to buy groceries last night, and she didn’t want you to go without breakfast.”

  Breakfast . . . Hannah was terribly hungry, but she hadn’t wanted to ask for breakfast because she knew her mother was upset about the stove. But now her stomach rumbled, and her face turned pink. Oh, how embarrassing!

  Mr. Jones chuckled and held the basket out to Hannah. “Why don’t you take this in the kitchen and see if there’s a little something in there to hold you over?”

  Hannah looked at her mother for permission, and when Mother nodded, Hannah stepped forward and took the basket. “Thank you, sir,” she said, then tried not to run into the kitchen. She couldn’t wait to see what was in the basket.

  Right on top was a huge blueberry muffin. She decided that would be the perfect breakfast, and she sat down to eat it. Thankfully, the adults were talking loudly enough that she could still hear everything and wouldn’t miss out while she ate.

  “It was very kind of you to leave the house key at the hotel,” Mother was saying. “I was worried about where we’d stay last night. The hotel looked nice, but I was so glad to be in the house instead.”

  “I’m glad that worked out,” Mr. Jones replied. “Now, could we take a minute to discuss a few other things?”

  “Of course,” Father said. “Please, have a seat.”

  Hannah heard the chairs creak as everyone sat down.

  “Lucas, as I told you back in New York, I’m selling quite a lot of lumber to the new folks coming west to settle, and you’ll make sure they all get their orders. There are men out in the forests cutting down trees, other men cutting the trees into logs and boards, and then even more men loading up the boards and delivering them. You’ll be in charge of all those men, and I’d like you to start the day after tomorrow.”

  “Of course,” Father said. “I’ve never worked for a lumber company before, but I know how to be a good boss.”

  “Yes, you do, and that’s why I wanted you for this job.”

  They talked about other boring grown-up stuff, and Hannah finished her muffin without really listening. When she looked in the basket again, she found a bottle of milk tucked inside. She poured herself a small glass, not wanting to use too much, and drank it. It was the tastiest milk she’d ever had. Once she was done, she went back into the parlor.

  “And how did you like your breakfast?” Mr. Jones asked, turning to her.

  “It was delicious, and the milk was very good too.”

  “My wife loves her cow. She does most of the milking herself.”

  Hannah tilted her head to the side. “Your wife milked the cow?”

  “That’s right. I think that’s why it tastes so good—there’s a lot of love in it.” Mr. Jones chuckled. “Have you ever milked a cow, Hannah?”

  “No, never. I’ve read books about it, though.”

  “Reading is a wonderful way to learn, but you should come over sometime and try it yourself. There’s nothing like doing something to learn how.”

  Hannah had never imagined that she would have the chance to milk a cow. The idea was both exciting and scary at the same time. Cows were huge—what if it stepped on her? What if the cow didn’t want to be milked? If she did it wrong, would the cow be angry?

  “Back in New York, the milk just came in bottles,” she said. “The cows were somewhere else—I’m not sure where.”

  Mr. Jones nodded. “Yes, they do things a little differently in the city. I take trips quite often and have seen many places, but in the end, I’m always glad to come back home where it’s quieter.” He stood up. “I’m glad that you’re getting settled in. Lucas, I’ll see you at the office the day after tomorrow. You said you’re buying a horse?”

  “That’s right. They’ll be bringing it this afternoon,” Father said.

  “Good. You’ll need one—your job will have you riding around a lot. Pleased to meet you, ma’am, little miss.” Mr. Jones nodded to both Mother and Hannah, then turned toward the door.

  “Mr. Jones?” Hannah called out.

  He turned back. “Yes?

  Hannah felt shy about asking, but she really wanted to know. “Do you . . . I mean . . . Have you met any real cowboys?”

  Mr. Jones chuckled, and his mustache wiggled a little bit. “Yes, I have. There are quite a lot of cowboys around here.”

  Hannah’s heart gave a happy thump. “Do you think I’ll meet one someday?”

  “I’m absolutely sure of it. Have a good day, folks.” Mr. Jones put on his hat, touched the brim of it, and left, closing the door behind him.

  “He seems like a nice man,” Mother said to Father. “I’m glad he came to visit us. I’ve been curious about him.”

  “I think he’ll be good to work for,” Father replied. “He cares about his men, and that’s very important to me.”

  “He looks like a walrus, but a very nice walrus,” Hannah added.

  “Hannah!” Mother looked shocked, but Father just laughed.

  “She’s not wrong,” he said. He reached out and tugged one of Hannah’s curls. “Come outside with me and help me get the shed ready for the horse.”

  “The shed? We have a shed?” Hannah asked.

  Father was surprised. “You didn’t know that we have a shed? Haven’t you been outside yet?”

  Hannah shrugged. “I’ve been helping Mama in the house.”

  “Well, you’re missing out on all kinds of things! Come on!” He held the door wide open, and she stepped outside.

  She’d seen the house from the front, with its faded brown boards and the fence that went around it. She’d visited the outhouse off to the side and behind a tree. But now as she walked around the house and into the backyard with her father, she gasped. It was like entering a whole new world. There were several trees, and a little stream, and of course the shed, and there was a clothesline. They even had a well.

  “It looks just like a park!” she said, pointing at the trees even though Mother had told her she should never point. It wasn’t ladylike. “Why didn’t I see this yesterday?”

  “Because you were helping your mother in the house, like you said. Now, won’t this be fun to explore?”

  “Is all this ours?” She turned in a circle, her arms out.

  “Well, we’re renting it for now, but yes, I believe we’ll buy it someday.”

  Hannah couldn’t believe it. In New York, they didn’t have a yard. They would walk down the street and go to the park a few times a week, but now Hannah could just come outside. “So, we have a smaller house, but we have a yard,” she said. “And we have fewer stores, but we can have a horse . . .”

  “That’s right. We have to look at the pros and cons of living here.”

  Hannah blinked. “What are pros and cons?”

  “The pros are the good things, and the cons are the bad things. So, a pro of living in New York is having a big house, but a con is not having a yard.”

  “Oh, I see.” Hannah nodded. “And I think I’ll like having a horse. I know he’s your horse, Papa, but do you think I could ride him sometimes?”

  “I’m sure you could. That’s an important skill to have living in Kansas.” Father grinned at her. “And then you can become a cowgirl.”

  Hannah had never thought about that . . . She grinned too. What a wonderful idea!

  Chapter Seven

  Hannah and her father spread clean hay on the floor of the shed, then got some water from the well. “This is called a trough,” her father said as he poured the water into a long, low metal box near the stall. “This is where the horse will drink, so we must keep it full all the time.”

  “Having a horse is going to be a lot of hard work, isn’t it, Papa?” Hannah asked.

  “Yes, it will, but the horse will work hard too,” Father replied. “He’ll carry us on his back and he’ll pull wagons for us—if we take good care of him, he’ll take good care of us.”

  That seemed fair.

  A few minutes later, Hannah heard the sound of clip-clop coming from the road, and she ran around the house. A man was riding up the road, leading another horse behind him.

  “Ho there, Mr. Stewart!” he called out. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “No, you’re right on time,” Father said. “We just got the shed ready.”

  Hannah couldn’t stop staring at the second horse. He was tall and shiny, like his coat had been brushed a million times. “Is that him? Is that our horse?”

  “That’s right,” the man said, handing the horse’s rope to Father. “His name’s Brownie. You folks enjoy him.” He gave them a nod, then clip-clopped back down the road.

  Father looked up at the horse and patted his nose. “What do you think, Hannah?”

  Hannah frowned. “I don’t think he likes the name Brownie.”

  “You don’t? Why not?”

  “Because it’s boring to be named after what color you are! He should be named something big because he’s so tall.” She thought for a minute. “He should be Goliath!”

  Father laughed. “You’re right. He definitely deserves a better name, and I think Goliath is perfect.”

  Hannah followed her father as he led the horse to the shed. “We’ll get some oats for him when we go shopping this afternoon, but he’ll be fine eating hay until then,” Father said.

  “But hay doesn’t taste very good, Papa. I mean, I’ve never had it, but I can imagine that it’s awful.”

  “Animals don’t taste things the same way people do, sweetheart. Horses actually like hay quite a bit.”

  Hannah wrinkled up her nose. “Well, Goliath can have it all, then!”

  As they put Goliath in the shed and closed the half door that would keep him inside, Hannah patted his shoulder, and she blinked. “Papa, he feels just like our sofa back in the old house! The one we had to leave behind.”

  “That’s right. It was made of horsehair.”

  “I knew that—I just hadn’t really thought about it coming from a real-live horse.” Hannah shook her head. “Except . . . it wasn’t a real-live horse when they took its hair, was it, Papa?”