Page 112 of The Lost and Found Girl

Ruby might not exactly be the prodigal, but it was a close enough approximation.

“Yes,” her dad said. “Afterward we will be gifting your sister a coat of many colors.”

“Wrong Bible story, Dad,” Dahlia said.

“Oh, so you do remember the Scriptures?” He shot a wink at Dahlia, who was giving him a mock glare.

And on that note, her father took hold of Lydia’s hand, and Marianne’s, which was the cue for everyone else at the table to join hands and bow their heads. He said a brief grace, and Lydia realized that she hadn’t been paying attention to it at all, and when he said amen, it didn’t echo inside her at all.

She wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with God at the moment.

She shoved that thought aside and busied herself fixing plates for her children, cutting up the meat and potatoes into small pieces, which earned her an indignant look from Riley.

Her niece and nephew, Marianne’s children, had dished out their own plates, and she could see the future right in front of her. When her kids would be a little bit more self-sufficient, and she felt guilty for wanting to speed up time.

You weren’t supposed to want that. You were supposed to enjoy these years. But these had just been some of the worst years. And it wasn’t her kids’ fault, but she was tired and she needed help.

You have help.

Well, it wasn’t the help she’d asked for. Or the help she wanted. Her husband had gotten sick and it had ruined everything.

Thankfully, with her entire family around the table, conversation flowed easily, and she didn’t have to contribute much to it.

“Do you kids want to get into the board games?”

There was an enthusiastic squeal from the children, and her mom got up from the table and walked into the small living room. Lydia could hear her fussing around with the game closet, and acting on muscle memory, she and her sisters got up and began to clear the table. Mama cooked, and it was their job to clean up.

It wasn’t an instinct that ever went away.

Marianne took an apron down from the peg and wrapped it around her waist, and she somehow managed to look like the pages of an ad, with her floral dress and that piece of linen tied just so, her hair swept partway up, and a twinkling light in her eyes. Dahlia didn’t bother with an apron, likely because the only colors available were pastel or floral.

Ruby chose the white, pinafore-style apron that went over her head and tied around her waist, ruffles around the bottom and the top. It almost looked like it belonged with the pale blue dress she was wearing.

And it reminded her again of childhood.

Lydia went and grabbed an apron without looking at it, then paused for a second, looking down at her own worn jeans, and her hands, one of which had a blister right on the palm, cracked and bleeding. She pushed all that to the side and gathered the plates from the table, putting the stack of them by the sink.

I don’t need a dishwasher. And anyway, they don’t sing while they work.

Her father’s cheerful words came back and echoed in her head just then. And as if she’d read her thoughts, Ruby started to sing.

None of them were overly gifted musically, except for Ruby. Her voice likely inherited from an ancestor the rest of them didn’t share.

They weren’t tone-deaf, by any stretch, but Ruby had a sweet, clear voice that reminded Lydia of a songbird. Marianne joined in singing, filling the sink with water and twirling the dishrag. Lydia exchanged a glance with Dahlia.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we duck out on the chores?” Dahlia asked.

“Yes,” Lydia said. “And they’ll tattle.”

Dahlia smiled.

Lydia grabbed a dishrag and started to wipe down the counter, while Marianne and Ruby filled up all the space at the sink. Many hands make light work.

One of her mother’s favorite things to say, and she thought of it now as they quickly tidied up the kitchen.

When they finished, Marianne put the kettle on. And once it had boiled, she poured four mugs of hot water. Ruby began hunting around for the tea bags. “Let me just check in on Jackson,” Marianne said. She returned a minute later, flashing a thumbs-up. “Jackson and Dad are talking about hunting spots, so I can guarantee you that that can go on for as long as I want it to.”

They took their cups of tea and filed out the front door, sitting on the wooden chairs that were positioned there on the porch. It was dark out, only the porch light casting a golden glow directly around them, shrouding the view of the farm in darkness.