Small-Town Moms Read Online Free Page A

a dish of butter. A red thermos stuck out of Mrs. Hargrove’s apron pocketand, now that Maegan had taken the tray from her, the older woman set it on the dresser.
    â€œThis looks delicious.” Maegan carefully set the tray down on the dresser as well. She had bought some twist-it cans of biscuits over the years. But these biscuits made those look like rocks. Golden brown and fluffy, they were just right. Who made biscuits like these anymore?
    A mother, that’s who, Maegan realized. A woman who believed in making the food her family ate with her own hands. A woman like that probably canned her own fruit and pinned her laundry on an outside line to dry in the summer sun.
    â€œDo you knit?” Maegan asked, suddenly feeling the weight of her inadequacies. She didn’t know how to do any of those things. She’d make a terrible mother.
    â€œI can knit a little.” Mrs. Hargrove looked up in surprise. “Mostly just the basic stitches though.”
    â€œYou daughter must have loved that.” Maegan had already heard about the older woman’s grown daughter. Apparently, Doris June had returned to Dry Creek some years ago and married her old high school sweetheart. “With the knitting and the biscuits, what girl wouldn’t love it?”
    Mrs. Hargrove smiled. “Well, mine wasn’t too excited about my knitting when she was growing up, but she used to love my biscuits. Until she became a teenager. Then, she worried there were too many calories. But once in a while on a Sunday morning she’d have one and—oh, her face, it just lit up with happiness.”
    Mrs. Hargrove looked as though she were remembering those days. Then she brought herself back. “Well, you don’t want to hear about all that. I forgot to mentionI serve breakfast early on Sunday mornings. I always get up around six so I can go over my lesson—I teach a Sunday school class.”
    â€œYou really must have been a great mother.” The woman was even a teacher.
    Mrs. Hargrove shook her head. “I made some big mistakes. Most parents do, I suppose, but I have to think my prayers were what made the difference.”
    Maegan didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t surprised that God would answer the prayers of a sweet old lady like Mrs. Hargrove. “That’s nice.” She felt something more was required in the conversation, but it took her a minute. “I suppose you know all about how to pray.”
    Maegan had always been curious about those people who got answers to their prayers. She wondered if she had made some mistake in the way she prayed as a child. She’d tried really hard back then to convince God that it was important for her and her sisters to be together, but maybe she’d folded her hands wrong or called Him by the wrong name or something.
    Maybe God just didn’t like her. Whatever the reason He hadn’t wanted to help her, she figured it was best left unspoken.
    The aroma of brewed tea spread throughout the room as Maegan opened the thermos. The older woman had asked last night if she preferred coffee or tea.
    â€œThere’s no special know-how in praying to God,” Mrs. Hargrove said quietly. “He’s the one who does the work. We just talk to Him.”
    â€œOh.” Maegan swallowed and forgot about the tea she’d just poured. She had held out hope that she had made a mistake all those years ago that could be corrected. Now, it seemed His indifference was personal. “He didn’t do anything when I prayed to Him.”
    â€œWhen was that, dear?”
    â€œA long time ago—” Maegan stopped. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
    â€œOf course, it does,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she stepped closer and put her hand on Maegan’s arm. “Especially if you still remember it.”
    â€œI’m not likely to forget.”
    Maegan started to lift her cup of tea before setting it back down and