No one in the room understood that a choice was being made that would affect far more than one frightened girl.
Emily could have picked up the tray.
She could have carried the coffee to the corner table and told herself that the elderly woman was someone else’s responsibility.
Perhaps someone would have helped eventually.
Perhaps the storm would have passed.
Perhaps the woman would have made it safely to wherever she was going.
Emily might have kept her job.
Her family might have been spared one more worry.
But she thought of her father’s hands, rough and warm, lifting a wounded bird from the snow when she was little.
She remembered asking why he bothered with something so small.
He had smiled.
“Because it needs help, Emmy.
That’s reason enough.”
Emily untied her apron.
Clara’s eyes widened.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going outside.”
“You most certainly are not.”
Emily placed the apron on the counter.
“Please forgive me.”
Then she turned and hurried toward the door.
“Emily!”
The sharp voice followed her.
But Emily was already running into the rain.
The cold struck her like a wall.
Within seconds, water soaked her hair and dress.
She hurried along the boardwalk, holding one hand against her face as wind drove rain beneath the awnings.
“Ma’am!”
The elderly woman did not seem to hear.
Emily ran closer.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
The woman turned.
Up close, she looked much older than Emily had expected.
Her face was pale and lined.
Strands of silver hair clung to her temples.
Rain ran from the brim of her hat, and her lips had lost their color.
Yet her blue eyes were remarkably clear.
“I’m afraid,” the woman said faintly, “I’ve misjudged the weather.”
Her voice was refined and gentle, though weak from cold.
Emily reached toward her.
“Here.
Take my arm.”
“Oh, no, child.
I’ll manage.”
The woman attempted another step.
Her knees trembled.
Emily caught her elbow before she lost her balance.
“Please.
You’re shaking.”
The elderly woman looked down at the girl’s hand.
It was red from work and cold, with a small burn near the wrist.
“You’re getting wet,” she murmured.
Emily almost laughed.
“So are you.”
The woman gave a weak smile.
“That is rather obvious, isn’t it?”
Emily shifted closer.
“Can you walk if I help?”
“I believe so.”
“Then come with me.
There’s a warm stove inside.”
The woman’s gaze moved toward the café.
“Will they welcome me?”
Emily hesitated.
Through the window, she could see Clara standing rigidly behind the counter.
Several customers were watching.
For a moment, fear returned.
Then Emily tightened her hold on the woman’s arm.
“You need somewhere warm,” she said.
“That’s what matters.”
They began moving toward the café.
The woman leaned heavily on Emily.
Her traveling bag dragged against the wet boards.
Emily took it from her free hand.
“Let me carry that.”
“You’ve already done quite enough.”
“Not yet.”
Step by step, they crossed the slippery walkway.
The storm made even that short distance difficult.
Water poured from the edge of the roof.
Mud splashed against Emily’s boots.
The old woman’s breath came in shallow bursts.
Once, she stopped and closed her eyes.
Emily immediately turned toward her.
“Do you need to sit?”
“No.
Just a moment.”
“Take your time.”
A man hurried past carrying a sack over his shoulder.
He glanced at them.
“Need a hand?”
Emily looked up hopefully.
But before she could answer, the man pointed toward his waiting wagon.
“Sorry, miss.
Horses are getting restless.”
Then he was gone.
Emily did not blame him.
People were always busy.
Everyone had something waiting.
But she could not help feeling how lonely the world could become when every person believed someone else would help.
The elderly woman opened her eyes.
“What’s your name, dear?”
“Emily.”
“Emily,” she repeated.
Something softened in her face.
“That’s a lovely name.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m Margaret.”
Emily smiled.
“Well, Miss Margaret, we’re almost there.”
The woman shook her head.
“Mrs.
Hartwell, if you please.
My husband used to insist on proper introductions.”
Emily laughed softly.
“Then I’m Emily Bennett.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Miss Bennett.”
They were both soaked.
One was trembling.
The other was frightened about losing her job.
Yet for a brief moment, they shared the simple pleasure of two strangers treating each other with respect.
Emily reached the café entrance and pulled open the heavy door.
Warm air rushed toward them.
The smell of coffee and fresh bread wrapped around them like a blanket.
Several conversations stopped.
Emily guided the elderly woman inside.
“Careful of the step.”
Mrs.
Hartwell entered slowly, her boots leaving wet marks across the floor.
A few people stared.
One rancher lowered his newspaper.
The little girl with the cloth bird watched from beside the stove.
