Le 11 mai 2016, 05:51 dans Humeurs • 0
The door swung open and it was Rachel's father. Entering in a puff of dust seo company hong kong, he coughed and wiped his forehead. "Mighty hot day out there."
"Well, I've got ale for you and flatbread too," replied his wife. She rose from the sewing machine and began setting the table as her husband eased himself into a chair.
"I know. I could smell it from outside. Smelled so good I came in early. What else have you all been up to while I was clearing rows with Molly and Bell?"
"Rachel's done with her quilt."
"Oh?" Rachel's father turned to look as his older daughter proudly showed off her masterpiece thermage. It was a cheerful blooming of color with stitches outlining the squares.
"That's a mighty fine piece of work." He nodded. "How 'bout us going into town this Saturday. You can show off your quilt, your mother can take her flatbread, and I've got a bushel of onions ready."
The young children whooped excitedly and Michael, the boy, began dancing around the room, lifting his knees and clapping. There was reason for jubilation. The 20-mile trip to t
own in the buckboard was a once-a-month affair to which everyone in the family looked forward.
The town of Wausa, Nebraska was not unlike other little towns that had sprung up to welcome the pioneers. It was a mix of old and new buildings with wood plank sidewalks and a wide main street of dirt to accommodate trains of oxen. In one of the newer buildings was the general store. Guarding the door was a wooden Indian and next to it hung a bird cage Woven Labels. The family stopped for a moment to look at the yellow bird inside.