by Ilena Holder
Then she started dressing. She thought Annabelle and Rose would keep a close watch on her, and they did. While they tidied up and made the bed she caught their sideways glances. She sat on the edge of a couch and pulled on her brassiere then the under drawers and the under blouse the maids had provided. She pulled on some black stockings which had a nice soft feel to them. She picked up the blouse and put that on, buttoning the abalone buttons. The skirt was next; she buttoned it backwards, and then twisted it around so the buttons were in the back. Lastly, she pulled on some leather boots with no closures or grommets, just a straight pull on with a tab on the back. They were a bit loose, but she wasn't complaining.
Looking around, she found a hairbrush on the bureau and brushed her hair. The natural boar bristles felt good against her scalp. She thought back to when she shampooed her hair last. She wondered when she could get a good shampooing again, and maybe she had better not ask just yet. They might think she was strange or asking to waste water. Every time you needed water, somebody would have to draw it from the well. Peering into the mirror, she almost did a double take. She had this mirror in her apartment in Chicago. Yes, this exact mirror! It was a family heirloom. She touched the frame and the glass lightly with her fingertips. The touch of the cool metal spooked her a bit. She looked around the room once again, but more deliberately. The quilt on her bed last night—yes! It was hanging on the wall of her apartment. It had been carefully preserved against any further damage by a preservation process that they used for wedding gowns. Friends and visitors often complimented her on it, its fine handiwork and beautiful mixture of colors. Now here she was, actually using it to keep warm at night and not just a wall decoration. All these beautiful items made her miss her other life. She was glad to be able to touch them and use them, but the feelings that they awoke in her were bittersweet.
* * * *
When Donna was busy brushing the snarls out of her hair, the two maids went back down the stairs. When they were a little distance away and beyond earshot, they begin chirping again.
“Did you hear what she said about the chamber pot?” Rose said. She leaned against the wall, careful to keep a watchful eye down the hall.
“I know! What else on earth would you do in the middle of the night? We all use chamber pots.” Annabelle was flabbergasted. “It’s either that or the outhouse and we forgot to tell her where that was. But she wouldn’t have found it in the dark.” She fiddled with a stray curl that had fallen out of her cap. “It was almost as if she was proud to have found the silly thing. I don’t understand her at all. We’ve never had a guest like her, that’s for sure!”
“Don’t you dare tell anyone what she said, they won’t believe us.” Rose said. “What if she’s not really who she says she is? Maybe she’s from a foreign country.”
“No, no of course not. The missus would have our ears,” Annabelle replied. “We’ll just keep this to ourselves for the time being. Say, you keep an eye on her and I will also. Then in case one of us misses something maybe the other will catch it!”
* * * *
Royce slept fitfully when he returned from the main house. He knew the path backwards and forwards, so the darkness meant nothing to him. Yet, as he walked, his mind tumbled and turned with the evening’s events.
The woman’s appearance unnerved him. He’d seen a lot in his twenty-eight years, but this was the strangest he could ever remember. She was pretty and seemed different than other women he had known in his daily dealings. She had a healthy glow to her, so she had probably spent a lot of time outdoors in the sun and fresh air. He knew of many wealthy women who routinely walked their properties, checking on livestock and out buildings. Of course, they would be with their foreman or husband, but still, not every woman liked to be holed away indoors completely. Her speech was informal and at the same time a bit bold. In most cases, a woman of her position would speak to him in a different tone, since he was only a working man. Yet she spoke to him almost as a counterpart, an equal. He had to admit he liked it. She seemed a bit addled, and her replies to him were a bit slow. Perhaps it was due to tiredness or the fact that she had fallen. Whatever the reason, Miss Bradenton was different than any other guest that had been on the property.
He pulled on his work clothes and boots. It was time to get to his chores. Normally, his life was routine. Work, eat, rest. He had a day off on Sundays and trips to town with the maids to fetch supplies. This was his station in life and he accepted it. What more could a working man want?
He thought back to what he had done as a young man. Working on fishing boats on Lake Michigan was rough, but the pay was decent. In the wintertime, when everything iced over, he found a job working in a Milwaukee brewery. After two years of that, his eyesight had begun to falter, but just on the left side. He had gone to a doctor and all he could say he was sorry, but it was something called a cataract and he would have to learn to live with it. He reached up to rub his patch and remembered the anger he felt that day. The doctor kindly suggested that Royce might want to consider wearing an eye patch to stop curious stares. Royce did it and actually found it to be a relief since the blurring was annoying and he found he could compensate over time.
Then two summers ago, there was a fire at the brewery and the owners said it would be shut down for a number of months until everything was repaired and back in running order. They told all the employees to take time off and return in the fall and they would rehire the original workers first. Being frugal, Royce had saved most of his salary and journeyed back to southern Michigan to visit friends, and his mother, whom he had not seen in two years. She had liked Royce being home again and said she heard they would soon be looking to hire a stable hand at Fallow Field farms.
Royce was hesitant to go, but she told him the job would include free living quarters. So Royce decided to check on it, and found the current stableman to be elderly and in failing health. He was only staying on, he told Royce, until Mrs. Bradenton found a substitute. He showed Royce around a bit and described the job. Royce said he had some experience with horses, from working with the draft horses at the brewery. The old man told him there was nothing to it; it was the same when you worked around any large farm animal. You fed and watered them, kept the stables clean, and maintained the tack and buggies. Naturally, there would be incidental handyman work, fence mending, and ground keeping. He told Royce he would recommend him if he was seriously interested, and Royce said he was.
Within two weeks time, he had a new job and a tidy cottage to live in. He preferred to keep his cottage simple and rather bare, but his mother insisted on giving him decorations and assorted cook pots and bedding. Though he protested and told his mother he had lived in a sparse boarding house while in Milwaukee, she insisted on arranging his cottage into something comfortable and livable.
Besides, he loved Fallow Field. It was composed of acres of prime fruit orchards and vineyards. The entire property was bordered on the western side by the slow moving Saint Joe River and on the northern side by a deep ravine. To the east and south were other smaller farms owned by local fruit farmers that raised pears, currents and plums. Fallow Field farm lay a few miles from Saint Joseph, a pleasant drive by buggy in daylight.
He learned his job quickly and liked the sameness of the routine. Feed and groom the horses, and save up handyman jobs for rainy days and winter time. He knew he would have the job as long as he wanted, and the longer he was there, the less he wanted to go back to the brewery. Fallow Field was beautiful and peaceful during all seasons. The city of Milwaukee was just that—a city, sprawling and dirty and growing every year. On the farm he had the peacefulness he longed for. The animals seemed to like his gentle ways and he soon learned to groom and tend to them so they shone with good health, inside and out.
He forked the hay to them from the cart. The stable had twelve horses in total; some were hacking horses for pleasure riding and four were draft-mixes to put in the traces for the heavy wagon or plowing.
A
s he heaved the hayfork to and fro, he thought again of Miss Bradenton and the events of last night. He could easily become besotted with that woman, but their social status was so different. There would be no chance at a romantic entanglement, or would there? She had seemed a bit odd that first night and it unnerved him. Perhaps that personality quirk would pass from her and she would be as normal as everyone else. He hoped she would stay for a long visit and perhaps they could meet up, either by coincidence or serendipity, on the farm. Most everyone at Fallow Field crossed paths during a typical day. So there was a chance, after all. He smiled and knew he wanted her. He wanted to loosen her hair and cover his chest with it. He wanted to listen to her breathing when they held each other close. He put the hayfork against the wall and wiped his hands on his pants. No, it was best to drive such thoughts from his mind. They were from different stations in life and would probably always remain that way. He should be ashamed of his thoughts. There were other jobs he needed to do today. It was best that he got on with them.
Chapter Five
“Fine. Now it's time to meet the relatives.” Donna felt a slight twinge of fear in her stomach but decided to ignore it. “Let’s see how well I can improvise.”
She had been running the family tree through her head late last night and again early this morning. Being one to always awaken clear headed and on top of things, she soon found she enjoyed this mental exercise. She and Gran used to go through the well documented family tree many times when she was a child. So she had a mental roadmap of who should be who and about what year it now was.
At first, seeing the party guests in the library she had not felt at a loss. At least by catching a glimpse of the family and the party goers, she had a pretty general idea of their ages and thus, the year she was in. By her closest reckoning, the year was between 1850 and 1880. The people she had seen appeared to be in their late twenties and early thirties. She would know more when she saw them in person and got closer to them.
“I should be able to get my bearings in a bit,” she mumbled.
Taking a last look around the room, she checked out some items of clothing that were hanging on pegs on the far wall. There were four white lace-edged caps, with tie strings. She admired their handiwork, and then realized they would be ideal to hide her hair from prying eyes. She wound her hair around itself and pinned it as securely as she could with some pins. Then she carefully pulled on the cap, tucking in all loose strands that she could. Tying it snugly, she took a look in the mirror. It was becoming and who would argue with a woman wearing a smart cap on a cool morning?
She went down the stairs and breathed in the unmistakable smell of bacon and eggs frying. She looked closer at the walls and floors now that it was daylight and she saw the furnishings in natural light. There were no clocks around and, judging by the slant of the light through the windows and the time of year, she figured it to be around seven o'clock. Since she knew her way back to the kitchen where she was last night, she made a detour and walked down the long second floor hallway that led past the bedrooms. The rooms were the same, though what was the office when her Gran was alive was now a small sitting room. The door to the master bedroom was closed and she heard loud snoring coming through the door.
She saw the room that had been the sewing room when she was a child. Judging by the bolts of cloth, scissors, and measuring tapes lying around, it had never varied from its original purpose. A plain wooden table stood in there, with knitting needles and skeins of yarn on top of it. Embroidery hoops hung from nails on the walls and a quilting frame was folded up and placed against the wall. She made her way down the winding staircase and knew that there were two entrances into the kitchen—one through the swinging doors she used last night and the other door that led into the pantry. Since she heard female voices through the doors, she paused to perhaps pick up some useful information before she was seen.
“I told you they'd sleep in. They always do after a night of heavy drinking,” said one voice, probably Rose.
“Shush. You shouldn't talk about the Mister and Missus that way. They treat us good and what's the harm of drinking some? They have plenty more bottles where those came from. Here, have some more bacon, Rose. That's one good thing of being a cook and maid; you get plenty to eat around this place. And we get a place to live too.” That would be Lilly. Donna wondered where their lodgings could be. She didn't know of any rooms in the house that could have been used for maid’s quarters.
“No, I don't want any bacon. Just some of the black coffee, thank ye,” Rose said. “I'm not feeling so well today.”
“I thought you looked a bit peaked. Here let me pour you some. We have at least another hour or so until the rest of the household wakes up.”
Donna heard cutlery and plates clinking then and figured the conversation would stop for a while. Anyway, she had decided to go on in and pick their brains for a while for any kind of information that might help her. She made sure to thump her foot a bit heavier on the step so they would hear her. For an added measure, she faked a loud cough so they would be alerted. She turned the corner and pushed her way through the swinging door.
“Good morning, ladies! How is everyone today?”
“Miss, you startled us! Good morning,” Lilly said. “How nice to see you, and the clothes appear to fit just fine, don't they?”
“Yes, everything was very nice. Could I have some breakfast? I'm just famished after my ordeal yesterday.”
“We'll bring some up to your room on a tray. You don't have to eat here with the help, ma'am. Yes, you certainly had a bit of an adventure yesterday.”
“Oh, that's no problem, I'd like just to sit here and relax. You two go on as if I'm not here at all. I'll take some of those bacon and eggs, Lilly.”
“Yes, ma'am. Could I offer you some bread and butter too? I’ll go out to the spring house to fetch the butter crock. It’ll just take a minute. I didn’t think anyone would be up so early.”
“Oh no, don’t bother yourself on getting the butter. I’ll take some jam if you have it though.”
Donna thought it best again to remember her perceived position and keep in mind Lilly and Rose's positions. She already picked up on the fact that assuming an attitude of wealth or breeding could make the household help ignore idiosyncrasies or gaps in typical behavior for this time period. Sitting and sipping her coffee, she casually asked, “Would you have any newspapers from this week? I'm a little behind on news.”
“No, Miss, but when we go into town tomorrow, Royce will veer off to the post office road and fetch the papers for the whole week for Missus Bradenton. Then after she and the mister are done, they give them to us to read. Well, those of us that can read. Some of us household help just like to look at the pictures of fashions and styles, you know.”
She was not embarrassed to say this, Donna noticed. That was one thing from this time that Donna realized, many people only had a few years of schooling and some women might just go from childhood directly into domestic work.
“You don’t have any old ones around then?”
“Oh no, ma’m.” Lilly said. “Why on earth would we do that? Everyone knows they go to the outhouse to be hung on the nail.”
Donna tried to make light of her mistake. “In our household in Chicago, I guess we just had more papers.”
“Of course––you’re probably hungry. You might have to wait a long time for the Missus to wake up, even though she's got company. Excuse me for saying that, Miss Bradenton.”
“That's alright. I've heard the household was like this––sort of loosely run.”
“Begging your pardon, Miss, and I don’t mean to be forward and all, but how do you know?
You never having been here and all. I've been in employment here ten years and you've not visited.”
“I've lived in Chicago all my life, but I've corresponded with my cousins from this area. They've filled me in with family news.” Donna accepted the plate of food Lily offered her and began to eat. Every
thing was as delicious as it was last night.
Now Rose spoke up. “I guess you know regular breakfast won't be until nine, if then. Sometimes they just skip it and have lunch. Depends on how much of a party there's been the night before.”
Lilly shot Rose a sharp look as if to quiet her.
“Lilly, breakfast was delicious. I think I'll go into the porch to read until the family gets up. I'll be there if anyone is looking for me.” Donna dabbed her lips and placed the napkin on the table.
“Yes, Miss, of course.”
Donna thought she might just as well, because she had no clothing to hang up or brush since she had no luggage. Right now she had the loaned clothing she wore on her back, plus the outfit she arrived in. There was no reason to go back and sit in her room; she would enjoy sitting by herself and gathering her thoughts for the next round—whatever it would be.
“I'll go into the library first and pick out a few books if you don’t think anyone would mind.”
“Of course, Ma'am, help yourself. Rose and I'll be tidying up in there in a few minutes––from the party last night.”
“Yes, of course. I'll only be a short while.”
She left the kitchen and slowly stopped her steps. She paused outside the door after it quit swinging.
“Well, what do you think of that?”
“What, Rose?”
“The cap. Now she’s hiding her hair. I told you what Annabelle and I saw last night—the strange hair stripes and the tattoo no less! I tell you there is something odd going on with her. I just don’t know what it is yet.”
