by Lorin Grace
How rude. Elizabeth couldn’t recall the last time she’d been snubbed by a man—other than Samuel. Perhaps the ugly brown dress and cloak gave him no reason to look twice. Regardless, he rode down the lane. An excellent rider. It would be a shame if he were married.
Seeming not to have noticed, her father started up the walkway without her.
Elizabeth hurried to catch up.
A slightly crook-backed woman wearing a linen bonnet of unusual design opened the door to the house. Elizabeth thought the head covering quite flattering, devoid though it was of the usual ruffle. She needed to experiment with the pattern as she was sure she would be expected to wear one.
“Aunt Mindwell?”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed at the uncertainty in her father’s voice.
“Ebenezer, come in before you freeze. You too, child.” Elizabeth straightened her back. I am not a child.
The door closed behind them. Her father stood in the hall as if waiting for something.
“Ebenezer, if you are waiting for someone to take your coat, you will be standing there until it’s time to leave. As for you,” the old women peered up at Elizabeth. “Take your cloak into the kitchen. Use the hooks by the back door.” A raised cane pointed the way. Elizabeth hurried to comply, sensing if she didn’t, the cane might find another use.
The kitchen, though barely larger than her bedroom at home, was warm and cozy. Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled at the smell of something savory coming from the pot hanging over the fireplace. A slice of toasted bread was all she’d forced down this morning before leaving Aunt Lydia’s. That had been hours ago. Her innards rumbled. She obediently hung her cloak next to a faded shawl and returned to find her father and aunt sitting in a sunlit parlor.
Glaring at one another.
Elizabeth looked from one to the other, wondering if she should return to the kitchen. She turned to leave when her aunt broke eye contact with her father and turned her gaze on Elizabeth. “Stay, child.”
Elizabeth slid into a straight-backed chair as far from her aunt and Father as possible. A thick packet of papers lay on her aunt’s lap, the corners of what appeared to be bank notes sticking out, but from across the room, Elizabeth couldn’t be sure.
“You really expected to hand me this,” Aunt Mindwell lifted the stack of papers, “and your daughter, and leave in the same hour? I know my sister raised you better than to act in such a cowardly manner.”
Silence filled the room. Outside, two boys ran past, their playful shouts reverberating off the windows. Still, her father did not reply.
“Very well, fetch her trunk and be gone.”
“Perhaps your man?” Ebenezer trailed off. He seemed scared. Impossible.
“There is no man. I employ a helper half day. He is not here at present. I am sure you can bring it in yourself.”
Aunt Mindwell stood and crossed to the window. “If you leave within the hour, you should reach Brookline, or wherever, long before the storm hits.”
Elizabeth studied the cloudless sky through the window. Her aunt must be mistaken. Her father slunk out of the room. She’d never seen him cower before anyone before. Not even the men he sentenced to prison who flung insults as they were carted away made him flinch. Who was this woman?
Elizabeth rose to follow suit.
“Sit down, child.” The command was firm but gentle. “We will discuss other matters later, but let us get one thing clear now. I am called Mina, or Aunt Mina, if you prefer. The first time you call me Mindwell or Richards, you will sleep in the barn. The second time, you will find yourself on the first stage north.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“What is wrong, can’t you speak?”
“Yes, Aunt Mind—um, Aunt Mina.” Elizabeth thought she saw the reflection of a smile in the window glass.
“Close enough for now. Oh no! Careful.” Elizabeth followed her aunt’s gaze to the street. They watched mutely as her father slid her trunk off the boot of the carriage and into a mud puddle.
“I do hope that old trunk is well built, or you will be starting in on the laundry sooner than expected.”
Elizabeth worried about the secret compartment in the base of the trunk. Her dress would be ruined if the mud seeped into the small space. She leaped from her chair and ran out the front door to give her father a hand.
The wind whipped her skirts about her as she ran down the path. Her father did not attempt to move the trunk from where it fell. Instead, he proceeded to untie the horses. By the time Elizabeth reached the trunk, her father had climbed upon the seat.
“Father!”
Ebenezer flicked the reins, and the horses began to move.
“Father!”
The only response to her yelling was a dismissive wave as the carriage headed up the street.
Elizabeth grasped one handle and tried to pull, but her boot slipped in the mud and she fell on her backside. Dampness crept through her petticoats.
“No!” she yelled into the wind and the vacant lane. She stood and tugged again on the trunk and succeeded moving it several inches. Three more violent jerks moved the trunk out of the mud and onto the browned grass. She circled to the other side and started to push the trunk, but her dainty half boot failed to grip the ground and she fell to her knees. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes as she tried to stand.
A shadow fell over the trunk. “Come inside before you catch a cold. Gideon can bring it in when he gets back if one of my neighbors doesn’t come to lend a hand first.” Elizabeth found herself being herded back into the house. They didn’t stop until they stood in the kitchen. An odd clicking sound filled the room. It took Elizabeth a moment to realize it was her teeth chattering. Her aunt handed her a blanket.
“Sit, child, and have some soup and a bit of tea. Best get you warmed up.”
The soup helped the chattering, and the warm cup of tea thawed her fingers. Her face was too cold to let the tears fall. Why did Father leave without a good-bye or fare-thee-well? Or helping with her trunk?
Mina set a bowl in front of Elizabeth. “I think we both planned on starting this off a bit differently.”
Elizabeth dug in, then stopped, suddenly remembering the manners her mother had drilled into her. “Oh, you are not eating. How rude of me.”
“Don’t worry, I ate earlier. I think we’d best get you cleaned up. Your dress is going to need a good soaking. Do you have …” Mina let the sentence hang. “Let me guess, all your clothes are packed in the trunk in my front yard.”
Elizabeth nodded.
Mina began to chuckle. Elizabeth started to giggle. Mina wiped at her eyes. “I am sorry, dear, but it is so ridiculous. You can’t unload your things in the street, and I am sure I don’t own a single thing that would fit you without showing half your leg. Oh, but my dressing gown may!” Mina hopped up with what Elizabeth thought was surprising speed for a woman of such advanced age.
Elizabeth had never heated water for her bath before. Her impatience had resulted in a rather shallow and tepid affair, but it was sufficient to wash the mud from her limbs. Aunt Mina produced a clean shift. Considering that her great-aunt stood two or three inches shorter than Grandmother, the shift was longer than Elizabeth expected. Coupled with some warm woolen socks, thick petticoats, and Mina’s bed robe, Elizabeth felt much better, even if she appeared barely dressed.
Mina instructed Elizabeth on the best method for ridding her clothing of the mud stains. Another chore Elizabeth never expected to do.
“No, child, you must put your back into the scrubbing. Dirt doesn’t come off clothing by placing it in water any more than the mud comes off you without your scrubbing with a cloth.”
Hands buried in the hot water, Elizabeth considered telling the old woman what she thought about the indignity of washing her own clothes. But
without any accessible clothing, she dared not push the matter. She couldn’t be sure her aunt wouldn’t send her home in her muddy clothing. Why was Father so afraid of Aunt Mina? It wasn’t her size. Elizabeth towered four full inches over her aunt.
Elizabeth inspected the hem of the petticoat she was washing. It remained the color of weak tea, not the pure color of new snow her maid always managed. How much more would she need to scrub? Before she immersed the garment in the water again, Aunt Mina’s bony fingers took hold of it.
“Not a bad start. Too bad it will not be sunny tomorrow, drying this in the sun would do wonders, as would bluing. But you don’t have time for either today.”
Elizabeth studied her red hands and wondered what bluing would do to them. The combination of lye and ash soap in the scalding water threatened to do permanent damage to her skin. She scrubbed again. Oh, her shoulder! She started to reach for the aching spot but realized her hands were dripping wet and plunged them back into the washtub only to narrowly miss splashing water on herself.
Aunt Mina peered around Elizabeth’s side. “That is as clean as you are going to get your clothes today. Better finish up with the rest of your things, or we won’t have time to make any supper.”
Make supper? Didn’t Aunt Mina employ a cook? Surely she didn’t expect me to cook, too? Elizabeth started on her stockings.
“Don’t rub those too hard. It would be better if they soaked for a day. Stockings do have a way of stretching in all the wrong places. If they do, instead of catching a glimpse of your delicate ankle, some young buck will think you have more wrinkles on them than I do on my face.” Mina laughed.
Elizabeth scowled. How was she ever to figure out the old lady if she acted prim one moment and bawdy the next? It wasn’t her fault the dressing gown was too short.
By the time Elizabeth finished washing, she thought her shoulder might never recover.
“You’ll need to rinse everything out now. If lye soap stays on your shift, it will itch like poison ivy.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. Why didn’t her aunt have a pump inside the house? She slipped on a pair of too-large boots and shrugged into her cloak.
“Empty the tub first, in the spot I showed you, or the whole yard will look like a pig wallowed in it.”
Since the washtub was too heavy to lift, Elizabeth filled a bucket with the dirty water and trudged for the door. Her arms ached. She began to see the advantage of doing laundry in a washhouse or out of doors.
Reformation? Who needed that? At this rate, she would wake up dead in the morning.
Seven
The wind crawled between Gideon’s buttons and slithered beneath his scarf, biting his skin wherever it touched him. Gray-blue clouds gathered in the east, marching toward the south shore, ready to lay siege and reclaim the ground in the name of winter.
Gideon gave Jordan a nudge, and the horse picked up his pace as if he too sensed the need for haste. Jordan was the best mount he’d ever owned, despite the pun of a name Ruth had given him. “As long as you own this horse, I will know my Gideon is crossing safely on Jordan.” Few of his parishioners caught the joke, but most of his fellow clergy chuckled as soon as they put the names together. Gideon wondered about the few who merely frowned.
Snowflakes fluttered around his head as he turned down the lane to Mrs. Richards’s home. Mina—he needed to think of her by her chosen name in private, too, or slip again and give her reason to use her cane on his shins. White haze blurred his vision as the snow began to fall in earnest. Something lay in Mina’s front yard. He squinted. A large box? A crate? He drew closer. A muddy trunk. He should not have left Mina to face her nephew and grandniece alone.
He dismounted Jordan and studied the old thing. No point in leaving it out in the snow. Hefting the trunk, he started around to the back, Jordan following. He dare not track mud through the front door.
As he rounded the house, a woman exited the back door dragging a bucket. Then she hobbled to the corner of the house and dumped its contents into the French drain. The girl from this morning turned and headed for the pump. In Mrs. R—Mina’s dressing gown and his barn boots, he wouldn’t mistake her for a mere girl again.
He watched her pump the water in little jerky movements, as if she’d never pumped water before. She must be used to an old-fashioned bucket dip well. Halfway back to the house, she lifted her gaze from the ground and locked eyes with him, then let out a screech and dropped the bucket, the water splashing the front of her clothes before he could say hello. Before he knew it, she’d dashed into the house, slamming the door behind her.
With his hands full of the muddy trunk, Gideon stared at the closed door. He did the only thing he thought of and bellowed, “Mina!”
Mina crossed the room and opened the door to her bewildered helper.
“How good of you to fetch the trunk.”
“Where would you like this?”
Mina glanced at the stairs where her niece had retreated and considered the trunk for a moment.
“Set it there by the door. With so much mud, best leave it here until we can clean it up.”
Gideon set the trunk where Mina indicated, then looked from Mina to the stairs and back to the trunk.
“That is your ‘little’ niece? She is older than I expected.”
Mina grinned. “Yes, that is Elizabeth. Knowing how thin the walls in this house are, I will only say my meeting with my nephew was more disappointing than anticipated. But my niece is a pleasant surprise, and I believe this situation may be beneficial to both of us.”
Gideon surveyed the messy kitchen. Puddles of dirty water spotted the floor. The half-empty washtub and basket of wet clothing gave him cause to doubt Mrs. R—Mina’s optimism. He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of the idea.
Mina patted his arm, grabbed a rag from the bin, and started to wipe up the mess. “You’d best hurry and get the chores done. I bet two feet of snow will fall before morning.”
Gideon went to the spot where he kept his older boots, but instead of his boots, he found two very muddy women’s half boots. Even covered with the drying brown dirt, he discerned their fine craftsmanship. Probably from one of the more expensive Boston shoemakers. Not many men honed their talents to the skill required for such work.
“Where are my—” No point in finishing the sentence as he remembered whose feet were wearing his boots only moments ago.
“Oh, dear. I think I heard her trip out of them on the way up the stairs,” Mina said as she continued wiping at the puddles.
Gideon walked to the stairway, relieved to find both boots. One must have fallen off on her first step. The other made the entire assent and lay on the top stair. He hurried to grab the top one lest he encounter her again. As he bent to retrieve the boot, the unmistakable sound of a woman sobbing reached his ear.
Not wanting to deal with either woman, Gideon rushed out to the barn. On his way, he spied the abandoned bucket, filled it, and set it on the porch before going to unsaddle Jordan.
Heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs. Too loud for Aunt Mindw—Mina. That man! Burying her face in the pillow, Elizabeth tried to stifle her sobs. The footfalls retreated. Perhaps he had not heard her.
She did not want to see him ever again. He should have made his presence known, not stood staring at her while she pumped water in her aunt’s dressing gown. How unbelievably rude.
Of course, slamming the door in his face while he carried her trunk was rude as well, but he’d scared her.
She sat up and wiped her eyes. Crying was silly. Well, usually, but crying out all the things she couldn’t put into words actually helped. She crossed to the washstand and rinsed her tears away, the icy water stinging her cheeks. Typically she would have balked, but the cool water soothed her reddened face. In the small mirror, she tidied her hair. G
ood thing she’d used plenty of hairpins to put her hair up this morning. If it had tumbled down in all the mud … She shuddered. As cold as the house was, drying her hair would take forever.
Movement outside the window drew her attention. The man was walking into the barn. At least she thought it was him. The falling snow made it difficult to tell. He must have left the trunk downstairs, as no thump of the heavy trunk being set down had echoed on the landing. Perhaps if she hurried down, she could dress before he returned to the house.
She pressed her hand to her chest. The key! The ribbon holding the key was missing. Elizabeth closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. She’d tied the key on before she left Aunt Lydia’s. She’d checked twice before leaving. When she’d hung up her cloak in the kitchen, the key had lain warm against her skin. She’d tugged on the ribbon to be certain. However, when she had stripped down for her bath, she didn’t remember untying the ribbon. Why hadn’t she realized it then? Perhaps because her chattering teeth had rendered the thought impossible.
The key must have fallen off when she’d wrestled with the trunk out in the yard. Elizabeth sank onto the bed. It would be impossible to find now with the snow coating the ground and the evening light fading. She felt again for the key. Nothing.
Her stays. Maybe the key had become caught in them. The stays lay on the kitchen sideboard, having escaped the muddy fate of the rest of her clothing. The man had been in the kitchen! Had he seen her stays too? How long could she avoid him? He must be around often if she saw him both coming and going.
Elizabeth hurried down the stairs, listening carefully to make sure only Mina was in the house. She stopped short when she entered the kitchen and found her aunt on her hands and knees, cleaning the floor.
