Reforming Elizabeth

by Lorin Grace

“Aunt Mind-a.” She hurried to correct herself. Her aunt looked up. “I, uh, you shouldn’t, uh.”

  Mina used the chair back to pull herself up, then rubbed her knees. “Yes, I think you’re right. But you ran out on me.”

  “I, uh, there was this man, and I—” Elizabeth waved her arms uselessly for a moment. What was it about her little aunt that scared her so much?

  “And you slammed the door before he could bring in your trunk.”

  “Oh no, I hadn’t meant to.”

  “Oh yes. Lucky for you Gideon is a preacher and is used to folks doing funny things.”

  “Preacher?” Elizabeth’s voice came out as a strangled squeak. “The preacher saw me dressed like this? I can never—”

  “You can, and you will. First let’s get you properly dressed, before he finishes in the barn. Then you can apologize and thank him for rescuing your trunk.”

  “I lost the key outside when I tried to bring in the trunk.”

  Mina studied her quizzically and pulled a key out of her pocket. “Your father left it for you.” She handed Elizabeth a key attached to a short ribbon. Elizabeth took the offered key. The underside was smooth, missing the special notch.

  “Don’t stand there. Get some other clothing out.”

  “It’s the wrong—never—This will do.” Elizabeth allowed the sentence to fade into a mumble.

  Elizabeth unbuckled the leather straps and shoved the key into the lock. She tried to turn the key the special way. As Mother said, it refused to turn. She turned it the other way and opened the top. Her fingers searched for some other way to open the other compartment. What if mud had leaked into the hidden space?

  “Is something wrong, child?”

  Elizabeth shook her head, then nodded. “There is another compartment this key doesn’t open. It is at the bottom, and I am afraid the mud—” Elizabeth shrugged.

  Mina raised her brows.

  Elizabeth bit her lip, knowing she’d said too much.

  Gideon debated leaving Jordan in the Richards’s barn for the night. The Porters’ barn was no more than a shed, and the addition of his horse would crowd the structure. On the other hand, he didn’t relish walking a half mile in the snow in the growing darkness. The snow fell steadily. If the wind picked up, he might lose his way. He didn’t like leaving Mina alone, either. Yet staying in the house with the not-so-little niece would be frowned upon by the congregation—and the niece.

  He wasn’t leaving Mina alone. She had her niece, even if she didn’t know how to pump water. Gideon reminded himself not to judge. There could be another explanation. The woman may be injured. That would explain the wrapper she wore. Whatever the reason, he’d better pump some more in case the pump froze tonight. Leaving the barn, he checked the knots on the guide rope to the house. He didn’t want to leave Mina without a way to find the barn in case the storm turned into a blizzard.

  Passing the woodpile, he grabbed an extra armful. Already the snow lay as deep as his ankles. He used his foot to knock on the door.

  Mina opened the door before his foot connected a second time. Gideon pivoted so as to not kick Mina. Somewhere in the house a door closed with more force than necessary. Gideon unloaded the wood in the woodbox.

  “Looks like we are going to get a deep one tonight. I’ll fill up your water buckets before I leave for Porters’. Anything else you need?” Gideon rubbed his hands together.

  “You sure you can make it all the way to the parsonage? If the wind picks up, you won’t be able to see your hand in front of your face.”

  “It is clear enough. I’m going to take Jordan, so I should arrive before anything changes.”

  Mina nodded. “Best get going. I’ve seen it drop a foot of snow in less than three hours before. I don’t want you caught in the worst of the storm.”

  Gideon grabbed the water bucket and hurried out to the pump. He returned and dumped the bucket into the large pot, then repeated the process twice.

  On his last trip, he grabbed more logs, just in case. The door opened wide, and instead of Mina, her niece held it. He hurried in and set down his burden.

  “That should keep you through most of tomorrow if need be.” He turned to the niece. “I don’t suppose you know how to milk a cow or feed livestock.”

  Elizabeth bristled. “No, I don’t.” She lifted her chin the slightest bit.

  Gideon turned back to Mina. “If I can’t return in the morning, make sure you take your niece with you to the barn. She can figure most of the chores out, but don’t you overdo.” Gideon jammed his cap on his head and left the room before either woman responded.

  Elizabeth looked at her aunt and shrugged.

  “You can talk to him tomorrow. Finish rinsing your clothes while I find us some supper.”

  Eight

  Mina stretched out on the fringed bed. The dream of her late husband, Henry, slowly faded. The colder the morning, the more she missed him. Every morning for forty-four years, she’d awoken warm at his side, which she hadn’t appreciated in mid-August. This second winter without him made her long for the sweltering summer mornings she’d once complained about. The flannel-wrapped bricks she’d placed at the foot of the bed had lost their heat hours ago. Maybe she would invest in a warming pan. Widow Snow claimed the pan was far superior to heated bricks. Although it seemed like a waste of money when a brick or rock would do the job and not cost a single penny. She did not relish getting out of bed and was certain her niece was not used to early mornings, but what if Elizabeth arose first and tried to build up the fire?

  Assuming Elizabeth had missed that part of her education, too, Mina leapt from the bed and pulled on her wrapper. The kitchen remained dark and empty. She sighed with relief to see the copper curfew tucked in the corner, protecting the hot coals.

  Washing, cooking, and cleaning—how had her nephew’s wife ignored the education of his daughter? What was this world coming to? Her poor sister would roll over in her grave if she knew her granddaughter had turned out to be a spoiled sluggard.

  Like all her sisters, Patience had been misnamed. She would never have let things get to this point. Thinking Patience was overreacting, Mina had laughed at her sister all those years ago when she’d worried her granddaughter was being spoiled beyond repair. Perhaps a chance remained to correct the course, but it would all depend on Elizabeth. Her niece must want to change.

  And to do that, Elizabeth needed to wake up.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Elizabeth rolled over on her soft feather bed. Why didn’t the maid come in already? Frost clung to the window, and her breath hung in the air. She needed her can of hot water.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  No flowered wallpaper. Slanted walls. Ugh. She was not at home. No maid. At least not for her. Aunt Mina got one yesterday—her.

  Thump. Thump. The knocking continued from the floor below. Yet another use her aunt had found for the intricately carved cane.

  “Coming!” Anything to get the pounding to stop. Pain shot through her shoulder as she sat up, the abused muscles in her back tightening. Retrenchment? More like a slow, painful death. Her foot recoiled into the covers when she tried to stick it out. Brrrr. If the work didn’t kill her, the cold would.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  “I said I’m coming!” Elizabeth hopped out of bed. If her aunt was anything like her grandmother, having to call a third time would mean a painful punishment. Aunt Mindwell was not big enough to box Elizabeth’s ears, but the cane could inflict some harm.

  The gray wool dress she’d worn last night after opening her trunk remained her only option as the rest of her clothes still sat in the trunk in the kitchen. Before slipping the hideous and itchy garment on, she pulled on the thick stockings and petticoats kept warm under her quilts. She ran down stairs without reb
raiding her hair.

  “Tomorrow I expect you to be down here by six thirty to start the fire. I will teach you how to build up the fire for the day, then you can make breakfast for us.”

  Before sunrise? Elizabeth opened her mouth to object, but her stomach rumbled and she changed her mind. The alternative might be going without food. “What shall I make?”

  “What can you make?”

  She bit her lip before answering. “Nothing, but when I was little, I did help Cook mix batters.”

  “Let us start with something simple—frying yesterday’s bread and boiling a couple of eggs. You can also start to cook the beans I soaked overnight for our dinner. Gideon takes the noon meal with me, so I make plenty. Extras work for supper.” Mina sat on the bench at the table and proceeded to direct Elizabeth’s every move.

  Aunt Mina claimed the two pieces of bread less black than the others and scraped them over the slop bucket. Elizabeth scraped her toast, but the fact that her pieces had caught fire rendered them unsalvageable. Still, she picked the pieces apart, hoping to find enough to keep her stomach from rumbling. Mina had not trusted her to heat her morning cup of chocolate, so she filled up on Mina’s chocolate and the boiled egg. Elizabeth figured one could do little to ruin a boiled egg.

  She was wrong. Obtaining a particular shade of green, the egg tasted worse than it appeared.

  Mina studied the clock—nearly nine, and Gideon remained absent. The snow still fell lightly, more than a foot and a half having accumulated. Watching Elizabeth’s attempts to iron the clothes she’d washed yesterday gave Mina second thoughts about keeping her promise to Gideon not to tend to the animals alone.

  The girl was a menace. Twice she’d burned her hand because she forgot the cloth pad to hold the handle. Fortunately, there was the snow, readily available to cool the burn. Mina winced as Elizabeth reached for an iron without her rag again. Just in time, Elizabeth snatched her hand away and grabbed the cloth. Now if she could keep from totally ruining her clothes. Thankfully, the burned spot likely wouldn’t show on the drab-brown dress, and no one would see the petticoats.

  Mina returned to her spinning. The thread slipped, her fingers not as agile as they had once been. But she enjoyed the hum of the wheel. Fewer people spun at home now. Mina considered giving up spinning and weaving more than once as purchasing cloth became easier. Maybe next year. This year she would teach Elizabeth.

  “Ouch!”

  Mina caught her niece sucking her finger. Another burn and only a quarter hour had passed since the last one. And still no Gideon.

  “Child, enough ironing, I think. Set the irons to cool on the edge of the hearth. We need to check on the animals.”

  As Mina pulled an old greatcoat from the peg, she worried. Oh, Henry, I hope I am up to this task.

  Only forty-six strokes and Elizabeth’s arms were shaking too much to brush the other fifty-four. Why was Aunt Mindwell making her do such menial labor? It was perfectly humiliating. Supper consisted of burned beans. The same beans were not quite done at dinner. Aunt Mina either had no sense of taste or pretended nothing was amiss and ate. Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled, whether in protest of the food she’d consumed or in hunger for anything edible. Even pease porridge would be welcome now, providing someone else cooked it.

  Little chance circumstances would improve. Tonight they set out what her aunt called a bread start. If she ruined the bread, would her aunt keep forcing her to perform work she was not raised to do? Mother had raised her to run a household and oversee servants, not be one. A thousand complaints went through her head, but none crossed her lips. Not even when the goat kicked the milk bucket. Not that it contained much milk—the goat hadn’t given up its milk easily. Her aunt took up the milking only to have Mr.—or Reverend, which was unclear—Frost walk into the barn. His censorious glare was accentuated by the grim line of his mouth. He shooed them out of the barn and left before dinner, which was part of his pay.

  Gideon sat at his desk in front of his open Bible, the words blurring on the page. What was Mina thinking? Her incompetent niece would kill them both by starvation or poorly cooked meat before the month was out. If he hadn’t arrived when he did this morning, a serious accident might have occurred, more than the spilled milk someone had let seep into the straw lining the stall. And that someone was probably the reason Mina had been milking when he’d stepped into the barn. He’d wasted no time in escorting both women back to the house.

  He’d skipped dinner when Mina had warned him off with a head shake and a grimace. With several families to check on, he found food elsewhere.

  Worst of all, the niece was more than commonly beautiful. He’d berated himself last night for noticing her at all. It was against all he’d promised himself after Ruth died, to take note of another woman for anything other than her kind heart, which he wondered if the girl even possessed. He’d caught the rebellious look and proud lift of her chin in the barn. He’d met girls like her before. If Mina thought she could reform her niece, he’d better help her by praying for a miracle.

  Maybe God would answer a prayer for Mina. Miracles might work for someone else. His own prayers had remained unanswered for months. He needed direction. Did he remember enough of the trade his father had taught him to be a success? He would write his brother in the morning about having his tools sent down. Or maybe he would go visit him.

  Gideon pulled out a piece of paper and uncorked the ink bottle. A letter would do.

  Elizabeth lit a second candle, an extravagance she wasn’t sure her aunt would approve of but necessitated by the dimness of the room. She would blow it out as soon as she finished her letter.

  Dear Mother,

  I am well. It has snowed here but has mostly melted away. I think it must melt faster this far south. Aunt Mindwell’s house reminds me of Ford’s cottage. Not large enough to host a party, but more than I expected. She does not employ any servants and never has, other than someone to help with the farming. There is a man who comes and cares for the animals and does the heavy work. As near as I can tell, he is a reverend but is in some disgrace with his church. I can share naught of his disgrace as it is a carefully guarded secret. All I know is he was formerly posted at a church in the western part of the state. At first, I thought he left a wife there, but I have learned he is a widower. I do not understand why some woman hasn’t gotten him to propose. Despite his crooked nose, he is rather handsome and not yet thirty. Even if he is doomed to be poor, he would be a catch for someone. He lives with Reverend Porter and helps him with the congregation, as it is rather widespread, consisting of more than the fifty or so families in the area Aunt calls Curtis Corners.

  It would probably shock you to learn that Aunt has made me her cook. It is likely to be as disastrous as you expect. I kept hoping if I failed to cook well she would relent at my learning, but after more than a week of inedible meals, I have put my mind only to learning this one skill well. I made a perfect Johnny cake yesterday, and today’s bread is not hard and flat. Mr. Frost, her employee, ate with us today at dinner.

  It is shocking. We eat in the kitchen as she has no dining room. The room that should be the dining room has a huge weaving loom in it, and we must eat with the help.

  Aunt Mina, she doesn’t like the name Mindwell, has determined now to teach me to spin and eventually to weave. I wonder why, with modern factories being built every day making such excellent fabrics, she would want to do something so laborious.

  She has started me on a drop spindle, which is aptly named as I seem to drop it to the floor often. It usually rolls under the chair and breaks the thread.

  Speaking of under the chair, she made me mop last week! And wash laundry. It took two full days. I don’t think she understands the whole retrenchment idea Father lectures on. I am not to be reformed but remolded into a maid.

  Be at ease on my account, as
I am constantly on my best behavior, so I can return home to you.

  Your loving daughter,

  Elizabeth

  Nine

  Sunday.

  At last.

  Elizabeth stretched. She pulled her bed gown and stockings out from under the quilt and put them on. There was no need to put on her gown until after they ate, as a fire would have to be kindled. Elizabeth hurried down the stairs and discovered red coals under the curfew. She had properly banked the fire—a thrilling sight after yesterday’s mishap. In no time the fire was burning brightly and the water boiling.

  Last week, on account of the storm and resulting ice, Sunday services had been canceled. Elizabeth passed several uncomfortable hours reading Bible passages aloud to her aunt in the parlor while her aunt rocked and rocked. Spinning and sewing were both forbidden Sabbath activities. Elizabeth longed to meet someone besides her aunt and the stoic Mr. Gideon Frost. The postmaster didn’t count.

  Elizabeth sliced some bread. This loaf was not as disastrous as her first batch but was still better suited to milk toast than normal eating. It would make a sufficient breakfast.

  Mina entered the room, also clad in her bed gown. She said nothing about the rags tied into Elizabeth’s hair but did raise her brows as she fingered one. It wasn’t like Elizabeth planned on an elaborate hairstyle, just something to accentuate the single bun she’d worn the past several weeks.

  Mina set about making her daily chocolate. Though she required Elizabeth to do all the other cooking, making chocolate remained off-limits. Elizabeth wasn’t fond of the bitter concoction, but Aunt Mina’s was more tolerable than most as she added a measure of sugar to the syrup.

  Outside, the barn door creaked. Elizabeth looked out the window, hoping the half curtain hid her from view. Between the rags tied in her hair and her dressing gown, being seen by Mr. Frost was something she’d rather avoid. His silent presence at the table each day gave her plenty of time to study him. Handsome, sad, and brooding. It wasn’t hard to guess the source of his sadness, widower as he was.