A Man Called Sunday
Page 25
Although eager to take his leave of the three women, he could not deny a measure of fascination for their unashamed lack of modesty. All three had removed their outer garments and hung them by the fire to dry while they proceeded to prepare a meal in the flimsiest of undergarments, seemingly oblivious to his curious eye. He found himself hoping that their clothes would dry quickly. There were other things about the women that he found interesting, however. He was especially curious about the coffee mill Rose used to grind the beans. It was a square, wooden box with intricate carving on the sides and a cast-iron crank on the top. After pouring the coffee beans in the top, she turned the crank for a while, then pulled out a small drawer in the front of the box which held the ground coffee. He had heard of coffee mills before, but this was the first he had actually seen. If his mother had one when he was a small boy, he didn’t remember it. He was impressed. It certainly was an improvement over his method of crushing the beans with a rock.
Lorena took note of his curious eye as he watched their every move and fixed his gaze upon her preparation of pan bread. “Have to let it rise a little,” she explained, although he had not asked why she had left the pan on the warm coals at the edge of the fire instead of cooking it closer to the center, where the coals were hotter. “Then it’ll be ready to bake,” she said. He nodded in response, understanding then. A fleeting memory darted across his mind of his mother baking bread in an iron stove, but he quickly blinked it away, sending it back to the childhood that had been a prior life. Lorena glanced at Billie Jean, who was watching the two of them with a smile of amusement on her face. He’s like a child watching me, Lorena thought. He must have been living under a rock all his life.
Lorena’s thoughts were probably natural under the circumstances, but her mistake was in judging the man’s fascination as a sign of innocence in all things. To the contrary, he knew the savage world he chose to live in better than any man. . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Charles G. West lives in Ocala, Florida. His fascination with and respect for the pioneers who braved the wild frontier of the great American West inspire him to devote his full time to writing historical novels.
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CONNECT ONLINE
www.charlesgwest.com
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