Carolyn Davidson - Eden

“I’ve undressed in the dark my whole life, John Roper. There’s enough light from the window and that fireplace out there to see what I’m doing, and I suspect there’s a slop jar in the corner where the washstand is.”

“You’re right on both counts, Katie. There’s towels and washrags over there in the drawer beneath the bowl and pitcher. Help yourself.” He went to the kitchen sink then, pumping water easily, filling a cup and drinking from it as he waited for her to make ready for the night.

The washrag smelled clean and she poured some water into the bowl provided and sloshed the rag in it, then rubbed his bar of soap on it, wrung it out and used it on her face and reaching beneath the bodice of her dress, used it beneath her arms, not willing to carry the scent of her perspiration into bed with her. A matter of pride she supposed, but she’d smelled the odor of unwashed bodies for years and if it was in her power, she would not allow her own to be of that ilk.

In moments, she had rinsed the cloth in the water and repeated the journey it had taken over her face and arms, removing the soap readily. The towel was rough, but she was used to such things and it took only moments to prepare for bed. Using the slop jar was beyond her right now, for there was no screen or any way to hide her doings from him and she could not bring herself to be so familiar.

“Can I use the outhouse?” It was the most difficult thing she’d ever had to request, but he didn’t appear to be shocked, only murmured a different solution.

“I’ll stay out in the kitchen a little longer and close the bedroom door. You can use the facilities over in the corner. I’d just as soon not send you outside again tonight, but you’re welcome to your privacy, Katie.”

He was as good as his word and did as he’d suggested, leaving her to tend to her duties hastily before he should return, the few minutes long enough for her to don the nightgown he’d bought for her. She’d barely pulled it down over her body, admiring the soft fabric and the small pearl buttons marching down the front placket, when he rapped on the door and then opened it, making a small production of entering the room, as if he would give her warning of his coming.

She grasped the quilt he’d offered and wrapped it around herself, then walked past him into the other room, heading for the couch he’d offered for her use. She slid quickly atop the firm surface, forming a cocoon of the quilt.

“All set?” He stood in the doorway between the two rooms, and asked the question softly. “There’s a pillow here for you to use, Katie,” he offered and approached carefully, tossing the pillow to where she lay.

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” she told him, watching as he went back into his bedroom, listening as she heard the bed creak beneath his weight. Whether he undressed or not, she did not know, for she turned her face to the back of the couch, her head on the pillow he’d given her, and closed her eyes.

“I’ve never had so nice a pillow.” The words came from her lips before she thought twice and she grimaced as she thought of how foolish she must sound. As if a pillow was a thing of great importance. Yet it was true. The feathers that filled the pillow beneath her head provided a luxurious place to rest and she was grateful.

From the bedroom, John’s laugh was soft, and she was aghast at her own words. He must think her foolish.

But apparently he was not surprised by her words for he spoke readily. “Berta, the housekeeper in the big house made me the set when I moved into this cabin, just the other day,” he said. “She dug up the towels and quilts for me, too, and the canned things you saw in the kitchen cabinet.”

His voice carried to her and she turned over on the couch, forming an answer. “She must be a nice lady.”

John chuckled. “She is, but no one would dare to call her nice to her face. She puts on a big front, snapping and snarling at the men when they come in for meals. Her biggest gripe is dirt on the floor, and woe betide the man who comes to the table with his hat on. She’s a great one for manners, Berta is, for all that she’s gruff and picky.”

“She sounds like someone I could like,” Katie said, realizing that her words were slurring just a bit. Her eyes were fighting to stay open and she felt the weariness in her bones sweep through her whole body.

“Go to sleep, Katie,” John said from his bed. And then, almost as an afterthought, he spoke again. “Are you comfortable?”

She nodded, aware that he couldn’t see from his bed, with her in the dark, the only light in the room the faint glow of the fireplace. She was sleepy, and strangely, felt safe here in this place, even though a man would sleep only a few feet from her. “I’m fine,” she said softly, and realized that the words were true, that she felt safe and secure for the first time in longer than she could remember.

WHEN KATIE AWOKE IT WAS with a start as she heard a rooster crowing outside the cabin. And then she inhaled sharply as she sensed eyes upon her, and sat up quickly, unable to think for a moment where she was.

“You awake, Katie?” John’s voice sounded like a saw cutting through a length of wood, rough and rusty, but she knew no fear, only a sense of rightness that she could not explain.

“I’m awake.” She opened her eyes, saw John at the sink, watched as he bent his head and doused it with water and then picked up the towel there and roughly dried his hair, then his hands. He looked over at her and grinned.

“How was your first night as a housekeeper?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel much like one yet,” she told him. “Ask me tomorrow.”

As she spoke the sound of men’s voices came to her from outdoors, through the cabin’s walls, laughter pealing forth as one of them apparently found something humorous to brighten his morning.

John crossed to the front door and opened it, then looked back at her. “I’ll be back in a short while. I’m just going to talk to the men and get things sorted out. Will you make breakfast, or shall I go to the big house to eat this morning?”

Her stomach growled as he spoke, as if the thought of food had brought hunger to the surface. “I’ll cook you breakfast,” she said quickly, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the couch, careful to keep the quilt around herself.

He was gone then, the door closing behind him and she went into the bedroom, seeking out the clothing she’d taken off the night before, and then changed her mind, recalling the new things John had purchased. The thought of the items inside the plain wrapping sent a quick thrill through her and she fought with her instincts that begged to wear new clothing.

Cooking breakfast for John did not require wearing a new dress, and she’d do well to locate her old things and get busy. But a quick look around assured her that the things she had discarded last evening in this room were here no longer. As though they had never existed, the worn, shabby dress Molly had given her and the dingy petticoat she’d stripped from before she donned her new nightgown were nowhere in sight.

It was there that John found her, just moments later, sitting on the edge of his bed, looking around her in dismay, wrapped tightly in the quilt. She looked up as he stood in the doorway.

“I don’t know where my things are from yesterday. I wanted to get dressed but—” She spread her hands in a gesture of defeat, and chagrin reigned on her mobile features.

John spoke softly, aware of her confusion and unwilling to upset her further. “You don’t need those old things, Katie. You’ve got a whole bundle of new clothes to wear.”

All Katie saw, all she could take note of was the expression on his face. That and his rapid movements across the room to where she sat on the edge of the bed.