Carolyn Davidson - Gerrity's Bride

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Bathing every day was a habit deeply ingrained in Emmaline. She had responded to Matthew’s suggestion that she take a dip in the shallow creek several miles to the north with utter silence. His mocking grin had infuriated her.

The alternative was a procedure involving pails of hot and cold water, and the aid of others. There was no help for it, she’d decided by the third day. Sponge baths in her room were inadequate, and she yearned for the luxury of being wet all over.

The tub was large, sloped at the back, and longer than the one Emmaline was accustomed to. “I can almost lie full length in that,” she said to Maria as the housekeeper supervised its filling. The bathing room was just off the kitchen—a rather primitive way of doing business, Emmaline thought privately. Two of the hired hands carried brimming pails of hot water and dumped them quickly into the tub. Then Maria pumped cold water in the kitchen and sent two buckets along to lower the temperature to Emmaline’s liking. Another pail of steaming water was left next to the tub, should the bath cool before she finished.

“Your papa needed a big tub,” Maria told her with good humor. “He was a large man, and didn’t like to have his knees poking out of the water.”

“I remember him a little, you know,” Emmaline said wistfully. “He seemed a giant of a man to me—all legs, in fact, until he picked me up. I remember him holding me, and then sometimes I wonder if it might be just wishful thinking on my part. Maybe my memories and dreams get all tangled up in my mind.”

Maria moved behind her to plait the abundance of hair flowing to the middle of her back. “I’ll pin this up to keep it out of the water,” she offered, her fingers quick as they formed the loose braid and attached it to Emmaline’s crown with a bone hairpin. Her hands dropped to the younger woman’s shoulders, and she sighed, shaking her head at the memories Emmaline’s words had brought to life.

“I think we have many pictures in our minds, Miss Emmaline. If you remember your papa at all, it is because his love for you was so strong. Don’t think badly of him. He only wished that you had received his letters and could have answered. But he never held it against you.”

“He wrote me?”

“ Sí, every month he sent a letter. For years he hoped...but your mama or your grandparents... Well, it’s done now,” she finished briskly. Her face brightened. “When Arnetta Gerrity came here, his life changed. He decided you were lost to him, I think.” She bent to test the bathwater, dismissing the subject.

“I have left towels, here on the stool,” she said briskly. Quickly she patted once more at Emmaline’s hair, testing the security of the upswept braid, and her eyes were moist with tender feeling. “So like your papa,” she whispered, shaking her head as she left the small bathing room, pulling the door shut behind herself.

Emmaline’s movements were slow, her fingers deliberately undoing the row of buttons on her dress. That her mother had kept so much from her was almost unbelievable. If her father had truly written letters to her all that time, what had happened to them? Carefully she stripped her petticoats from her body, silently condemning them to perdition.

“You’re right, Matthew Gerrity,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “It’s too dratted hot here for civilized clothing.” The black dress, with its yards of skirt, received a baleful glance, and she stepped carefully into the tub of water. And then she sighed with contentment as the scent of lilacs wafted about her.

Bringing her own soap along had seemed a luxury while she packed for the journey, but now it was a dire necessity, she decided. The sudsy fragrance she used washed away her tension, even as it removed the dusty residue and perspiration from her body.

“Are you still here?” asked a small voice from the doorway, even as the knob squeaked at being turned by the child’s hand.

Automatically Emmaline slid beneath the surface of the water and turned her head to peer at the intruder.

Theresa watched her with wide, hostile eyes. “I thought you’d be gone,” she said, her chin jutting forward as she eyed the unwanted woman who’d taken up residence in the bathtub.

Emmaline chose her words carefully. “I came to see you, Theresa. I can’t leave till we get to know each other. We’re sisters, you know.”

The child sniffed and sidled into the room. She propped one hand on her waist and assumed a belligerent stance. “I don’t need a sister,” she declared firmly. “I have Maffew, and he’s my brother.”

“I know,” Emmaline answered softly, aware of how gingerly she must tread. “But all girls need a sister, you know. I’ve always wanted one of my very own. And now that I’ve found you, I really want to get to know you.”

“Why?” Theresa frowned, pushing her lips into a pout.

Emmaline hid her amusement at the look. “Because I’m sure you’re a nice girl and we’ll get on well together. I can show you how to play some games I know,” she added gently, coaxingly.

“Games?” Theresa’s eyes lit with interest for a moment, then the frown settled back in place and an uncaring gesture lifted the small shoulders in a shrug.

“I brought along some things I thought you’d like to see,” Emmaline said as she began once more to wash. She lifted one leg and used the cloth with long strokes, enjoying the sensation of the rough fabric against her flesh.

There was a long moment of silence. Then the child spoke, in a small voice that struggled to be offhand. “What kind of things?”

Emmaline cocked her head and looked over her shoulder, her mouth pursed as if in thought. “Oh...I have a set of jackstraws, and a skipping rope.” She slanted a glance at Theresa once more. “Can you skip rope?”

Theresa’s head shook as she took another step closer.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Emmaline said, as if in surprise. “There’s a package from France that I found in my room back home in Lexington that I thought you might like.”

“From France?” Her eyes widened as Theresa sank onto the bath stool, oblivious of the towels beneath her bottom. “My Miss Olivia says that’s a place across the ocean.”

Emmaline nodded agreeably and resumed her washing, donning a façde of nonchalance. “Of course, you might not like playing jackstraws. But...we could skip rope.” She dared another look at the child, who had leaned even closer. “But then, I’m really a very good rope skipper, and you might have a hard time learning.”

“Oh, no,” Theresa said quickly. “I can learn real fast. My Maffew says I’m smart as a whip.” Her mouth drew down suddenly as a new thought struck her. “You won’t be here very long, anyway. Maffew says you’ll be leaving soon.”

“Well...” Emmaline turned quickly to the child, but it was too late. She had jumped from the stool and, with only one backward look, was gone, slipping through the doorway and running through the kitchen.

“Where’ve you been, pigeon?” The deep voice sounded beyond the half-open door, and Emmaline slipped once more beneath the surface of the water, sloshing it precariously close to the brim of the tub.

“Talkin’ to that lady,” Theresa said. “She’s takin’ a baff.”

“With the door open?” Tinged with a trace of amusement, the voice came closer, and Emmaline reached for the towels Maria had left.

“Are you wantin’ more company in there?” Matt asked from around the doorway. “We usually keep this door shut when the room is being used,” he drawled.

“Please pull it shut, would you?” Emmaline held the towel in readiness as she bent forward in the water, her knees pulled to her breasts.