Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“I am. They take really good care of me.” She looked a bit wistful and then smiled. “And now we have each other, too. I’ll get the eggs.”
Taking advantage of her absence, I left the house the proper way—through the front door. I jumped off the porch and raced around the side of the house. It wasn’t hard to find the trellis. There were several broken twigs and yellow rose petals scattered at the base of the trellis. I leaned back to look up at my window. It looked a lot higher than I’d thought last night. Shaking my head, I dragged the trellis out of sight, and I hurried back inside.
I didn’t want to have to explain to Kit why the trellis was broken. Moving onto my next task, I ran upstairs to get the wicker basket that we’d put into the bathroom to use as a clothes hamper. I was a bit alarmed at how full the basket already was. Three men who worked from dawn to dark generated a lot of dirty clothes.
“Goldie?”
“I’m coming,” I called back, taking the basket downstairs with me and into the kitchen. “Just getting the laundry,” I began and then had to pause. “Um, I’m not exactly sure how we’re going to wash clothes by hand.”
Kit smiled as she transferred the eggs from her basket to a bowl on the counter. “According to the books Rye gave me to read, in the old days, people would go down by the river or heat up a huge cauldron of water over a fire and soak them before scrubbing on a washboard using lye soap they’d made out of animal fat.”
I groaned, looking at the heaping pile of clothes. “Um, I’m all for using natural products, but rubbing animal fat on my clothes doesn’t sound very appealing. And it’s going to take a long time and a lot of pots to heat up enough water.” Sighing, I said, “This is going to take us forever.”
Her giggle had me looking back at her. “Well, that was how they used to do it, and though this house is really old, there is a washing machine.”
“There is?” I asked, relief flooding through me as I looked around as if I’d missed the modern-day appliance. “Um, where is it?”
“In the basement, of course,” she said as she pulled ingredients for breakfast from the refrigerator.
The basement. I looked toward the door opposite me. I had a fear of basements… or more like the ghosts that haunted them.
“Hey, are you okay?”
The concern in her voice snapped me from my thoughts. “Oh, um, yes. I-I just don’t like… um, basements.”
“Is that what you were dreaming about last night?” she asked, pouring a glass of milk and then pouring a mug of coffee. While I tried to figure out what she meant, she doctored the coffee with sugar and cream and brought it to me. “I heard you calling out in your sleep. Was your nightmare about basements?”
I could feel color flooding my face as I put the mug to my lips, buying time by taking several small sips. Finally, I shook my head, not about to share the real reasons for my cries and praying no one else in the house besides Rye had heard them. “I usually don’t remember my dreams,” I said, putting the mug down and moving to lay strips of bacon in the iron skillet.
“Well, don’t worry. I’ll be with you so you won’t be afraid,” she said, evidently accepting my lie. “Oh, and while we do have a washer, it’s not a modern one. We’ll have to feed the clothes through the wringer and there’s no dryer, but there is a clothesline on the side of the house.”
“That’s fine,” I assured her. “It’s doesn’t look like it’s going to rain yet, so we can wash them and hang them to dry before we do our gardening.”
I made my way to the table with the eggs and thick slices of bacon I’d just fried, the last of the soda bread warmed and ready to be buttered. As I sat down, I added another chore to my growing list. The hard wooden chair against my ass instantly reminded me of yet another old-fashioned activity—one that had nothing to do with chopping wood but most definitely involved the woodshed. I decided making a few fat pillows would be a worthy endeavor if Jay was going to… punish for everything he may not like. It took Kit asking if I was sure I was all right to have me force those memories away.
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “Just thinking how much harder life was in the ‘good old days’. We forget how much better we have it now.”
She smiled and reached over to pat my arm. “True, but sometimes the old ways are the best. Life was harder but… well, easier, too. Things didn’t move so fast, weren’t so overwhelming. We don’t have to do everything alone. We’re a family and help each other.” Sitting back, she buttered her bread and added, “Not only in doing chores, but being there when life gets… sad.”