The Green Lace Corset, стр. 33

“You mustn’t stray far. There are worse things than freezing to death. You never know what’s out there.”

“Like what?” She crossed her arms.

He raised his voice. “Wolves, bears, Injuns, bandits.”

She tried to laugh, but her voice quivered. “You don’t say. Bandits?”

“This is not a joke.” He turned his back to her and put another log on the fire. “Whether you like it or not, you’re gonna be here awhile. Now that you’re regaining your vigor, you need to pitch in and help.”

“What do you want me to do?”

He turned around. “What are you good at?”

“I can read and do figures.”

He eyed her. “That’s not much use out here. How’s your cooking?”

“Not good.” She sighed. There was no way she could make anything as good as his flapjacks, apple crisp, or rabbit stew.

“Anyone can clean house. I’ve seen you with your needles, making doilies. I bet you can sew.”

“A bit.”

“Maybe mend clothes, do laundry, make us some curtains.” She hated to do laundry. The floral fabric from McMillan’s would make pretty curtains. No need for a lovely dress out here.

The snow continued. Cliff sat by the fire all afternoon, doing leatherwork, while she curled up in bed and worked on memorizing psalms in her Bible.

The next day, Cliff carried in a vat of snow and placed it in the cauldron. He handed her a washboard that the previous owners had left, a box of Sunlight soap that he had bought at the mercantile, and a pile of dirty clothes, then left. She held her nose as she placed his soiled long johns and holey socks in the water. She also added in her green traveling suit but then paused. The thought of mixing her own undergarments with his made her body shiver. But she wouldn’t want to ask Cliff to bring in another vat of water, so she tossed in her chemise, drawers, corset, petticoat, and bustle.

Her father had been gone a year when Mrs. Rowling from next door had her fifth baby and Sally Sue’s ma took in the woman’s laundry. Ma said it was the neighborly thing to do. Even though Sally Sue was only seven, she knew the reason was to help make ends meet. She’d seen her ma frown on Saturdays as she counted out the dwindling pile of money on the table. She also noticed her ma had stopped putting a dollar in the Sunday offering basket at church and instead cupped a penny in her palm and put it in. Gradually, word seemed to spread, as more folks in town needed neighborly help with their laundry too.

When she grew older, she pitched in to help; however, people complained about how their clothes were scratchy from soap residue, poorly ironed, and awkwardly folded. Sally Sue wasn’t disappointed when her ma took over those tasks again.

Sally Sue did continue to collect the money and do the deliveries. Afterward, her ma pumped her for the local gossip. She never repeated any of the rumors she’d heard. She knew others had talked about them when her father had left, and she didn’t want to speak ill of anyone else who’d fallen on hard times.

And now here she was, doing this washing. The fire kept the cabin warm. She rolled up her sleeves and scrubbed Cliff’s socks on the washboard, but no matter how much elbow grease she used, they still felt gritty. She glanced up. No wonder—she’d forgotten to use the soap. From the box, instead of bars, white flakes drifted out like snow. This was much easier than what her ma used, and smelled much nicer. Sally Sue rubbed the socks on the washboard, squeezed out the excess water, and laid them on the mantel to dry. She made a note to darn the holes in the toes.

Even though she rubbed her suit skirt on the washboard, the mud stains wouldn’t come out of the hem. She sighed as her green shoes came to mind. She had to admit her boots were much more practical.

Next, she worked on the bustle. No matter how much she fluffed it, it just wouldn’t pouf back up—squished forever. She draped the skirt and bustle over the crib to dry and ran her hand over the smooth wood. Did the people who lived here have a baby? Who were they? What happened to them?

She finished the laundry and surveyed the cabin. What a filthy mess. Dust and soot covered everything. She tried to sweep the floor, but since it was dirt, that didn’t do much good. Her things sitting on the trunk were covered in dust.

She opened the trunk lid. On top of a Mexican serape sat a handful of yarn scraps, other remnants, and a wooden egg darner. She put it in her shirt pocket. As she lifted up the serape, her eyes spotted bright red fabric underneath. She picked it up and fingered the scoop-necked dress with lace trim and puffed sleeves, more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen before. Who had worn something so lovely? Looking in the mirror, she held it up and turned this way and that with a smile. Her ma would call the red color shameful. When Cliff came through the door, Sally Sue quickly slid the dress back into the trunk.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

“Laundry’s all done. Just trying my best to clean, as you asked.”

He grunted and went back outside.

Cobwebs and dried candle wax clung to the crystal chandelier. Cleaned, this would be more luxurious than any she’d seen in a mansion while delivering laundry. The folks who’d lived here must have been rich. Had they brought the chandelier all the way here in a covered wagon?

Dustrag in hand, she climbed up onto a chair and then to the tabletop and started picking off the candle wax. She lost her balance and wobbled.

“Careful!” Cliff came in, ran toward her, and caught her in his arms. “Take a break.”

So close