The Green Lace Corset, стр. 37
Cliff hummed softly and continued to cut away at her hair.
But she did have a yearning for a child. Too bad you couldn’t raise one without a husband. Well, you could if your husband died or ran off. But you couldn’t get a child without being married at some point. Then you could have a baby and it wouldn’t be a sin.
Cliff dropped another clump to the ground, walked around in front of her, lifted a handful of hair, and snipped away until he could see her face.
He stepped back and raised his brows. “Not bad.”
“Can I see?” she asked.
“Not until I’m done.” He started cutting again. “Ready to start learning to cook yet?”
“Maybe.”
“How about tomorrow?”
She hoped she wouldn’t make a fool of herself by burning up the meal. “Sure thing.”
“What do you want me to teach you first?”
She knew right away. “Apple stew.”
He grinned at her.
His offspring might have his blue eyes and a cleft chin too. What kind of father would he be?
He had the bluest eyes, eyes that changed color with the weather. On stormy days they were steely gray; misty days, dove gray; snowy days, powder blue. In sunny weather, they seemed azure, like the sky. They also changed with his moods. Happy: bright blue; sad: pale; angry, like during the robbery: steel gray. After he drank his rum, they turned murky, like a dirty pond.
Recently, his eyes had been mostly bright. She knew now that he’d never harm her. In fact, he acted like he was even sweet on her, grinning and flattering. He could just be pretending, though. No, he wasn’t. Maybe she could let down her guard a little. He wouldn’t turn back into the fiend who’d robbed the bank and kidnapped her six weeks earlier.
The rain had stopped; the only sound was the scissors, still snipping.
After a few more minutes, he said, “All done! Take a look.” He pointed toward the mirror.
She wandered over and stared at her reflection. “Eek! I look like a drowned mouse.”
“No, you don’t. It’s much more practical.”
She ran her fingers through it. He was right about that.
“It shows off your face more.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Pretty enough to marry.”
What an odd thing to say. “Are you proposing?” How could she have just said that?
“Maybe.” He ruffled his hand over her hair and went out the door.
She looked in the mirror. Was she really pretty, like Cliff had said? She tossed her head back and forth and brushed her hair, marvelously lighter. She wouldn’t even need to braid it; she could just run her hands through it. It would be easier to keep clean too. She glanced at the door, let the towel drop, and inspected her body. Her breasts weren’t as voluptuous as that hussy’s in the green corset, but Sally Sue’s small waist and petite frame might be just as appealing to a man.
Now that she was clean, she wanted to put on something more feminine. She opened the trunk and held up the dress, but then decided against it and donned her men’s clothes. She lifted the washbowl onto the floor, cleaned her dirty feet, and put on socks and boots.
A racket came from the barn. She wanted to see what Cliff was up to, so she wandered out there and opened the door.
“I told you never to come in here!” he yelled at her.
“Sorry!” She jumped back outside, but not before she saw him sharpening a large knife on a whetstone. She ran back to the cabin. Her idea of waiting until spring to try to get away was too far off. She needed to come up with another plan.
26
Anne dragged herself to work. It had been only a few days since she’d found out she was pregnant, but it felt like an eternity. Worried about the pregnancy, exhausted and queasy, she decided to do a collage lesson instead of the horseshoe project with the kiddos. She’d save that for when she felt better.
When she arrived, a note was taped to the classroom door: See me after your class today unless I drop by first. Priscilla
Anne’s heart revved up. They must have made a decision about the residency. Teaching would be a challenge; she’d spend the whole time wondering whether she’d been selected or not. But Priscilla had insisted Anne ramp up her lessons, so she’d better go ahead and present the horseshoe project anyway.
She pulled off the note, unlocked the room, turned on some Enya, and covered the six tables with newspapers, then lined up the horseshoes along the counter. She dumped plastic containers of found objects onto silver trays and placed them on the middles of the tables.
As the students began to arrive, she instructed, “Pick a horseshoe and take a seat.”
One of the twins hit Penny on the shoulder. “Hello, Fart Face.”
“Be nice,” Anne said.
The twins each grabbed a horseshoe and sat down, banging them on the table as if they were Ringo Starr.
Penny picked up a horseshoe. “This one’s too big.” She grasped another. “This one’s too small.” She must have just read “Goldilocks and the Three Bears.” She held one over her head. “And this one’s just right.”
One of the twins snatched it from her.
Penny howled.
Anne put an arm around Penny and scowled at the boy. “How could you be so mean?” Anne looked over at the door, frightened that Priscilla might be watching.
Instead, Karl stood in the doorway. What the heck was he doing here?
He squinted his eyes at the twin and yelled, “Sit down, sir. You’ve already picked one.”
“But . . .” the boy protested, then acquiesced. “Yes, Mr. Karl.” He handed Penny the horseshoe she’d chosen and, sulking, put his head on the table.
Hugh, a cute, freckle-faced kid, came in and hugged Karl. “We’ve missed you.”
“I know. Me too. I’ve come in for a meeting with