by Jen Turano
He wasn’t certain, but it almost seemed as if she’d grimaced after she’d gotten that last part out of her mouth. Before he could question her about that, she was smiling again.
“Having said that and having had the wonderful opportunity to spend the last few days at Glory Manor, I’m convinced this farm is exactly where I’m meant to take up employment. All that’s left to do now is discover when you’d like me to start, but do know that I’m available immediately.”
Chapter 13
“And the last stop on our tour is the laundry room,” Ian said three hours later, gesturing around the room they were standing in. “I’m sure nothing in here needs explaining, although I can’t be certain about that since you did seem to have quite a few questions about the ice shed.”
Isadora dredged up a smile, ignoring what seemed to be apprehension in Ian’s eyes. There was no debating that she’d asked numerous questions about the ice shed, but in her defense, she’d found it odd that a farm would have cuts of beef and chicken delivered weekly instead of making use of the livestock she assumed was readily available in the barn. However, after Ian had explained Uncle Amos’s curious reluctance to consume the animals he apparently thought of as friends, she’d been rather relieved, especially when she realized she’d never be served a dish that had Elmer as the main course.
Not that she was overly fond of Elmer, but she didn’t despise the little beast so much that she’d want to see it served in a butter sauce, or . . .
“You’re not saying much, Mrs. Delmont. Should I assume that’s because you’re composing numerous questions about laundry, a task I’ve always thought was rather straightforward? But given your descent into muteness, it might not be as straightforward as I originally believed.”
Shoving aside all thoughts of Elmer being served up on a plate, Isadora could only pray that the horror now chugging through her veins would not decide to settle on her face. Looking horrified would hardly encourage Ian to believe her claim of being a competent housekeeper, but in her honest opinion, there was nothing straightforward about the room she was in.
Piles of clothing and linens were stacked on the floor, and there was the oddest contraption sitting against the wall, one that resembled a large barrel with curious cranks and handles attached to it.
She kept her smile firmly in place. “While laundry is, as you said, straightforward, I’m afraid I’m not familiar with . . .” She waved at the contraption that had captured her attention.
“It’s a washing machine.”
“Is it really?” she breathed, stepping closer to the machine and giving it a good look. Lifting her head, she frowned. “I’ve never seen one quite like this before.”
To her relief, Ian didn’t look taken aback by her admission but smiled instead. “I’m not surprised. I only recently acquired that from a friend of mine who’d purchased a newer washing machine he thought was an improvement over that model.” Ian shook his head. “I think my friend is feeling a bit remorseful, however, because this beauty works like a charm, whereas the new one my friend bought has all sorts of problems. That one over there was invented by a woman named Margaret Colvin. She introduced it to the world at the Centennial International Exhibition in 1876 in Philadelphia, which is how my friend came to learn of it.”
“How educational. But tell me this, how does it work like a charm?”
For a moment, Ian didn’t respond, but then he stepped closer to her. “You have operated a washing machine, haven’t you?”
“Operate is such a vague term.”
“Do not tell me you’ve never done laundry before.”
The truth was . . . of course she’d never done laundry before, nor had she ever seen a washing machine in her life. But because she’d decided the safest place for her was at Glory Manor, and the only way she was going to be able to stay was if she could convince Ian she had some sort of value, Isadora decided to throw herself on whatever mercy he might have in that far-too-masculine body of his.
“I must admit I’ve not had much experience with laundry, but I’m a fast learner. If you could merely show me the basics of how to operate that machine, I’m certain I’ll be more than proficient with laundry after I complete all of”—she gestured to the piles littering the floor—“that.”
Unfortunately, he did not seem to be in much of a merciful frame of mind.
“What say you and I put our tour on hold until I take a closer look at that reference letter you gave me. I’m getting the distinct impression you may not have the basic experience needed for filling the position.”
“As you pointed out after you read my reference letter the first time, my expertise is centered around organization, not the execution of actual labor. Regardless, even though I clearly lack some of the skills that are apparently required for a housekeeper here at Glory Manor, you are, if I need remind you, in a bit of a pickle. You don’t have any other candidates lining up to take on the position, so why don’t we simply agree that I have much to learn and get on with the lesson of how to operate a washing machine?”
Ian’s brows drew together. “It’s unfortunate women aren’t readily accepted into the world of law because, honestly, you’d make a fine attorney. That was some remarkably quick thinking on your part, and you make a compelling argument.”
Warmth flowed through her. “No one has ever complimented me on my quick wit before.”
“Probably because you’re a beautiful woman and people tend to believe beautiful women only want to hear compliments about their beauty, although . . .” He winced. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
Isadora grinned. “I think I can forgive you that lapse. It’s also reassuring to know that my face has not been permanently disfigured, because I doubt you’d proclaim me beautiful if I was still looking the way I did when I first came down with poison ivy.”
“Does this mean I should expect you to ask for a mirror now?”
She glanced at the washing machine. “I have far too much to learn to concern myself with my appearance right now. Besides . . .” She raised a hand and touched the still-bumpy skin on her face. “I think I should wait a few more days to take a look at my face since this is not the smooth skin I’m used to.”
“It’s not as bad as you think.”
“Which is a reassuring turn of phrase to be sure. But let’s return to what we were discussing before. What can you tell me about the basics of laundry?”
Ian, annoyingly enough, crossed his arms over his chest. “We were more recently discussing your reference letter.”
“I thought we put that discussion to bed.”
“No, we didn’t, although I must give you credit for being rather adept at distraction. However, I would like to peruse your reference letter one more time, so I’m now going to encourage you to trot right up to your room and fetch it for me.”
She smoothed back hair that was coming undone from the knot she’d managed to make on the back of her neck. “Trotting, as I’m sure you’re aware, can be exhausting. If you’ve forgotten, I’ve only recently emerged from my sickroom. With that said, I’m sure you’re in perfect agreement that I should conserve my strength so that I’ll be able to tackle the daunting, or rather, exhilarating task of learning how to operate a washing machine.”
Not wanting to allow him time to compose an argument, Isadora marched across the room, stopping in front of a machine that looked quite unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Considering it, she leaned closer to what seemed to be some type of barrel. “This is where the laundry goes, doesn’t it?”
She wasn’t certain, but it almost sounded as if Ian snorted before he joined her beside the machine. Sending her an exasperated look, he lifted the lid on the barrel. “Since we’re already here, it won’t hurt to continue our lesson, but do know that I will see that reference letter again before we begin talking about the terms of employment.”
“There are terms to my employment?”
“You’ll want to be paid a s
alary, won’t you?”
Isadora blinked. “I imagine so.”
“Then we’ll need to discuss terms and decide what type of salary your experience warrants, which is another reason why I’ll need to see your reference letter again.” He frowned. “And upon further reflection, I’m curious as to why you took that letter away from me, since employers usually keep those letters after a potential employee hands them over.”
She peered into the barrel. “I have limited reference letters with me. Since you didn’t actually offer me a position after you read my reference letter, I thought it best to take it back so I won’t take the chance of running out of reference letters if I’m forced to travel from one posted position to another.” She straightened. “There’s something in there.”
“That would be the laundry.”
“Ah, so it is.” She stuck her hand in the barrel and gave the laundry a poke. “It’s wet.”
“Because I put it through the wash cycle before I got distracted answering your many summons and then rescuing you from a rogue chicken.”
She turned to him and frowned. “If you’ll recall, I did apologize for my demanding ways. I thought you’d accepted my apology and moved on. I’m not certain about that now, though, since you’ve broached the topic again.”
“That’s another impressive argument, but before we get distracted with what will certainly be a riveting debate, should we simply get to the business of teaching you how to operate this washing machine?”
Her lips quirked at the corners. “Sorry, go on.”
She thought his lips might have quirked as well, but before she could tell for certain, he’d turned his attention back to the machine. “Because the washing part of these clothes has been done, I can’t show you how to wash the clothing, but I will explain the process. First, you fill the tub with water, which you get by attaching the black hose to the spigot on the sink over there.” He nodded to the sink in question. “Because the hot water is temperamental at times, and if you’re washing whites—which need to be washed in hot water, if you didn’t know—it’s for the best if you heat water on the stove and then bring that water in here and dump it into the tub along with colder water you get from the sink.”
“I need to lug hot water all the way from the kitchen to this room?”
“Unless you have a better idea of how to get hot water in here, yes.”
“Perhaps I should start taking notes.”
She wasn’t certain, but it sounded as if Ian snorted again right before he strode across the laundry room and through the door.
Not having the least little idea if he planned on returning or why he’d left the room in the first place, she turned her attention to the washing machine, hoping that she might somehow understand how it was meant to be used. Frankly, she had no idea why there were numerous cylinder-shaped tubes attached to the side of the tub or what those tubes were meant to do.
“I’ve found you a pad of paper.”
Taking the paper, along with the pencil he gave her, Isadora nodded. “Excellent. Carry on.”
“Has anyone ever told you that housekeepers aren’t usually so bossy with their potential employers?”
“Fill the tub with water,” she said instead of answering his question, writing that down before she looked up again. “And then?”
“You wrote down filling the tub with water?”
“I told you I needed to take notes, and I don’t want to forget anything.”
Shaking his head, Ian launched into a lecture about how to go about washing the laundry, explaining how much soap she was to add to the tub after she’d filled it with water and then showing her how to turn a crank that moved the contents of the tub around, cleaning the clothes in the process.
“You’ll know you’re finished with the cranking when your arm feels about ready to fall off, and then you’ll need to move on to the wringer.”
“The wringer? That sounds like something you’d find in a torture chamber.”
“I’m certain there are many people in this country, mostly women, who do believe the laundry room is a torture chamber. But as for the wringer, it merely wrings the water out of the clothing after that clothing has been rinsed with clean water, something I’ve just remembered we’ll need to do to the clothing currently in the washing machine.”
“Rinse the clothing,” she said, writing that out on the page.
“Before you can rinse the clothing, though, you’ll need to drain the water out of the tub, then replace it with fresh water.”
The next few minutes passed with Ian showing her how to drain the tub, then how to attach the hose to the sink to refill the tub with clean water. He then stepped away from the machine, allowing her a chance to use the crank. She found that chore far more difficult than she’d imagined since it took quite a bit of effort, as well as a bit of perspiration, to get the laundry swishing around. By the time Ian decided the laundry was sufficiently rinsed, she was perspiring more than she’d ever perspired in her life and her arms were shaking like jelly.
“So now, after we drain the tub again, we’ll be able to move on to the wringer process, but before we do that . . .” He nodded to a pile of linens. “It’s always best to have a look at what laundry is going into the tub next.”
Isadora moved to where she’d left her notes and glanced over the page. “And because those are whites, we’ll have to boil water to add to the tub.”
“Very good. Why don’t you see about getting the water boiling while I empty the water from the tub so we’ll then be able to get on with the wringing?”
Even though she had no idea how to boil water, Isadora nodded and headed for the door, praying that boiling water merely sounded like a daunting task but would, in reality, turn out to be a mundane sort of chore that wouldn’t be daunting at all.
Chapter 14
“I’ve clearly lost my mind.”
Ian, realizing he’d spoken that telling statement out loud, pressed his lips together and returned to the laundry, wondering what he could have been thinking to even consider the possibility of offering Izzie Delmont a position of employment.
She was completely lacking when it came to anything concerning basic housekeeping skills. And he should have nipped the idea of employing her in the bud the moment he’d taken a look at her letter of reference.
The only thing impressive about that letter was that it was written on a very expensive piece of vellum in a very fine hand. But even with that, the letter a Mr. Hatfield, butler to the Waterbury family, had penned was vague in the extreme, and nowhere had there been any mention of an actual position Izzie had held.
That should have been reason enough to rethink offering her employment, although before he’d been able to scan the letter again, or broach what he felt were obvious deficiencies with the contents of the reference, she’d plucked it right out of his hand. She’d then said something like “That’s that,” sent him a smile that could only be described as charming, and quit the room, reappearing a few moments later after she’d apparently packed her letter away.
Even with her ridiculous explanation regarding why she’d taken her reference letter back, a reason that was peculiar since she could have merely asked for the reference letter back if he didn’t extend her an offer of employment, he’d still found himself giving in to her instead of demanding she fetch the letter straightaway.
It was quite unlike him, this wishy-washy attitude, especially because this was a clear matter of business, and he’d never been wishy-washy about business matters in his life.
Reinserting the plug after he’d drained the water from the tub, he straightened and leaned a hip against the washing machine, his thoughts returning to his concerning behavior of late. There had to be a reasonable explanation as to why he was continuing to demonstrate tasks such as laundry to a woman who was not remotely qualified for the position he needed to fill, especially when it made more sense to ride into town and look into hiring . . .
Ian froz
e on the spot when an explanation did come to him, one that left him reeling ever so slightly.
He, Ian MacKenzie, a no-nonsense gentleman if there ever was one, was fascinated with Izzie Delmont—even with her demanding ways, bossy nature, and ineptitude when it came to anything involving household matters.
That fascination, he was almost afraid to admit, was exactly why he’d continued with what was certain madness, even though doing so was, well, mad.
He was known for being a tough negotiator, making certain he was always getting the best contracts when it came to labor disputes. He was also known for encouraging the labor leaders to hire only the most qualified of candidates, and yet . . . it was a complete stretch to think Izzie was in any way qualified to run Glory Manor.
Pushing away from the washing machine, he squared his shoulders, knowing it was past time to reenter reality. That meant he needed to saddle up his horse and ride to Canonsburg, hoping Mrs. Rogers would be able to point him in the direction of a competent housekeeper, one who was hopefully over the age of fifty and one he wouldn’t find fascinating, or worse yet . . . intriguing.
Moving for the door, he paused when he realized that Izzie would be more than disappointed to learn he was not going to offer her the position. Consoling himself a second later when he remembered he did still need to hire someone to look after the children, and the children did seem to like Izzie, he strode from the room. When he walked through the kitchen a moment later, his arrival was greeted by a moo from Buttercup as she peered into the kitchen through the screen door.
“I see Buttercup’s come for another visit,” he said, smiling at Aunt Birdie, who was sitting at the kitchen table with the children, all of them involved in various stages of cutting out cookies. Izzie was standing in front of the stove, looking, for some curious reason, rather grumpy as she peered into a pot of what he was going to assume was water.