Reforming Elizabeth

by Lorin Grace

  A moment later, the midwife appeared with a squirming bundle. “Where is the reverend?”

  Gideon pointed to the stairs.

  “Well, then, you hold him for a moment.”

  Before Gideon could protest, the midwife thrust the tiny bundle into his hands. He adjusted his arms to keep from dropping the babe, who squawked in protest. Afraid to look down at the child, Gideon began walking toward the stairway when a pitiful mewing stopped him.

  The red-faced child in his arms bore little resemblance to the child in his memory. The baby yawned and shook his little fist. Instinctively, Gideon held him closer. Wonder, not loss, filled him. For weeks he’d dreaded the moment he must see this newborn, and for naught. There was no pain, only awe.

  Somewhere a cock crowed, and the midwife stood before him, hands outstretched. “I said I’ll be taking the little fellow now. He needs to be with his parents.”

  Gideon handed over the sleeping child.

  “Caught your eye, didn’t he, Mr. Frost? About time you find yourself a wife and get one of your own. Miss Joanna would make you a fine one. Mark my word, she would.” The midwife left the kitchen.

  Gideon walked to the barn to milk the Porters’ cow, knowing the reverend wouldn’t be getting to his own chores today.

  Twenty-Two

  “If you see the bottom of the paddle, it is too weak.”

  Elizabeth forced herself not to roll her eyes. Aunt Mina had repeated the same instructions at least a dozen times while the new linen cloth soaked in lye water for the past two days.

  “If the mixture is too thick, like your stew, it will glob on the fabric and bleach unevenly.” Aunt Mina continued.

  It was as if she expected Elizabeth wouldn’t “mind well.” Elizabeth bit her lip to stifle the grin forming at her pun of her aunt’s name.

  “And whatever you do, do not splash the lye water on your skin. Nasty stuff. If you do, wash the lye off as fast as you can. Keep a bucket of water near. Are you wearing your oldest petticoat?” There was no need to ask about the decades-old dress Elizabeth wore. With any luck, she would ruin it today.

  “Don’t worry. I think I know what you want. I still believe it is impossible, but I’ll do what you say. I am more worried about you doing too much. Making dinner and supper means being on your feet more than you have been.” Elizabeth finished washing the breakfast dishes and dried her hands.

  “Go on. And if you are making a mess of things, ask!” Aunt Mina waved her out of the kitchen.

  Elizabeth hurried to the near side of the barn. Bleaching linen sounded no more complicated than any other recipe she learned in the past four months.

  The lye water turned the color of weak tea. Using a long paddle, Elizabeth stirred the brownish muck. No use. It wasn’t going to get any darker. The impossibility of bleaching the newly woven cloth using a cow-dung-and-lye cocktail! Brown, smelly, and downright disgusting, manure could not possibly bleach anything. Elizabeth would do one length of cloth bypassing this step to prove her point. Well, maybe she would do a quarter length. Because Aunt Mina wasn’t often wrong.

  Soaking the cloth in lye for two days made some sense. After all, lye did clean things. It was the main ingredient in soap. The possibility of bleaching anything in the dark water was ludicrous.

  Elizabeth peered into the wooden barrel, the bottom of her paddle still visible. She grabbed the shovel and headed into the barn, wishing she’d brought out more than a shovelful earlier.

  Fiddlesticks. The stalls were mucked clean, and the cow grazed in the pasture, so there was nothing left to collect. She stomped out the back of the barn where a pile of manure laced with bits of straw and hay composted in the sun. She circled the pile, looking for the latest additions. Some of the lumps seemed lumpier than others. Oh no! How could she differentiate cow droppings from horse or goat droppings? Or pig? Did Gideon muck the pigsty? What if she got the wrong kind of manure? Would it work? Not as if brown sludge were going to bleach anything anyway.

  She’d paid no attention to the composition of the shovelful of dung she’d hauled from the cow’s stall earlier, as she’d concentrated on not dropping the fresh manure on her person. Why hadn’t she listened to Aunt Mina and gathered all of last night’s droppings?

  Gingerly, she separated a likely glob from the pile with the tip of the shovel, then brought the shovel closer to inspect her find.

  Gravel crunched behind her. “Elizabe—” Gideon didn’t have time to finish his sentence. Elizabeth whirled at the sound of his footfall, the momentum catapulting the patty off the end of the shovel and directly toward Gideon’s chin.

  Elizabeth gasped and stepped back, her left boot heel catching on a sun-dried flop. The projectile hit Gideon’s jaw at the same moment her posterior connected with the sun-warmed hill.

  Stunned, Elizabeth watched the brown glob linger for a moment before it dropped to Gideon’s shirt and finally to the ground. Gideon’s eyes followed the brown trail. After a moment, he brought his gaze up and locked it on hers. His left brow rose, followed by the corner of his mouth.

  A laugh burst forth.

  Elizabeth blinked in disbelief. He laughed now?

  Gideon pulled a cloth from his back pocket and wiped his jaw. He extended his other hand to Elizabeth, his laughter filling the air.

  Is he daft? That’s manure on his face. How hard has he been hit?

  Only as she stood did Elizabeth realize her own plight as her sodden dress clung to her backside. She twisted and tried to dislodge the mess by shaking her skirt.

  Gideon’s laughter grew, and he planted his palms on his knees to support himself.

  He should be reprimanding her for another mindless act, not laughing like a madman. She sent him a scowl, but his eyes were all scrunched up, and he didn’t seem to notice. Why, the man laughed so hard tears were falling!

  “So-so-sor-r-ry.” The words came out breathy as he continued to laugh. Elizabeth doubted he was sorry for anything. At least he wasn’t yelling at her for—for—

  A giggle worked its way up her throat and joined his laughing. Mirth filled the barnyard. Why on earth was she laughing? She’d flung dung at the preacher’s assistant, and her backside was covered in it.

  When they finally caught their breath, Elizabeth tried to look away from the still smiling man.

  The bossy cow stuck her head over the fence, her large brown eyes blinking, her mooing low. Gideon looked at the cow, then at Elizabeth, and started laughing again.

  Gideon sucked in a deep breath and stood up straight. He couldn’t remember laughing that hard since his younger brother had found a skunk den.

  Fortunately for them both, the fragrance of cow excrement would wash off easier than the stench had from his brother. Ma had banished his brother to the barn for days.

  Elizabeth twisted to look at the back of her skirts, her nose wrinkling in dismay. She shook them harder.

  Gideon gave his face another scrub with a clean corner of his handkerchief and bit his cheek to keep from laughing at Elizabeth’s attempts to remove the muck from the back of her skirt.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and spun her partway around. No amount of shaking would dislodge the mess clinging to her dress.

  Gideon picked up the shovel. “Hold still.”

  Elizabeth took a step back, raising her hands. “What are you going to do?”

  Gideon stared at the shovel in his hands and then at Elizabeth’s pale face. “I was going to try to scrape some of the mess off your skirts.”

  “Oh.” Elizabeth turned her back to him and pulled her skirt away from her body, stretching the fabric taut.

  Gideon removed most of the onerous gunk with the tip of the shovel and said, “That’s most of it. What were you doing in the dung pile?” He stepped back and leaned on the shovel
.

  “I didn’t gather enough cow dung for the bleaching, and the stalls are clean. I was trying to figure out what clump would be the freshest manure. How do you tell cow from horse or goat dung?” Her nose wrinkled at the question.

  “Well, at the moment, I know there is only cow dung in the wheelbarrow. So we could compare it, or you could take what I set aside for you and use it.”

  “You set some aside for me?” Elizabeth practically bounced over to the wheelbarrow to inspect its contents.

  “Mina told me you might need it.” Gideon schooled his features to keep another laugh from coming out. Elizabeth Garrett was bouncing with excitement that he saved cow dung for her. He grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and started around the barn. Elizabeth scrambled to keep up with him.

  “How much do you need?” Gideon poised a shovelful above the barrel.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe half that. Aunt Mina described what the liquid should look like when I am done, but she wasn’t very clear on the amount of ingredients I need.”

  Gideon tipped the shovel, but Elizabeth stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Careful. You don’t want it to splash. The lye water is very strong.”

  For the first time since meeting Elizabeth, he allowed himself to enjoy the warmth radiating up his arm as he eased the dung into the barrel without a splash.

  Mina set down the ladle. Was that laughter drifting through the open window? The only people who should be behind the house were Gideon and Elizabeth. She’d chased the Purdy boys away enough times they should know better.

  Mina doubted Gideon capable of laughing. She cocked her head. Definitely laughter, and echoing from behind the barn.

  The laughter faded. Mina longed to know what happened, but if she even set the tip of her cane out the door, her ruse would be up. Mina stepped to the window. No one stood in the barnyard.

  The sound of voices followed the creak of the wheelbarrow. Gideon came into view first, with Elizabeth on his heels.

  She knew Elizabeth would need more dung. Good thing she’d asked Gideon to set some aside. The couple worked together to mix the dung in the large barrel.

  My heavens, what was wrong with Elizabeth’s dress? Mina squinted. The brown patch might be mud, but it hadn’t rained for several days.

  The large, dark, wet patch looked almost as if she’d fallen in—surely not. Elizabeth would not stand in the vicinity of any man with her dress coated in manure.

  Glory be, her niece was improving in the essentials. Instead of screeching about her predicament, Elizabeth was carrying on a conversation as if she were at a ball dressed in silk instead of ugly gray homespun stained with manure.

  There, standing in the barnyard, was proof perfect. Ebenezer would never believe the change. Of course, his wife would be mortified. Mina smiled. Rebecca would be fanning herself and calling for the smelling salts.

  Nevertheless, Elizabeth could not come in the house with that muck covering her dress.

  While Gideon held the lengths of linen, Elizabeth used the paddle to introduce the fabric to the liquid-filled barrel. Mina smiled at the cooperation. The job was tough without some assistance. She’d hoped Gideon would step in and help.

  The couple talked the entire time. More laughter filled the air. Gideon stayed by Elizabeth’s side as they headed to the back door.

  Mina hurried across the room to cut them off. Brown stains adorned the front of Gideon’s shirt, matching the large one on Elizabeth’s dress.

  “Stop right there.” Mina put her hand up and wrinkled her nose. “I am not having that odor foul up my kitchen.”

  “But, Aunt Mina, I need to change. I … fell.” Elizabeth bit her lip and glanced at Gideon.

  Gideon grinned. A full smile. Even having heard the laughter, Mina gasped at the sight.

  He cleared his throat. “We had a little mishap in the compost pile. I’m headed out to go get a change of clothes, and Elizabeth is in desperate need of different attire.”

  A giggle escaped Elizabeth’s lips. Gideon looked away, his smile growing even wider.

  “Don’t worry. I have already offered to wash his shirt and pants. They shouldn’t wait until he can take them to the laundress.”

  The girl who’d arrived here only months ago with no laundry skills offering to do laundry? Her nephew would not believe her report.

  “I need my brown dress and another peti—” Elizabeth closed her mouth, and her cheeks flamed. Gideon stared up at a nearby tree.

  “I’ll get them.”

  “But the doctor told you not to go upstairs!”

  Mina closed her eyes. Her foot had healed, but to prove it at the moment might cause her plans to backfire.

  Gideon cleared his throat. “I am not as … er … stained as Elizabeth. Perhaps if I retrieved the dress?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

  Mina considered for a moment. It was not ideal, but Gideon had been married, so he was acquainted with women’s clothing. She nodded.

  Elizabeth shook her head and mouthed No.

  Mina ignored her niece. “Best tell him what you need and where to find your things. You can change out in the barn’s lean-to while Gideon heads up to his place to change.”

  Elizabeth kept her gaze on her toes as she described the location of the brown dress, another old petticoat, a shift, and stockings.

  Gideon hurried past Mina and up the stairs.

  Elizabeth studied the upper window while she waited.

  Mina handed Elizabeth the bucket. “We best get some water boiling for the wash.”

  Gideon came down at the same time Elizabeth returned with a filled bucket. Mina took the clothing from him and noted he’d folded everything neatly inside the dress. “When you return, the water should be ready for the wash.”

  She handed the cloth bundle to Elizabeth. “Best wait until he gets Jordan out before you go in the barn.”

  Elizabeth nodded her understanding.

  Elizabeth shut the door behind her. The room was smaller than she expected. Since it was attached to the barn, she thought it might smell like a stall, but it didn’t. Of course, the stench in her dress made smelling anything else impossible.

  Mother would suffer apoplexy if she saw her now. Father’s reaction was harder to guess. What had happened by the compost heap wasn’t improper in the sense of her crimson gown, but it wasn’t the type of thing a well-mannered woman did, either. She doubted Martha Washington had ever bleached linen. But Abigail Adams most likely had. She’d taken care of the entire farm during the war. Father couldn’t fault her for bleaching linen if a president’s wife had. Mrs. Adams preferred to live at their personal residence and not in Washington society. Father might not hold Abigail Adams as highly in regard as he did Mrs. Washington, but he praised her tenacity. Mrs. Adams’s example would be enough to mollify Father.

  While Father may approve of her to a point, flinging cow droppings in Mr. Frost’s face was beyond the pale, even if he wasn’t a real minister. She would need to be careful in her description in her weekly letter home. Not to mention Aunt Mina’s report—although she suspected her aunt only detailed her actions in the best light to her father.

  Elizabeth stepped out of the skirt. The damage was worse than she thought. Maybe the ugly thing was ruined. She hadn’t even needed to spill any lye water on it. Not that she could have with Gideon standing next to her helping.

  What must Gideon think of her?

  His laugh.

  The mess on her dress was worth hearing him laugh and witnessing his handsome smile. Gideon should smile more often. She thought of the bit of a dimple in his cheek that appeared when his smile widened.

  She slipped off the rest of the soiled clothing, dumping them in a pile by the door.

  She should have brought in a p
itcher to wash. She could rinse in water from the trough only a few steps on the other side of the door, but if she were discovered by one of the neighbor boys or Gideon—

  She pulled on the clean shift, sat on the bed to pull on her fresh stockings, and noticed a paper sticking out from under the straw tick.

  Her hand hovered for a moment before she pulled it back. Gideon stayed in here from time to time. She shouldn’t.

  As she tied her petticoats on and wrapped a short gown over them, the corner of the paper waved, almost as if welcoming her scrutiny.

  Peeking a little might not hurt. The paper might be important, and Gideon may need it.

  She buttoned the first button. No, I shouldn’t.

  The second. But what if it was lost …

  The third button. No, I shouldn’t.

  The forth. It may be important …

  As luck would have it, her dress had eight buttons.

  She lifted the mattress and pulled out the paper.

  The writing was familiar. Very familiar.

  It was hers.

  Twenty-Three

  Gideon whistled as he rode Jordan down the street. A couple of boys stopped playing to stare at him, and he waved. One woman sweeping her porch looked up to see who passed by. She would have tales to tell her neighbor. Who would believe the taciturn under-preacher would whistle in public?

  He came around the house to find Elizabeth already bent over the washtub, and dismounted. “I hope you don’t mind. I put an extra shirt in here. I spilled some stew on it last night.” He handed her the bundle of clothing.

  Elizabeth took it without looking up.

  Gideon stood dumbly. He’d only left a half hour ago, and they had been laughing. Now she wouldn’t acknowledge him. Had she gotten embarrassed once she realized how filthy she was?