“Hush, all is well. We are at our new home now.” Home, please Lord, let this become home. After the places they had lived, it looked more hovel than home.
She opened the door with one hand, holding Eloise on her other hip, and stepped into the room. A door on the far wall, recently cut into the log wall, led to the addition. Since she saw no beds, she figured everyone would sleep in the addition. He’d said she would have a room of her own, and she hoped he’d lived up to his word. Surely the new section was large enough for two bedrooms.
“Through here.” He followed her in with their trunk on one shoulder and the two bags in his other hand.
“Ah…” Her face heated up like a sunburn. “The necessary?”
“Ja, out the door, to the left. You see the outhouse.”
“Oh. Of course.” She smiled her gratitude. “Come, Eloise.” She went out the door and followed the path to the privy. When Eloise clung to her neck rather than sitting down inside, she unwrapped the little girl’s fingers and lowered her to the bench. “You must use this. I will hold you tight.”
“No, Mama, no.”
“See, I will go first.” When she’d settled her skirts again, she lifted Eloise onto the seat and held her securely. “You must do your business here for now, and I will find a chamber pot. But now you go like a big girl.”
Eloise sniffed. “Stinky here.”
Nilda smiled and nodded. “Ja, it is so. We will wash you up, no more stinky.”
Eloise walked beside her mother back to the house, clinging to Nilda’s hand as if to a lifeline. Mr. Peterson came out the door as they reached it, and Eloise hid behind her mother.
“I put your things in your room. My hired hand, Hank, shot grouse for supper. You can clean them?”
“What are grouse?”
“Wild birds, like chickens. In the sink.”
“Ja, I will clean them.” Lord above, can you teach me even this?
But her eyes must have shown her confusion for he shook his head. “Uff da,” he grunted, returning to the kitchen. “I show you.”
“I need to get an apron.” She stepped through the doorway into the next room where their things waited, Eloise following close behind. And I need to catch my breath. She gazed around the room. A window had been cut in one log wall and a door in the next dividing wall. Clearly they’d made two bedrooms out of the new addition. She opened her trunk and took out an apron. So much for cleaning Eloise up first. Turning quickly, she nearly knocked her shadow over.
“Come, we must hurry.”
Nilda removed her hat and pulled the apron with crossed straps over her head—careful not to dislodge the bun at her neck—and tied the apron strings in back. Surely he would go about his business so she could change out of her traveling dress later. She turned to Eloise. “You come sit on a chair, so no one steps on you.”
Mr. Peterson was honing a knife on a whetstone at the dry sink sunk in a counter under the kitchen window. Behind him, a cast-iron stove took up a good portion of the wall with a filled woodbox to the side. A series of shelves under the windows on either side of the door held foodstuffs, as did the counter under the other window. Plain but functional. She refused to let herself think back to the lovely kitchen she’d left behind. Cabinets with doors, a full pantry, running water, two ovens in a stove fueled by gas. The house had gaslights, and they were talking about electricity, indoor plumbing.
“Have you ever plucked a bird?”
“No.”
Within minutes he had the first grouse plucked and cleaned out, then soaking in a pan of cold water. She eyed the other three in the sink.
“Can you do it?”
“Yes.” She took the bird and pulled off a handful of feathers. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me—even pluck a grouse.
“Pull against the shaft, like this.” He showed her again. Indeed, his way was easier. When the bird was bare skinned, she remembered what he had done and cleaned out the innards.
He plucked the third bird while she took care of hers. He nodded when she finished. “Supper will be at six. Hank will milk the cow tonight.”
“Don’t you want dinner?”
“This is enough.” He picked up a sandwich made of two pieces of bread with meat between and walked out the door.
“Wait, where do I get water?”
“At the pump.”
“Where?” She joined him at the door so she could see where he was pointing.
“Over there at the windmill.” He pointed up the road. There a wooden tower with a spinning wheel creaked and sang. “It pumps water. There is a pump with a handle for when the wind is not blowing.” He looked down at her. “You know how to pump?”
“I will learn.” Oh Lord, I have so much to learn.
His quiet snort made her stiffen her spine. So he will not take time to show me around. I will manage.
He shook his head, returned to the sink, and emptied the water bucket into the reservoir on the right side of the stove. “Come.”
Nilda scooped Eloise up on her hip and hurried after him. Dust puffed from his boot heels slamming into the dirt road. Trotting after him carrying her daughter made her chest pump and her heart thunder. By the time she reached him, she set Eloise down and put her hand to her throat in an effort to calm herself. A trickle of moisture ran under her corset, and she wished she’d had time to change.
He’d hung the bucket over the spigot and now pumped the curved iron handle up and down. Soon she heard a gurgle in the pipe and then water gushed into the bucket. “You pump till the water comes. Here.” He motioned her to take the handle.
Nilda stepped up onto the platform and pushed down on the handle. He had made it look so easy, but it took some strength. The water slowed, then regained its force.
“You stop pumping before it runs over.”
“I’m sorry.” She let the handle settle. “I should have…”
But he’d already strode off toward the low shed that housed the machinery.
What kind of man is he?
“Ma?”
Nilda turned to her daughter after watching the man’s broad back, crossed by suspenders, leave them behind. “Ja?”
“I’m thirsty.”
She took the tin cup from a hook on the wooden frame and dipped water for Eloise to drink. The urge to pump again just to see the water swirl in the bucket and run over the edge, darkening the dusty boards underfoot, made her smile. Somehow she would find time this day to clean up both her daughter and herself. A basin bath it would be, but right now, even that sounded refreshing.
She lifted the bucket from the spigot and, taking Eloise’s hand, walked back toward the house. It’s a shame that the well isn’t closer to the house. And how do I keep things cool so the food doesn’t spoil?
There would be no man driving a wagon down the street to sell his ice and haul a chunk of it on his shoulder to the icebox in the pantry. Another thing to learn. But with a cow they would have milk. She knew how to churn butter, and sour milk was good for cooking too. Sour cream cake and pancakes, biscuits and cookies. This far from town she would have to think ahead; there would be no morning strolls to the market for the day’s meats and vegetables.
Back at the house, she set the bucket on the counter and led Eloise back to their bedroom. “You get your clothes off, and I’ll bring a basin of water back here so we can wash.”
Eloise wrinkled her little turned-up nose. “I’m stinky.”
“Not for long. You wear that pinafore—it will be cooler,” Nilda answered, grateful that she’d sewn the back seam up on several pinafores so Eloise could wear them as dresses. Nilda dipped still warm water out of the reservoir and looked for soap, a washcloth, and towel. A hard bar of lye soap lay in a dish by the dry sink, but the only towel she could find was for dishes. Does no one take a bath here?
She took a dishtowel and the soap back to their room, along with the basin. Eloise had her shoes and socks off and was struggling with the but
tons on her dress.
“Help?”
“Did I hear a please?”
“Please help me?”
Nilda set the basin on a stool and sat on the side rail of the rope-strung bed. When she laid a hand on the faded quilt, she heard a crackling. Pulling back the quilt, she found a sheet over a ticking filled with dried grass. She’d not had bedding like this since she was a little girl. She closed her eyes against the memory of feather beds, clean and fragrant linens with feather pillows. Most likely I’ll be too tired by night to care how comfortable the bed is, anyway.
Quickly she stripped off Eloise’s clothing and used half the towel to wash her, the other to wipe her dry. After digging in their trunk, she pulled out clean underwear and socks, shook out the pinafore, and dressed her again.
“Now you sit on the bed and put your stockings and shoes on. This floor is too rough to go barefoot, you’ll get a sliver.”
“I get sliver.” Eloise held up one of her stockings and pulled it over the end of her foot.
Nilda removed her travel dress and used the wet end of the towel to wash her arms and neck, patting the cooling water on her face. Immediately she felt renewed, but she dressed quickly in case Mr. Peterson should return to the house. Tying her apron back in place over the calico work dress, she unwound her bun and smoothed the sides and top of her hair back before twisting the bun around her fingers and tucking the end underneath. She pinned it snugly and took in a deep breath.
“Ready?”
Eloise held out her shoes to be buttoned.
Back in the kitchen, Nilda opened tins that held flour, sugar, salt, and coffee beans. Dried beans appeared to be a staple. Thick cream floated on the milk in a flat bowl hiding under another cloth. Eggs filled a basket with dried grass in the bottom. So they would have baked grouse and…she opened another tin. Rice or beans. On the bottom shelf she found several cans of green beans and one of peaches. If this was indeed the extent of the larder, cooking would be a real challenge. She found a quart jar of honey with comb still in it and molasses in another jar. She stuck her finger in a short tin and made a face at the soda she tasted. Salt and pepper shakers sat on the warming shelf of the stove, along with a can of leftover bacon grease.
No bread, no fresh vegetables. What could she bake for supper? Biscuits—she had the ingredients for that. There was no jam or jelly, but she did have honey. She sorted through the pans, shuddering at the dirt on the shelves, on the windows, caked on the floor. Would there be time to scrub the floor first?
After deciding that the table needed scrubbing before she could work on it, she filled the basin again and set to her tasks, taking care of the counters and the chairs after cleaning the table. Water dripping on the floor created mud. She should have swept first. But where was the broom? Such filth. Never had she dreamed the house would be so primitive.
“Ma? I need go potty.”
Nilda sighed. “All right.”
The breeze lifted strands of hair that had slipped loose from her bun and kissed away the perspiration that dotted her broad forehead. A crow called from high in one of the trees by the river, answered by another. A butterfly sipped at a yellow flower, then fluttered to another.
Eloise stared at the butterfly, her mouth round as her eyes. “Pretty, Ma.”
“Ja, beautiful.” She stopped to look around and saw other yellow flowers, some white blossoms closer to the ground, and bits of blue sky attached to light green stalks. Flowers grew here, an abundance of blossoms. Thank you, Lord. God alone knew how much she needed bits of beauty, patches of color. Who would know what they were called? Perhaps she could buy some flower seeds to plant in the garden? Joseph said he’d dig a garden if she desired. Oh, how she desired.
Thank goodness for rubber gloves.
Ragni tossed another bucket of dirty water out onto the straggling rosebush. She’d read that back in olden times, women watered their flowers and gardens with wash water, scrub water, any water that had been used. Even tooth-brushing water. Nothing was wasted. Hauling water from the river made one extremely conscious of its value. Just ask Erika, who does most of the hauling.
Ragni stared from the clean-cupboards side of the kitchen to the yet-to-be-cleaned side. Then she studied the stove. Visions of the queen of stoves reigning in Paul’s kitchen floated through her mind. Was there any chance that this poor rusty relic could be restored to its former glory and usefulness?
She checked the water heating on the propane camp stove. Only warm. Pouring herself another cup of coffee, she sat down on the stoop facing the road and listened to the breeze dancing with the cottonwood leaves. The sunlight reflecting shards of gold off new green leaves shimmered to the music of the morning. Never had she taken the time to watch and listen to the sunrise, to the earth stretching and yawning in the glory of the new day. Sunset had been more her favorite time, since she’d never considered herself a morning person.
She inhaled the fragrance of coffee from her cup, paid attention to the flavor bursting on her tongue, and closed her eyes when a dart of sunlight blessed her face through the branches of the grandfather cottonwood trees that grew between her and the red dirt road.
Now, why did I think grandfather instead of grandmother? She toyed with the thought. Was it the rugged bark so deeply grooved that it resembled canyons and crests? Or the towering height, or the fact that it would take three adults to clasp hands around the trunks? The hanging gate looked even more pitiful between two such towers to God’s providence.
What to fix first—and second?
While she was daydreaming, she thought back to the supper at Paul’s house the night before. What a beautiful home. What a nice man… Ignore that, she ordered herself. Most men start out nice and then look what happens. They usually hang around for a while and then get restless and leave. Or as in Daren’s case—Don’t go there, you don’t want to ruin this lovely morning with thoughts of the former jerks in your life. Just accept that you either haven’t met the right man for you or there isn’t such a creature running around. You have a career, a home, friends, and family. What more do you need?
She tossed her coffee dregs on a daisy blooming beside the steps. I need stronger faith, a heavy dose of joy, and my life back on track. That’s what I need. And my dad back. She closed her eyes at the pain that sliced through her. Fighting to breathe around it, she blew out a sigh. Tears seemed closer to the surface since she’d had the crying jag on the banks of the river. Ragni Marie Clauson, you are not a crybaby! So quit acting like one. Get to work. That solves all kinds of quandaries.
She sighed again and pushed herself to her feet. Checking the temperature of the water, she poured some into the scrub bucket and added heavy-duty cleanser. Armed with scouring pads, a scrub brush, a wire brush she’d bought specifically for the stove, and rags, she returned to the house. Start with the oven or the top of the stove or the warming shelf? And here I was supposed to have a vacation where I would make life decisions, not cleaning decisions.
“Start with the hardest part first, while you have the most energy.” Words she’d heard so often from her practical father. But if I can clean that oven, I’ll have such a sense of accomplishment. She dipped her soap pad in the water and attacked the rust on the top of the range. After banishing a patch of rust, she used the steel brush to scrub the entire exterior of the stove, removing layers of grime from all but the chrome. That she attacked with new soap pads.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” Erika stood in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Ragni turned to smile at her niece. “Good morning. Singing birds woke me. Beats an alarm clock any day.” She’d slept in the tent, but Erika insisted on staying in the car again. “Did you sleep well?”
“I guess.” Erika tilted her head from side to side to stretch out her neck. “You did say we’d go to the motel tonight, right?” She scrubbed her fingers through her hair. “Gross.” She wiped her hands on her shorts. “When can you take me over to play with Sparky?”
Ragni’s eyebrows tickled her bangs. “You ever heard of walking? That’s what feet are for.” She almost laughed at the stretched-eyes look on Erika’s face. “Shame we didn’t bring my old bike. That would have been good transportation for you.”
“Sure, why don’t I take the bus?” The bite in her voice made Ragni swallow her laugh.
“You’ve heard that before, I’d guess?” Ragni dug in the box of supplies they’d purchased in Dickinson to find the can of blacking for the stove.
“Is the coffee still hot?”
“No, but you can put it back on the burner. I’d dump out the grounds first if I were you. I already ate.” She pried the lid off the can and used a rag to apply blacking to the dull but clean cast iron.
“Cereal again?”
“Yes, I like Cheerios with bananas. There’s more.”
“Should have bought some food bars.”
“Look in the box. I brought some along.”
“They’re gone.”
“Oh.” Big mouse got them, I suppose. But teasing Erika right now would only lead to foot stomping and sour looks. Have to admit, the kid is good at both. “And I need another bucket of water.”
“Do you mind if I use the privy first?” The sarcasm turned the tone to a whine.
“If you must,” Ragni swallowed an equally tart retort, along with a grin.
“Fine!” Erika banged out the door, muttering all the way.
“Well, good morning to you too.” Ragni said to herself, mimicking Erika’s voice. “And what do you have planned for today? If I get some more scrubbing done on the shelves, could you please take me over to see Sparky?” As if that kid would even think of asking please. Ragni felt her jaw tighten. Immediately her stomach clenched as if in sympathy.
How much more peaceful—no, do not even go there. I agreed to her coming with me. Ha, as if I had any choice about bringing her along or coming here in the first place. The discussion lobbed back and forth, an interior tennis game, and the score had nothing to do with love.
The Brushstroke Legacy Page 12