Laurel: Bride of Arkansas (American Mail-Order Bride 25) (6 page)

While those soaked, since it would take a little time for them to be useable, she began scrubbing down the countertops and the dining table. She placed the items from the table, that she couldn’t put away, in stacks beside the stairs for Griffin and the boys to sort later and returned the others to their proper home.

A buffet sat on the wall that backed up to the kitchen on the right side of the main room. She believed this was the area meant for dining, so she dragged the table over to that side and rounded up four chairs and placed them around the table with the armchair at one end. Along the opposite side of the room, she arranged small tables, chairs and a settee in front of the fireplace to make a cozy spot for visiting and reading. Satisfied with her accomplishments for the time being, she went back to wash the dishes.

Finished with that chore, Laurel visited the smoke house. She found what was probably venison and a smoked ham. There wasn’t much that could be prepared quickly, so she decided on slicing the ham. From the pantry, she found a tin of crackers, a jar of canned peaches and a jar of tomatoes. Their dinner would be sparse, but would have to do until she had more time.

Men’s voices and their heavy work boots clomping on the back porch drew her attention away from the food and spurred her to set the table. When Griffin, Clem and Otto came inside after washing up, she was ready for them.

“Hi, come on in and sit.” She swept her hand in the direction of the table. “Dinner’s ready.”

“This looks right good,” Clem said, while filling his plate.

Otto, already chowing down, mumbled his agreement, “Sure enough.”

Griffin, who’d put ham, crackers, and a peach on his plate, sat at the head of the table staring at her.

“I know it isn’t much,” she apologized. “But I didn’t have much time. I can do better.”

He still didn’t say anything and the longer he sat there in silence, the madder she became. Finally, she said, “Look, this is the best I can do on short notice with little to work with. If it doesn’t suit you, then I’ll need better communication from you.”

“I’m sitting here in amazement at what you’ve accomplished in an hour.” He smiled. “I’m impressed.”

“Oh, well,” she sighed, as some of the starch fell out of her temper. “Hold onto this, for the next few days may not go as well as this evening.”

He grew silent again as he ate his dinner, and when the three of them were finished, they went out to the wagon to bring in her things.

She finished her own supper, and then cleaned up again, her thoughts already turning to tomorrow. Tomorrow, she could better explore the food supplies and staples, and unpack the book she’d brought,
Aunt Jennie’s Household Bible
. She’d bought it because Roberta had recommended it and also because on the very first page, Aunt Jennie had promised to demystify the kitchen and household, and make any new bride a seasoned housewife. God bless Aunt Jennie for she had her work cut out for her.

CHAPTER SIX

The next morning Laurel woke before daybreak. It seemed yesterday’s sleeping late had been a fluke, and her usual routine of waking early to work at the Brown Textile Mill had returned. She usually liked starting early to get ahead of the day, but this morning she hesitated to open her eyes not knowing what she’d find.

After cleaning the dinner dishes and leaving them to dry on the drain board, she had come upstairs by herself and found her things quickly. Her trunks, cases and hat boxes were sitting in the larger of the three bedrooms, which she assumed was where Griffin slept, and now where she would as well.

Too tired to go exploring, she’d gotten out of the clothes she’d worn for nearly forty-eight hours and slipped on her nightdress. She’d intended to stay awake until Griffin came upstairs, but obviously she’d fallen right to sleep. Fairly certain she was alone in the bed, she slowly opened one eye and looked around the room. Had he slept on the floor again? No, he wasn’t there either. She was by herself and the room was quiet.

Eventually, she got out of the bed and lit the lamp so she could find one of her work dresses to put on and an older pair of shoes. She brushed and braided her waist-length hair and pinned it atop her head to keep it out of the way while she worked. With her hand on the door knob, she picked up Aunt Jennie, drew in a deep breath and said a short prayer for strength and gumption. She had a feeling she’d need both as she tackled the day ahead of her.

***

Griffin stretched and silently cursed his height and the hardness of the settee he’d slept on last night. He’d had other plans, but when he went into the room to join her in their bed, she’d been slumped over, sound asleep, with an open book in her lap. He’d moved the book, slid her down onto the pillow, and covered her with the coverlet. He’d then put out the lamps and come downstairs for a couple of shots of bourbon and fallen asleep right where he sat. With his neck bent at an unnatural angle and his right leg hung over the back, he knew his body was going to hurt worse when he tried to move. As he contemplated the pros and cons of getting up or staying where he was, he heard feminine footsteps on the stairs.

Not knowing if she’d seen him lying there, he decided it better to pretend sleep until she went into the kitchen, and then he’d make some noise so he didn’t scare her to death. Funny thing about plans, though. He very seldom had them work in his favor and this was no exception. Suddenly, his right calf muscle knotted into a crippling cramp.

He opened his eyes, grabbed his leg, and yelped in pain. Unfortunately, Laurel had tip-toed over to his side at that precise moment. He heard her squeal and saw her hands go up as she fell onto her backside, all while he struggled to stand and stretch his leg. He hopped around the room for several minutes until finally, the pain began to subside.

“Are you all right?” She’d gotten back onto her feet and come to his side. Sliding her arm around his waist, she asked, “How can I help?”

“I don’t know if you can,” he said, admittedly enjoying her touch. His mind, though, headed down a dangerous path and his body threatened to betray him. Before he embarrassed them both, he moved away from her. “I’m just going to have to walk out the cramp. Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”

She had the grace to grin back at him. “No, but I can’t remember when I’ve been that startled.”

“What were you doing anyway?”

“I was checking to see if you were breathing. You were so still and quiet, I wondered . . .”

He laughed out loud at that.

She pushed him away from her and crossed her arms at her waist. “You think it’s funny I wondered if you were dead?”

“No, I don’t.” He saw the hurt in her eyes in the lightening shadows and immediately wished he hadn’t laughed. “I’m sorry, Laurel. It’s just that it’s been quite a while since anyone actually gave a damn. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” she scoffed. “I was trying to figure out how I was going to get your dead body out of the house all by myself.”

He stifled another laugh. “Practical and beautiful. I count myself a lucky man.”

“Well, you don’t know me well enough to make that declaration.” She reached down to pick up a book she’d been carrying and something else that she had in her skirt pocket. “I’ll go put on a pot of coffee and fix something for breakfast. I’m assuming Clem and Otto are eating, too?”

“Yes. After breakfast, we’ll go out and work until later in the day. That will give you time to get settled in.” He had an idea she wasn’t as experienced as he’d first thought and followed her to the kitchen to give her some direction. Even though his calf had loosened up somewhat, he still walked with a limp. The muscles would likely be sore, but work and liniment would help a great deal. “There should be some eggs from yesterday, but if you need more you’ll have to go out to the henhouse to get them. You’ll have to gather them sometime today, regardless, and milk the cow sooner than later.

“But I’m not telling you how to run the house. You know how to do that.” He hobbled to the doorway. “In the meantime, I’ll go roust the boys out of bed.”

Laurel stared after him, her mouth agape. Living in the city, she hadn’t thought too much about how their food got to the kitchen and hadn’t a clue as to how to go about it. She looked around the room and searched the walk-in pantry for something with which to make a decent breakfast. She thought back to the meals she’d had at home and at the boarding house. In Philadelphia, she’d watched Cook prepare a few meals, omelets and French toast were her specialties, but the meals in Lawrence had been much simpler.

She remembered a favorite and set about looking for the makings. In a few minutes she’d rounded up a dozen eggs for a good scramble, a few potatoes and grease for frying them in, ham, and some more of those crackers. This would have to do. She was setting all of the food out as her husband and the boys sat down at the table.

“This looks pretty good,” Griffin said, with a smile. “Dig in fellas, this is it until dinner.”

“I hope you like it.” She watched as all three devoured what was on their plates. Between last night and this morning’s meals she could tell she was going to have to cook more food per sitting. She sincerely hoped Aunt Jennie had many recipes and instructions for cooking. Otherwise she was afraid her stay here would be short lived.

When they’d packed up and left the house, she sat at the table among the dirty dishes and retrieved her glasses from her pocket. She was very fortunate they hadn’t broken when they flew from her hand earlier. Reading or sewing was next to impossible without them. She opened Aunt Jennie’s book and almost lost her nerve.

The chapters ranged from setting up a new household, to cleaning the chimney, to preparing a chicken for the pot. Her eyes halted on that last section and she reread the words slowly. Kill . . . chicken . . . hold feet . . . neck firmly. Pull down on neck . . . twist . . . fast and hard. Neck will snap . . . Next was something about flapping wings.
Oh, good Lord. Can I do this?

She shuddered and flipped through a few more pages, and came across milking a cow, feeding chickens, and pigs. Thank goodness she hadn’t seen any pigs here. Now, back to the cow. She remembered hearing Cook say the cow had to be milked early. By the clock on the mantle over the fireplace, it was just seven. Time to get up and get started.

She stacked the dishes for washing later, and went out the back door of the kitchen onto the screened-in back porch. A couple of wooden wash tubs hung on the wall to her left, along with a washboard and a dolly stick like the one she’d seen the washerwoman use to clean clothes. A shelf beside those held a bar of soap and a box of washing flakes. Outside in the yard, a short distance from the house, she saw a bench to set the washtubs on and two poles with a line strung between them to hang the wet clothes for drying.

A basket with a handle sat on the floor by the porch entrance which she thought would make a good egg basket, so she grabbed it to tackle egg gathering first. As soon as she stepped out into the yard, several chickens came toward her. A few were a reddish-brown in color, but most were fluffy white. She put her hand down to pet one of them and found the feathers to be softer than she’d imagined.

She’d had feather pillows and feather mattresses all her life, but this was the first time she’d ever felt them on an actual bird. She ran her hand down the back of the second bird, but the third one drew back and pecked her hand. The first two followed suit, and when she straightened to go into the coop, she noticed a half dozen or more had surrounded her. As she went through the door, two of them flew at her and landed on her head.

“Shoo!” she squealed. “Get away from me!” Instinctively, she threw the basket over her head for protection, realizing too late it held dirt in the bottom. There wasn’t a lot, but enough to get in her hair and eyes. Blinking madly, her eyes teared, thankfully clearing away most of the grit.

With blurred vision, she went about retrieving the eggs from the nesting boxes, and when she left the coop, the chickens followed her to the house, pecking at her skirts and flying at her. At that moment, she’d have had no trouble wringing any of their necks.

After placing the eggs on the back porch, Laurel tackled milking the cow. She wasn’t sure how, but somehow she managed to avoid the hens on the way to the barn and she was grateful. Inside, near the stall where she’d found Griffin yesterday, stood the cow.

She tried to remember Aunt Jennie’s instructions, precisely how to approach the animal. Be calm . . . speak softly, soothingly . . . and most importantly, have warm hands. A pail and a short stool sat to her right in a corner of the stall. She picked them up and sidled up beside the cow, who gave a woeful cry and stepped sideways with her hind feet bumping into Laurel. She went to pet the cow on the nose, to say something nice, and noticed the name “Bessie” carved into a board.

“So Bessie,” she said in a soft, soothing voice. “We’re going to get you milked and you’ll feel better.”

Bessie chewed the grain and hay sitting in front of her and answered rather insistently, “Moo!”