Eden

Hot tears sprang to her eyes and she turned quickly from him, carrying his eating utensils and plate to the sink where she added them to the dishpan.

“Katie.” He spoke her name softly and waited. Apparently he expected her to turn around and face him and she couldn’t find the strength in her legs to do that simple thing. Added to which, the tears that slid down her cheeks made her feel foolish and she would not allow him to know the fear that lay just beneath the surface of her mind.

“Katie, come here. Please.”

Had it not been for his final word, the simple plea he uttered, she might have remained apart from him. But she could not resist his softness. Perhaps she could have tilted her head and walked from the room had he simply ordered her to obey his whim, but John Roper apparently was wiser than that.

She bowed her head and shook it carefully, not willing to turn toward him, yet unable to ignore him. His chair scraped across the wooden floor and she sensed his presence behind her as he moved to where she stood, her hands clutching the edge of the sink.

His wide palm covered her shoulder and she knew a moment of fear, for he was more than capable of forcing her to his will and she was only too aware of the power of a man’s hands. That John would raise his to her in anger seemed not to be an issue, for she had sensed a careful control that reinforced his promise to her. That he would not harm her, that she would suffer no injury at his hand.

“Look at me, Katie.” He could have forced her to turn on her heel and face him, and indeed, she expected him to. But instead he only waited. And then his second hand touched her arm, a presence so gentle she could not move from it. She released the hold she had on the sink and moved to obey him.

“Relax, Katie,” he whispered. “I only want to talk to you about our living arrangements. And since I seem to be in charge tonight, I’ll make the decisions and tomorrow you can let me know if you see things differently than I. Will that suit you?”

She blinked furiously in an attempt to halt the tears that ran unimpeded down her cheeks and he smiled, then bent and pressed his lips against her forehead. A relief she had not thought to feel swept over her then and she recognized that he was being most patient with her emotional state. Her forehead felt the impression of his mouth, there where his lips had touched her so briefly, and she searched her memory for such a thing happening in her life.

“No one’s ever kissed me before, John. Like you just did, I mean. Maybe when I was little, for I think I remember a lady who held me on her lap, but not in a lot of years.”

His mouth opened as if he searched for words to speak and then he shook his head, telling her of what would happen. “I’ve taken your new clothes in the bedroom, Katie. The bundle is on the floor, but I put your nightgown on the end of the bed. I want you to get undressed and wrap yourself in the quilt that’s on my bed, and then come back out here. All right?” He waited then, his patience seemingly unending and his lips curved again, his eyes kind as he watched her for her response.

“Yes, all right.” It was all she could manage, but it seemed to satisfy him. He nodded and released her, turning her toward the other room, where the bed lay in shadow. She stepped over the threshold slowly, and then stiffened her spine. John had been clear on this matter, and all she must do was as he asked. Get undressed and wrapped in the quilt he’d offered.

The man had told her the lay of the land and she might as well do as she’d been told. After all, she didn’t see that she had much choice anyway. And if he’d wanted to hurt her, he could have already done so. For there was within her a fear of anything masculine, and if nothing else, John Roper was just that. A man. A man who was capable of bringing harm to her if he so chose.

Her chin lifted, her pride coming to the forefront and she sat on the edge of the bed, easing her heavy shoes from her feet. Then she bent and slid her stockings off, unwilling to wear the heavy things another minute. Tomorrow would be time enough to wash her underclothing. Perhaps the man had a washtub and some soap. And it would be none too soon, for her underclothing was the same she had put on three days ago, the Schrader family not being much on clean clothes or bodies.

Her mind traveled rapidly to the new clothing he’d bought for her and she smiled with a quick lightening of her spirits. She’d have new underthings to wear tomorrow, those soft leather shoes and even brand-new stockings. Her old things could be washed up and put aside for an emergency, but tomorrow she would wear soft new undergarments next to her body and dress as a lady.

It had been a bone of contention during the years of her life that Katie had taken every opportunity to wash herself and her belongings, and had taken much abuse because of her high-falutin’ ways, as Mrs. Schrader had said. Now, perhaps she would have hot water and soap available on a regular basis and her body would be as clean as a scrub rag could make it. That thought alone was enough to cheer her and she smiled.

Glancing up at the kitchen as she rose from the mattress she caught sight of John as he locked the back door, then turned down the oil lamp over the table. The glow from the wood-burning stove gave substance to his form as he crossed to the bedroom door.

“Shall I light a candle? Or can you make out what you’re doing in there?” He halted, hesitating in the doorway and she paused in the unbuttoning she had begun, her dress open down the front, her chemise exposed.

“I’ve undressed in the dark my whole life, John Roper. There’s enough light from the window and that fireplace out there to see what I’m doing, and I suspect there’s a slop jar in the corner where the washstand is.”

“You’re right on both counts, Katie. There’s towels and washrags over there in the drawer beneath the bowl and pitcher. Help yourself.” He went to the kitchen sink then, pumping water easily, filling a cup and drinking from it as he waited for her to make ready for the night.

The washrag smelled clean and she poured some water into the bowl provided and sloshed the rag in it, then rubbed his bar of soap on it, wrung it out and used it on her face and reaching beneath the bodice of her dress, used it beneath her arms, not willing to carry the scent of her perspiration into bed with her. A matter of pride she supposed, but she’d smelled the odor of unwashed bodies for years and if it was in her power, she would not allow her own to be of that ilk.

In moments, she had rinsed the cloth in the water and repeated the journey it had taken over her face and arms, removing the soap readily. The towel was rough, but she was used to such things and it took only moments to prepare for bed. Using the slop jar was beyond her right now, for there was no screen or any way to hide her doings from him and she could not bring herself to be so familiar.

“Can I use the outhouse?” It was the most difficult thing she’d ever had to request, but he didn’t appear to be shocked, only murmured a different solution.

“I’ll stay out in the kitchen a little longer and close the bedroom door. You can use the facilities over in the corner. I’d just as soon not send you outside again tonight, but you’re welcome to your privacy, Katie.”

He was as good as his word and did as he’d suggested, leaving her to tend to her duties hastily before he should return, the few minutes long enough for her to don the nightgown he’d bought for her. She’d barely pulled it down over her body, admiring the soft fabric and the small pearl buttons marching down the front placket, when he rapped on the door and then opened it, making a small production of entering the room, as if he would give her warning of his coming.

She grasped the quilt he’d offered and wrapped it around herself, then walked past him into the other room, heading for the couch he’d offered for her use. She slid quickly atop the firm surface, forming a cocoon of the quilt.

“All set?” He stood in the doorway between the two rooms, and asked the question softly. “There’s a pillow here for you to use, Katie,” he offered and approached carefully, tossing the pillow to where she lay.

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” she told him, watching as he went back into his bedroom, listening as she heard the bed creak beneath his weight. Whether he undressed or not, she did not know, for she turned her face to the back of the couch, her head on the pillow he’d given her, and closed her eyes.

“I’ve never had so nice a pillow.” The words came from her lips before she thought twice and she grimaced as she thought of how foolish she must sound. As if a pillow was a thing of great importance. Yet it was true. The feathers that filled the pillow beneath her head provided a luxurious place to rest and she was grateful.

From the bedroom, John’s laugh was soft, and she was aghast at her own words. He must think her foolish.

But apparently he was not surprised by her words for he spoke readily. “Berta, the housekeeper in the big house made me the set when I moved into this cabin, just the other day,” he said. “She dug up the towels and quilts for me, too, and the canned things you saw in the kitchen cabinet.”

His voice carried to her and she turned over on the couch, forming an answer. “She must be a nice lady.”

John chuckled. “She is, but no one would dare to call her nice to her face. She puts on a big front, snapping and snarling at the men when they come in for meals. Her biggest gripe is dirt on the floor, and woe betide the man who comes to the table with his hat on. She’s a great one for manners, Berta is, for all that she’s gruff and picky.”

“She sounds like someone I could like,” Katie said, realizing that her words were slurring just a bit. Her eyes were fighting to stay open and she felt the weariness in her bones sweep through her whole body.

“Go to sleep, Katie,” John said from his bed. And then, almost as an afterthought, he spoke again. “Are you comfortable?”

She nodded, aware that he couldn’t see from his bed, with her in the dark, the only light in the room the faint glow of the fireplace. She was sleepy, and strangely, felt safe here in this place, even though a man would sleep only a few feet from her. “I’m fine,” she said softly, and realized that the words were true, that she felt safe and secure for the first time in longer than she could remember.

WHEN KATIE AWOKE IT WAS with a start as she heard a rooster crowing outside the cabin. And then she inhaled sharply as she sensed eyes upon her, and sat up quickly, unable to think for a moment where she was.

“You awake, Katie?” John’s voice sounded like a saw cutting through a length of wood, rough and rusty, but she knew no fear, only a sense of rightness that she could not explain.

“I’m awake.” She opened her eyes, saw John at the sink, watched as he bent his head and doused it with water and then picked up the towel there and roughly dried his hair, then his hands. He looked over at her and grinned.

“How was your first night as a housekeeper?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel much like one yet,” she told him. “Ask me tomorrow.”

As she spoke the sound of men’s voices came to her from outdoors, through the cabin’s walls, laughter pealing forth as one of them apparently found something humorous to brighten his morning.

John crossed to the front door and opened it, then looked back at her. “I’ll be back in a short while. I’m just going to talk to the men and get things sorted out. Will you make breakfast, or shall I go to the big house to eat this morning?”

Her stomach growled as he spoke, as if the thought of food had brought hunger to the surface. “I’ll cook you breakfast,” she said quickly, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the couch, careful to keep the quilt around herself.

He was gone then, the door closing behind him and she went into the bedroom, seeking out the clothing she’d taken off the night before, and then changed her mind, recalling the new things John had purchased. The thought of the items inside the plain wrapping sent a quick thrill through her and she fought with her instincts that begged to wear new clothing.

Cooking breakfast for John did not require wearing a new dress, and she’d do well to locate her old things and get busy. But a quick look around assured her that the things she had discarded last evening in this room were here no longer. As though they had never existed, the worn, shabby dress Molly had given her and the dingy petticoat she’d stripped from before she donned her new nightgown were nowhere in sight.

It was there that John found her, just moments later, sitting on the edge of his bed, looking around her in dismay, wrapped tightly in the quilt. She looked up as he stood in the doorway.

“I don’t know where my things are from yesterday. I wanted to get dressed but—” She spread her hands in a gesture of defeat, and chagrin reigned on her mobile features.

John spoke softly, aware of her confusion and unwilling to upset her further. “You don’t need those old things, Katie. You’ve got a whole bundle of new clothes to wear.”

All Katie saw, all she could take note of was the expression on his face. That and his rapid movements across the room to where she sat on the edge of the bed.