Cora’s words jarred them from their private moment. She moved beside Annalee and wrapped her arm around her shoulders. “Do you think you can handle being so alone?”
She stepped away from Boone’s warmth, sensing Cora’s unspoken message about propriety. “I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t know where I belong anymore.” She squared her shoulders, determined to show some grit. “But I’m not leaving until I’ve gone through Grandpa’s house and looked over his property. I owe him that much.”
Boone placed his hand on the small of her back and led her toward the steps. “I’ve spent many a winter’s evening in this cabin with your grandfather. It’s well built to resist the elements.” Nugget raced them up the steps and sat at the door whining. “Old Nugget was partial to Lee Tanner too.” He opened the door for Annalee, and she stepped inside.
She stood at the bottom of a narrow stairway, her sweeping gaze taking in every unkempt detail. Stale wood smoke, dirty living, and something foul made her nose twitch. “Kindly leave the door open, Boone. This place needs airing out.”
To her right was a sitting room with a wooden rocker placed near the large stone fireplace in the end wall. A brass spittoon sat next to the rocker, and by the huge stains on the wooden floor, her grandpa had missed more often than he’d hit. She shuddered at the disgusting sight.
A rolltop desk, its cubicles crammed with papers, sat next to the window in the back wall. There was an old stained divan, its upholstery torn, with a spring rising from the seat. A table covered with a catalog, a broken harness, and a pouch of chewing tobacco was under the window in the front wall. Both windows were covered with grime.
Although the cabin’s current condition was depressing, there was a surprising, unexpected sense of comfort. The place exuded permanence and strength. Slowly pivoting, she could see possibilities. Her seamstress mind was already making curtains and braiding rugs.
Behind her, Cora voiced disgust. “Oh my, this will never do.” She was clucking her tongue as usual.
Annalee pivoted toward Cora. “It’ll take a lot of elbow grease. A lot of time spent on my knees, scrubbing.”
Cora’s face scrunched into a frown. “Surely you aren’t thinking of staying! Not here.”
Annalee crossed to the bottom of the steps and into the kitchen. A scarred wooden table covered with dirty dishes and a couple of opened tin cans sat in front of a window. There were two mismatched chairs, one missing its back. A black cast iron four-hole cookstove dominated the room. On the floor next to the stove was a pair of boots caked with dried mud. A hand pump and sink sat under another grime-covered window at the back wall. She opened the door next to the pump and stepped onto a back porch. Several boards were missing. A large garden still held a couple of pumpkins, blackened with frost damage.
She came back inside and closed the door. “He wasn’t much of a housekeeper, was he?”
Cora looked at huge black cobwebs draping the corners of the room and shuddered. “How could anyone live like this?”
Boone scratched the back of his neck. “Well, Cora, single men have different standards than women.”
Annalee was halfway up the narrow wooden steps when Cora replied in a huffy manner. “Look around this hovel, young man, and show me one standard. Humph!”
Upstairs, Annalee found two bedrooms with slanted ceilings, each with a small window in the end wall. One room was empty. What was obviously her grandfather’s bedroom had an unmade bed, its sheet and blanket patched many times. A pair of yellowed long johns hung over the bedpost. Worn, faded clothes hung on pegs. The bedside stand held a kerosene lamp with a blackened chimney and a dog-eared Bible. An armoire sat cattycornered near the window. On the wall opposite the bed hung a tintype of her when she’d turned eighteen. The fact that her picture was the last thing her
She stepped away from Boone’s warmth, sensing Cora’s unspoken message about propriety. “I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t know where I belong anymore.” She squared her shoulders, determined to show some grit. “But I’m not leaving until I’ve gone through Grandpa’s house and looked over his property. I owe him that much.”
Boone placed his hand on the small of her back and led her toward the steps. “I’ve spent many a winter’s evening in this cabin with your grandfather. It’s well built to resist the elements.” Nugget raced them up the steps and sat at the door whining. “Old Nugget was partial to Lee Tanner too.” He opened the door for Annalee, and she stepped inside.
She stood at the bottom of a narrow stairway, her sweeping gaze taking in every unkempt detail. Stale wood smoke, dirty living, and something foul made her nose twitch. “Kindly leave the door open, Boone. This place needs airing out.”
To her right was a sitting room with a wooden rocker placed near the large stone fireplace in the end wall. A brass spittoon sat next to the rocker, and by the huge stains on the wooden floor, her grandpa had missed more often than he’d hit. She shuddered at the disgusting sight.
A rolltop desk, its cubicles crammed with papers, sat next to the window in the back wall. There was an old stained divan, its upholstery torn, with a spring rising from the seat. A table covered with a catalog, a broken harness, and a pouch of chewing tobacco was under the window in the front wall. Both windows were covered with grime.
Although the cabin’s current condition was depressing, there was a surprising, unexpected sense of comfort. The place exuded permanence and strength. Slowly pivoting, she could see possibilities. Her seamstress mind was already making curtains and braiding rugs.
Behind her, Cora voiced disgust. “Oh my, this will never do.” She was clucking her tongue as usual.
Annalee pivoted toward Cora. “It’ll take a lot of elbow grease. A lot of time spent on my knees, scrubbing.”
Cora’s face scrunched into a frown. “Surely you aren’t thinking of staying! Not here.”
Annalee crossed to the bottom of the steps and into the kitchen. A scarred wooden table covered with dirty dishes and a couple of opened tin cans sat in front of a window. There were two mismatched chairs, one missing its back. A black cast iron four-hole cookstove dominated the room. On the floor next to the stove was a pair of boots caked with dried mud. A hand pump and sink sat under another grime-covered window at the back wall. She opened the door next to the pump and stepped onto a back porch. Several boards were missing. A large garden still held a couple of pumpkins, blackened with frost damage.
She came back inside and closed the door. “He wasn’t much of a housekeeper, was he?”
Cora looked at huge black cobwebs draping the corners of the room and shuddered. “How could anyone live like this?”
Boone scratched the back of his neck. “Well, Cora, single men have different standards than women.”
Annalee was halfway up the narrow wooden steps when Cora replied in a huffy manner. “Look around this hovel, young man, and show me one standard. Humph!”
Upstairs, Annalee found two bedrooms with slanted ceilings, each with a small window in the end wall. One room was empty. What was obviously her grandfather’s bedroom had an unmade bed, its sheet and blanket patched many times. A pair of yellowed long johns hung over the bedpost. Worn, faded clothes hung on pegs. The bedside stand held a kerosene lamp with a blackened chimney and a dog-eared Bible. An armoire sat cattycornered near the window. On the wall opposite the bed hung a tintype of her when she’d turned eighteen. The fact that her picture was the last thing her
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