feeling his burning eyes on the back of her head.
CHAPTER 4
T he day after Emma’s arrival in Coal River was payday for the miners, and the Company Store stayed open later than usual. After supper, when most of the miners’ wives would be finished shopping, Aunt Ida took Emma down in the wagon to get the weekly supplies—flour and sugar, lantern oil and lye soap, buckwheat and salt. She had a list, and Emma was to learn it by heart.
The evening sun was hard and bright, baking the earth and turning the already brown grass brittle. The motionless air smelled of warm wood, burning culm, and horse manure. Emma’s acorn-colored skirt soaked up the heat, roasting her inside.
Last night, Aunt Ida’s seamstress, Maggie, had taken apart and reconstructed Emma’s secondhand clothes, shortening the hem of the broadcloth skirt and taking in the bodice of the shawl-collared blouse. Today Maggie was making her some new outfits, including an everyday housedress, a visiting costume, and a flowing pink tea dress. On one hand, Emma didn’t want the new clothes, knowing everything she took from her aunt and uncle would need to be repaid with interest, one way or another. If she could get by without eating, she would. On the other hand, she looked forward to having something cooler to wear.
Since this morning, she had pinned three loads of clothes to the line, snapped green beans on the back steps, patched and ironed trousers, and mopped the summer kitchen floor after Cook tracked in mud from the chicken coop. Aunt Ida supervised her every move, giving her instructions on how to work faster and more efficiently. On the ride into town, her aunt delivered a sternly worded lecture after Emma left her gloves at home, snapping the horse with a whip when she wanted to stress a point.
“Gloves are to be worn at all times on the street, at church, and at other formal occasions,” she said. “Unless one is eating or drinking.”
“My mother never made me wear gloves,” Emma said.
“Well, you’re my responsibility now that your mother is—”
“Don’t,” Emma said.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t ever speak of my mother again.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Aunt Ida said. “How many times do I have to tell you your uncle is sorry for last night? He didn’t mean to upset you. You know how he gets sometimes. And it’s even worse when the miners are restless.”
“And you?” Emma said. She unbuttoned her collar and rolled up her sleeves, ignoring her aunt’s disapproving glances. The horse was moving at a good clip, and she wanted to take advantage of the breeze. “Are you sorry for what you said?”
Aunt Ida pulled back on the reins and brought the wagon to an abrupt halt. Emma had to grab the edge of the seat to keep from falling out.
“Me?” Aunt Ida said, her voice high. “What have I done? I only want what’s best for you, can’t you see that?”
“It seems to me like you only want free help,” Emma said before she could stop herself.
Aunt Ida gasped. She dropped the reins in her lap and fished a white handkerchief out of her sleeve, her eyes filling. “Lord almighty,” she said. “I’ve never been treated so poorly for trying to help someone in my entire life. Don’t you know you’re like a daughter to me? The daughter I never had?”
Emma sighed. There was no point in telling Aunt Ida anything. She was too busy seeing the splinter in everyone else’s eyes while being blind to the beam in her own. Emma tried to swallow her anger, but it got stuck in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing the words out. “Please, just forget I said anything.”
Aunt Ida wiped her nose, sniffling. “I know we’ve got some adjusting to do,” she said. “So I’ll accept your apology. But please, consider others’ feelings before you speak. And button your collar and roll down your sleeves before someone sees you.”
Emma ignored the request. Instead she picked up the reins and flicked them
CHAPTER 4
T he day after Emma’s arrival in Coal River was payday for the miners, and the Company Store stayed open later than usual. After supper, when most of the miners’ wives would be finished shopping, Aunt Ida took Emma down in the wagon to get the weekly supplies—flour and sugar, lantern oil and lye soap, buckwheat and salt. She had a list, and Emma was to learn it by heart.
The evening sun was hard and bright, baking the earth and turning the already brown grass brittle. The motionless air smelled of warm wood, burning culm, and horse manure. Emma’s acorn-colored skirt soaked up the heat, roasting her inside.
Last night, Aunt Ida’s seamstress, Maggie, had taken apart and reconstructed Emma’s secondhand clothes, shortening the hem of the broadcloth skirt and taking in the bodice of the shawl-collared blouse. Today Maggie was making her some new outfits, including an everyday housedress, a visiting costume, and a flowing pink tea dress. On one hand, Emma didn’t want the new clothes, knowing everything she took from her aunt and uncle would need to be repaid with interest, one way or another. If she could get by without eating, she would. On the other hand, she looked forward to having something cooler to wear.
Since this morning, she had pinned three loads of clothes to the line, snapped green beans on the back steps, patched and ironed trousers, and mopped the summer kitchen floor after Cook tracked in mud from the chicken coop. Aunt Ida supervised her every move, giving her instructions on how to work faster and more efficiently. On the ride into town, her aunt delivered a sternly worded lecture after Emma left her gloves at home, snapping the horse with a whip when she wanted to stress a point.
“Gloves are to be worn at all times on the street, at church, and at other formal occasions,” she said. “Unless one is eating or drinking.”
“My mother never made me wear gloves,” Emma said.
“Well, you’re my responsibility now that your mother is—”
“Don’t,” Emma said.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t ever speak of my mother again.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Aunt Ida said. “How many times do I have to tell you your uncle is sorry for last night? He didn’t mean to upset you. You know how he gets sometimes. And it’s even worse when the miners are restless.”
“And you?” Emma said. She unbuttoned her collar and rolled up her sleeves, ignoring her aunt’s disapproving glances. The horse was moving at a good clip, and she wanted to take advantage of the breeze. “Are you sorry for what you said?”
Aunt Ida pulled back on the reins and brought the wagon to an abrupt halt. Emma had to grab the edge of the seat to keep from falling out.
“Me?” Aunt Ida said, her voice high. “What have I done? I only want what’s best for you, can’t you see that?”
“It seems to me like you only want free help,” Emma said before she could stop herself.
Aunt Ida gasped. She dropped the reins in her lap and fished a white handkerchief out of her sleeve, her eyes filling. “Lord almighty,” she said. “I’ve never been treated so poorly for trying to help someone in my entire life. Don’t you know you’re like a daughter to me? The daughter I never had?”
Emma sighed. There was no point in telling Aunt Ida anything. She was too busy seeing the splinter in everyone else’s eyes while being blind to the beam in her own. Emma tried to swallow her anger, but it got stuck in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing the words out. “Please, just forget I said anything.”
Aunt Ida wiped her nose, sniffling. “I know we’ve got some adjusting to do,” she said. “So I’ll accept your apology. But please, consider others’ feelings before you speak. And button your collar and roll down your sleeves before someone sees you.”
Emma ignored the request. Instead she picked up the reins and flicked them
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