the middle of the afternoon? How could she?
A sudden breeze stirred the heavy drapes, and Angela went to the window and moved the material aside. The river was within easy walking distance, and she imagined what it would be like to just sit here and watch the stately steamboats pass. A lovely garden was in the back of the house, and the fragrance of jasmine and magnolias drifted up to her.
There were beautiful rolling lawns on this side of the house and in the back, leading down to the river, lawns shaded by large oaks and bushy willows. The servants’ quarters and the stable were to the right of the house in a well-shaded forest of cedars. It was a picture of breathtaking beauty.
There was a knock and a light-skinned Negro girl about the same age as Angela entered with a tray of food, which she set down on a table without saying a word. Angela smiled meekly at her as she left. She didn’t know how she was supposed to act with the other servants, but she wanted to make friends. She hoped they wouldn’t resent her being here.
Nine
Angela spent the afternoon pacing restlessly about the large bedroom. She had tried to lie down on the big bed and rest but that was impossible for a girl who had never known idle time. With nothing to do, the minutes dragged by.
Why couldn’t they have given her something to do? She wondered now just what her duties would be, for Mr. Maitland had failed to tell her. Would she be serving just one person? She hoped there would be enough work to keep her busy. Most of all, she didn’t want Jacob Maitland to regret bringing her here.
This wasting of time, Angela thought, is ridiculous. There must be something she could do.
She opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The silence was eerie for a house supposedly full of family and servants. She walked a littleways, then smiled up at the portrait of Jacob Maitland. Curiosity drove her down the long hallway until she came to Bradford’s portrait. She gasped when she came face to face with it. This was not the Bradford Maitland she carried in her memories. This Bradford, with his darkly tanned face, his unruly black hair, and those angry eyes, made Angela think of a brigand pirate, or even a wild Indian, who could kill without mercy. This Bradford was a dangerous man.
Angela shivered. This was a Bradford she had never seen. Or had she? Did Bradford look like this the night he rescued her from Bobo? She shook her head. She didn’t know.
Angela turned with a shudder and made her way downstairs.
The dining room was the first room she came to. It was very impressive, with a long table that would seat ten, and high-backed chairs and cushioned seats. There were two doors off the dining room. One was open and showed a huge empty room that ran nearly the length of the house. Angela opened the other door and found herself in a red-brick kitchen, a recent extension of the house. A woman of extremely large proportions was rolling a thin dough on a large table. A young girl was beside her peeling peaches, with a small boy at her elbow, asking if he could have some.
“You must be the little girl Hannah told me about,” the large woman grinned when she noticed Angela. “What can I do for you, Missy?”
“Is there a rag I can use?” Angela asked.
The woman looked at her curiously, then pointed a flour-covered finger to another door. “There’s lots of rags in that closet—from Miss Crystal’s old dresses.”
“Thank you,” Angela replied shyly and opened the closet.
The little room was a storage area for the household cleaning items. There was a box of rags on the floor, but Angela was appalled by the scraps of material she found in it. Silks, velvets, taffeta, and other fine fabrics filled the box. How could such expensive materials find their way to a rag box? Taking a square of white cotton, she went to the dining room. It proved to be dust free, so Angela went to the room next to it. This was the morning room, she would learn
A sudden breeze stirred the heavy drapes, and Angela went to the window and moved the material aside. The river was within easy walking distance, and she imagined what it would be like to just sit here and watch the stately steamboats pass. A lovely garden was in the back of the house, and the fragrance of jasmine and magnolias drifted up to her.
There were beautiful rolling lawns on this side of the house and in the back, leading down to the river, lawns shaded by large oaks and bushy willows. The servants’ quarters and the stable were to the right of the house in a well-shaded forest of cedars. It was a picture of breathtaking beauty.
There was a knock and a light-skinned Negro girl about the same age as Angela entered with a tray of food, which she set down on a table without saying a word. Angela smiled meekly at her as she left. She didn’t know how she was supposed to act with the other servants, but she wanted to make friends. She hoped they wouldn’t resent her being here.
Nine
Angela spent the afternoon pacing restlessly about the large bedroom. She had tried to lie down on the big bed and rest but that was impossible for a girl who had never known idle time. With nothing to do, the minutes dragged by.
Why couldn’t they have given her something to do? She wondered now just what her duties would be, for Mr. Maitland had failed to tell her. Would she be serving just one person? She hoped there would be enough work to keep her busy. Most of all, she didn’t want Jacob Maitland to regret bringing her here.
This wasting of time, Angela thought, is ridiculous. There must be something she could do.
She opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The silence was eerie for a house supposedly full of family and servants. She walked a littleways, then smiled up at the portrait of Jacob Maitland. Curiosity drove her down the long hallway until she came to Bradford’s portrait. She gasped when she came face to face with it. This was not the Bradford Maitland she carried in her memories. This Bradford, with his darkly tanned face, his unruly black hair, and those angry eyes, made Angela think of a brigand pirate, or even a wild Indian, who could kill without mercy. This Bradford was a dangerous man.
Angela shivered. This was a Bradford she had never seen. Or had she? Did Bradford look like this the night he rescued her from Bobo? She shook her head. She didn’t know.
Angela turned with a shudder and made her way downstairs.
The dining room was the first room she came to. It was very impressive, with a long table that would seat ten, and high-backed chairs and cushioned seats. There were two doors off the dining room. One was open and showed a huge empty room that ran nearly the length of the house. Angela opened the other door and found herself in a red-brick kitchen, a recent extension of the house. A woman of extremely large proportions was rolling a thin dough on a large table. A young girl was beside her peeling peaches, with a small boy at her elbow, asking if he could have some.
“You must be the little girl Hannah told me about,” the large woman grinned when she noticed Angela. “What can I do for you, Missy?”
“Is there a rag I can use?” Angela asked.
The woman looked at her curiously, then pointed a flour-covered finger to another door. “There’s lots of rags in that closet—from Miss Crystal’s old dresses.”
“Thank you,” Angela replied shyly and opened the closet.
The little room was a storage area for the household cleaning items. There was a box of rags on the floor, but Angela was appalled by the scraps of material she found in it. Silks, velvets, taffeta, and other fine fabrics filled the box. How could such expensive materials find their way to a rag box? Taking a square of white cotton, she went to the dining room. It proved to be dust free, so Angela went to the room next to it. This was the morning room, she would learn
Similar Books
