the river iced over three feet from the banks, there would be no more grinding until spring. She couldn’t risk breaking the waterwheel that powered the grinding stone.
That was a shame, too. She had enough work to grind all winter, but you couldn’t hold back ice. She had begun turning farmers away weeks ago. They would bring their grain back once spring arrived, because she couldn’t be responsible for their crops during the winter. Every order she took now would be on a day-to-day basis. She had no way to judge just when the cold would force her to stop. It was something she would have to decide each morning. Staying up past sunset was the only way to ensure she finished the order. The early morning hours might bring ice that ended her grinding. Besides, the Lambert family only needed their personal flour and cornmeal ground. Bonnie needed to feed her family. Brianna grinned as she stretched out her back. It was worth the ache in her spine. Bonnie had milk cows and she had brought sweet butter to trade. Placed in the back bedroom, it would freeze and keep all the way into spring once Brianna spooned it into thick crocks. The idea of hot biscuits with butter kept her company as she worked into the evening.
She only walked up to her cabin to light another lamp so that she wouldn’t have to stumble around in a pitch-black room. Now that the window was nailed shut, the front room was dim even during daylight. Checking the lamp, she turned the wick down as far as possible and made sure the lamp was only a third full of oil. She sat the glass lamp in her large cast-iron cooking pot as a precaution against fire. If it turned over, the fire would be contained in the deep iron pot.
Rubbing her arms, she left the cabin and hurried back to the mill house. A single lamp was lit near the grinding stone and it welcomed her with its yellow glow. Pushing the door closed against the night chill, she clasped the handle that would lower the grinding stone onto the grain waiting to be crushed by its weight. She was going to splurge and make herself an over jacket with that sewing machine. A nice, thick wool one that she could button over her bodice and stays to keep her warm. With the speed of the sewing machine, she’d have the time to make one instead of struggling to keep up with replacing the garments that had worn out past spring and summer.
“Shut up, dumb ass. She’ll hear you.”
Brianna froze as the words floated in the open mill house window. She hadn’t dared nail this window shut. The air would become a thick, swirling mass of chafe and grain partials if she didn’t let the wind in. Turning the wick down on her lamp, she moved across the floor to peer into the darkness that surrounded her cabin. A horrified gasp left her lips as she watched the dark shapes of men in the night. There was a smack and the splintering sound of a wall being torn apart on her cabin. Backing up, she looked around the mill house, cursing her lack of foresight in leaving her father’s rifle up in the cabin. All of her pride shattered as she recognized the pure reality of how helpless she was in the face of lawless men. She had no idea who was breaking into her home or what they wanted, but might made right as darkness masked their deeds. The sound of more wood being splintered sent her franticly searching for any means of protection.
The horses belonging to her invaders were still in the main drive. One false move and they’d tell their masters that she was scurrying away towards town. The mill house door opened onto that drive and might spook the team if she tried to escape the mill. Chewing on her lip, she considered the only other way out. A trapdoor was set into the floor. It was there for cleaning. You just swept everything out the hatch. Many times she’d washed the plank floor down with buckets of water because she could push the water right out of the room through the trapdoor.
But there was nothing on the banks of the river to
That was a shame, too. She had enough work to grind all winter, but you couldn’t hold back ice. She had begun turning farmers away weeks ago. They would bring their grain back once spring arrived, because she couldn’t be responsible for their crops during the winter. Every order she took now would be on a day-to-day basis. She had no way to judge just when the cold would force her to stop. It was something she would have to decide each morning. Staying up past sunset was the only way to ensure she finished the order. The early morning hours might bring ice that ended her grinding. Besides, the Lambert family only needed their personal flour and cornmeal ground. Bonnie needed to feed her family. Brianna grinned as she stretched out her back. It was worth the ache in her spine. Bonnie had milk cows and she had brought sweet butter to trade. Placed in the back bedroom, it would freeze and keep all the way into spring once Brianna spooned it into thick crocks. The idea of hot biscuits with butter kept her company as she worked into the evening.
She only walked up to her cabin to light another lamp so that she wouldn’t have to stumble around in a pitch-black room. Now that the window was nailed shut, the front room was dim even during daylight. Checking the lamp, she turned the wick down as far as possible and made sure the lamp was only a third full of oil. She sat the glass lamp in her large cast-iron cooking pot as a precaution against fire. If it turned over, the fire would be contained in the deep iron pot.
Rubbing her arms, she left the cabin and hurried back to the mill house. A single lamp was lit near the grinding stone and it welcomed her with its yellow glow. Pushing the door closed against the night chill, she clasped the handle that would lower the grinding stone onto the grain waiting to be crushed by its weight. She was going to splurge and make herself an over jacket with that sewing machine. A nice, thick wool one that she could button over her bodice and stays to keep her warm. With the speed of the sewing machine, she’d have the time to make one instead of struggling to keep up with replacing the garments that had worn out past spring and summer.
“Shut up, dumb ass. She’ll hear you.”
Brianna froze as the words floated in the open mill house window. She hadn’t dared nail this window shut. The air would become a thick, swirling mass of chafe and grain partials if she didn’t let the wind in. Turning the wick down on her lamp, she moved across the floor to peer into the darkness that surrounded her cabin. A horrified gasp left her lips as she watched the dark shapes of men in the night. There was a smack and the splintering sound of a wall being torn apart on her cabin. Backing up, she looked around the mill house, cursing her lack of foresight in leaving her father’s rifle up in the cabin. All of her pride shattered as she recognized the pure reality of how helpless she was in the face of lawless men. She had no idea who was breaking into her home or what they wanted, but might made right as darkness masked their deeds. The sound of more wood being splintered sent her franticly searching for any means of protection.
The horses belonging to her invaders were still in the main drive. One false move and they’d tell their masters that she was scurrying away towards town. The mill house door opened onto that drive and might spook the team if she tried to escape the mill. Chewing on her lip, she considered the only other way out. A trapdoor was set into the floor. It was there for cleaning. You just swept everything out the hatch. Many times she’d washed the plank floor down with buckets of water because she could push the water right out of the room through the trapdoor.
But there was nothing on the banks of the river to
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