for soap.
The two ranchers bought their tobacco and left. Mr. Barney returned to Charles.
“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. The question of the unmentionables,” said Mr. Barney.
“Whatever you think,” he said, quickly. “Whatever goes with…Whatever a lady needs.”
“I will have it all packaged for you to pick up as you head home,” he assured him. “I’ll put it on your account. Perhaps some fragrant soap, as well? A length of ribbon, too?”
Charles was never so grateful to reach the familiar setting of the forge. Rascal walked into his stall and sighed loudly.
“You said it brother,” said Charles as he shoveled some charcoal.
†
Rose put on her freshly washed dress, wanting to save her new one made by Clara Lee Chadding for Sunday. Shaking her head, she realized that the dresses that she had brought with her had seen better days. Truly, they had seen their last days. They had been given to her by the nuns at The Sisters of Mercy. She assumed that the dress she had been wearing when she arrived at the convent hospital had been burned in the convent’s furnace to help prevent contagion. She had no memory of arriving at the convent doors, but Sister John had explained how Rose had been so feverish and unable to speak. When Rose began to recover, Sister John had given her two dresses that had been donated to the convent. Washing them had made the two threadbare dresses nearly fall apart in some places. There were some areas where the fabric was worth saving, though.
She undressed and regarded the dress. The small window in the kitchen, thought Rose. She could make a curtain for it with the salvageable fabric. She put on her new dress, marveling that it fit her nearly just right. Clara Lee was a marvelous seamstress. Just a little loose in the waist, it fell past her ankles and the sleeves reached to her wrists. It felt wonderful to be clad in new clothes once again. She went into the kitchen, looking for shears. She could measure the kitchen window and begin making a curtain with the small sewing kit that she had traveled with. Surely that would not be acting out of compliance with Doctor Petersen’s instructions. The day stretched out ahead, long and lonely. She needed a task to keep her hands and mind occupied.
As she looked in a few drawers, smiling at their chaotic interiors, she heard the sound of a wagon or buggy approaching. She went out onto the front porch and saw an unfamiliar woman pull up at the house.
“Morning,” said the woman shyly, remaining seated on her small wagon. She had large, dark eyes and dark skin. “Is it too early for visiting?”
“Hello, no, it most certainly is not. Please, come in. My name is Rose Adams, I mean Rose Smith .” Rose stepped down the stairs. The woman climbed down from her buggy while carrying a basket.
“I’m Elizabeth West,” said the woman, holding her hand out. “Mighty pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Mrs. West, what a beautiful name. Come right on in. Tell me, have you always lived in California? Or elsewhere west of the Mississippi?” Rose shook her hand and began to walk into the house.
Elizabeth shook her head. “My people are from the south, from Georgia. My husband is a carpenter.”
“Would you like some coffee? There is plenty and it is still hot. And there are a couple of molasses cookies I can bring right out.” Rose gestured to the chairs and settee in the parlor.
“Thank you Mrs. Smith, but not this time. Another time, surely. This morning, I came to bring you this here food I made, and to ask if there’s anything I can help with.” Elizabeth reached into her basket and handed Rose a bundle wrapped in red checked cloth.
Rose was speechless. Never had she encountered such kindness as she had in Cutler’s Pass, outside of her own family and at the Sisters of Mercy. “Thank you,” she said with sincerity. “I’ll put this in the larder.”
Elizabeth followed her. “Open drawers and a dress on the
The two ranchers bought their tobacco and left. Mr. Barney returned to Charles.
“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. The question of the unmentionables,” said Mr. Barney.
“Whatever you think,” he said, quickly. “Whatever goes with…Whatever a lady needs.”
“I will have it all packaged for you to pick up as you head home,” he assured him. “I’ll put it on your account. Perhaps some fragrant soap, as well? A length of ribbon, too?”
Charles was never so grateful to reach the familiar setting of the forge. Rascal walked into his stall and sighed loudly.
“You said it brother,” said Charles as he shoveled some charcoal.
†
Rose put on her freshly washed dress, wanting to save her new one made by Clara Lee Chadding for Sunday. Shaking her head, she realized that the dresses that she had brought with her had seen better days. Truly, they had seen their last days. They had been given to her by the nuns at The Sisters of Mercy. She assumed that the dress she had been wearing when she arrived at the convent hospital had been burned in the convent’s furnace to help prevent contagion. She had no memory of arriving at the convent doors, but Sister John had explained how Rose had been so feverish and unable to speak. When Rose began to recover, Sister John had given her two dresses that had been donated to the convent. Washing them had made the two threadbare dresses nearly fall apart in some places. There were some areas where the fabric was worth saving, though.
She undressed and regarded the dress. The small window in the kitchen, thought Rose. She could make a curtain for it with the salvageable fabric. She put on her new dress, marveling that it fit her nearly just right. Clara Lee was a marvelous seamstress. Just a little loose in the waist, it fell past her ankles and the sleeves reached to her wrists. It felt wonderful to be clad in new clothes once again. She went into the kitchen, looking for shears. She could measure the kitchen window and begin making a curtain with the small sewing kit that she had traveled with. Surely that would not be acting out of compliance with Doctor Petersen’s instructions. The day stretched out ahead, long and lonely. She needed a task to keep her hands and mind occupied.
As she looked in a few drawers, smiling at their chaotic interiors, she heard the sound of a wagon or buggy approaching. She went out onto the front porch and saw an unfamiliar woman pull up at the house.
“Morning,” said the woman shyly, remaining seated on her small wagon. She had large, dark eyes and dark skin. “Is it too early for visiting?”
“Hello, no, it most certainly is not. Please, come in. My name is Rose Adams, I mean Rose Smith .” Rose stepped down the stairs. The woman climbed down from her buggy while carrying a basket.
“I’m Elizabeth West,” said the woman, holding her hand out. “Mighty pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Mrs. West, what a beautiful name. Come right on in. Tell me, have you always lived in California? Or elsewhere west of the Mississippi?” Rose shook her hand and began to walk into the house.
Elizabeth shook her head. “My people are from the south, from Georgia. My husband is a carpenter.”
“Would you like some coffee? There is plenty and it is still hot. And there are a couple of molasses cookies I can bring right out.” Rose gestured to the chairs and settee in the parlor.
“Thank you Mrs. Smith, but not this time. Another time, surely. This morning, I came to bring you this here food I made, and to ask if there’s anything I can help with.” Elizabeth reached into her basket and handed Rose a bundle wrapped in red checked cloth.
Rose was speechless. Never had she encountered such kindness as she had in Cutler’s Pass, outside of her own family and at the Sisters of Mercy. “Thank you,” she said with sincerity. “I’ll put this in the larder.”
Elizabeth followed her. “Open drawers and a dress on the
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