“Eachann... How does it look?”
He didn’t answer right away. Finally he said, “It matches your eyes.”
She stood up, snatched a halter off the bench, and threw it at him, then slammed out of the stable to the sound of his laughter.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“If seven maids with seven mops,
Swept for a half a year,
Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,
“That they could get it clear?”
“I doubt it,” said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
—Lewis Carroll
Eachann’s children were smart. For the next few days they stayed in their rooms doing their lessons and behaving like perfect angels.
However, Georgina declared war like the blue-faced warriors of old on Eachann’s side of the house. She’d had enough. She couldn’t take the clutter any longer.
The blue on her face was slowly disappearing. If she kept busy, she wasn’t prone to look in the mirror, which was safest for everyone concerned, particularly Eachann MacLachlan and his children.
She attacked the rooms with a vengeance. In the main room she swept up enough walnut shells to fill Eachann’s bed—and that’s where she put them. She spent one whole afternoon just stacking horsemanship journals and papers. The man didn’t throw anything out. She found three-year-old newspapers and two more riding crops, one boot—she never did find the match—shirts, socks, saddle soap, and currying combs.
In one corner of the drawing room there was a wooden crate filled with nuts, bolts, nails and wooden pegs, wire, and some metal things that looked like huge belt buckles. There were strips of leather and metal, five stirrups, something that looked like a wood plane, two spoons—one slotted—a rasp, a hammer, five horseshoes, a piece of silver metal that looked like the grate door on a woodstove, and three doorknobs and some pipe.
When Eachann caught her dragging the crate down the front steps, he stopped her. “What are you doing with that?”
She placed a hand on her back and straightened. “I’m getting rid of it.”
“What? You can’t. That’s mine!”
“But there’s nothing worth keeping. I don’t even know what half of this is. What are you going to do with it?”
“That is my parts box.”
“Pardon me?”
“I’m saving those things to use for ‘parts.’ Parts,” he repeated firmly. “If something breaks or gets lost, I’ll have a replacement part in this box.”
She looked at the box and shook her head. “Then take it somewhere. It doesn’t belong inside the house.”
He grumbled something, picked up the box as if it were filled with gold bricks, and left.
By Thursday, she had cleaned all the rooms but his bedroom. She’d spent one whole night just rearranging the furniture. She moved the overstuffed chair nearer the door and the small sofa near the fireplace.
The tables had all been in foolishly inconvenient places and none of the chairs faced each other. There was no conversation area at all. Everything had just been shoved against whatever wall was available.
The room had been such a mess that she actually found a piano she hadn’t known was there.
When Eachann came in the room, Georgina was sitting by the fire admiring the room. She watched him leave a trail of clutter—his coat, gloves, and a riding crop were on the floor behind him. He emptied his pockets and dumped all the contents into a delicate crystal vase she’d found stuffed with dirty socks.
He turned around, took two steps, and ran into the chair. “What the hell is that doing there?” He scowled at the room. “What did you do?”
