She looked at the freshly washed curtains, the completely cleaned and fluffed bed, the clean rugs spread on a swept, washed, and polished floor and decided how long it had taken her did not matter. Although Mrs. O’Neal had polished the floor, Emily had managed the rest. Feeling proud and increasingly confident about her recovery, she started down the stairs.
Voices filled the dining room and she paused to look in. All seven MacEnroy brothers were gathered around the table, which had what looked to be maps spread over it. They were an amazing array of handsome men. She was still astonished the place was not besieged with women trying to catch their eyes, even young Robbie’s, but she had quickly become aware of the shortage of available women as they had traveled west. Women were not inclined to make such a journey without a man at their side, which left the single men with few choices.
Mrs. O’Neal was pouring them all glasses of cider. Each one took the time to thank her kindly. What fascinated her, though, was the two somewhat disreputable men who were hunkered on the floor intently inspecting one of Donald’s puppies. It was an adorable black-and-white mix and obviously a breed that was far from pure but young Donald was doing a fine job of espousing all of the dog’s fine points.
“Hello, dearie,” said Mrs. O’Neal as she started toward the door where Emily stood. “All done with the room?”
“Yes, finally. What is going on?”
“The lads are arguing over where the wolves might be and whether they should fence in the sheep. They have that argument every year,” she added softly. “Always ends up with them agreeing the sheep don’t do well all penned in. One spends too much time moving them from pasture to pasture. The Powell brothers are here looking at my boy’s puppy. They think he may be able to be trained to help with the sheep. Their dog is getting old, though not too old he can’t breed puppies with my bitch, and they want another up and trained before the old girl dies. Might need to breed her again.”
“In England they have very simple fences or hedgerows.”
“They don’t have wolves.”
“True. What do the Powell brothers do here?”
“Sheep herders or shepherds if you prefer.”
“But there are seven brothers.”
Mrs. O’Neal nodded. “And guess who they learned about sheep from. The Powell boys are out in the fields during the night now. They really had no other place to go,” she said softly. “I best get started on the food. All this planning and arguing seems to give them a hearty appetite.”
“They always have a hearty appetite.”
“True enough. Hey, Owen?” Both Powell men stood up and looked at Mrs. O’Neal. “You and David are staying for a meal.” Even though it was more a command than a request both men nodded.
“I will give you a hand,” Emily said as she followed Mrs. O’Neal out of the room. “Oh my, something smells very good,” she said as they entered the kitchen.
“Mutton stew. Got two pots of it cooking. We just need some biscuits and something for a sweet after.”
“Never had mutton stew.”
“Fairly common amongst farmer families.” She gave Emily a sideways glance.
Ignoring the woman’s look that begged for some answers, and with only a little instruction, Emily fell into the work of making biscuits. She was finding work in the kitchen soothing. A little smile touched her mouth as she suddenly recalled the reaction of the head cook at Stanton Manor when she had tried to help in the kitchen. Flush with new knowledge she had wanted to hone her skills. Instead she had nearly caused their head cook, Mrs. Paxton, to swoon. Then had come the lecture.
Not the place for a ladywas an often-repeated phrase. It had infuriated her so she had finally stomped out of the kitchens and never gone back. The one good thing that had come out of that confrontation was that one of the kitchen maids had quietly offered to teach her a few things. Between that girl’s help and the lessons with Mrs. Cobb, the tenant’s wife, she felt competent in the kitchens. Making up the meals, with no help when living with her sister, had given her more confidence in her ability. Emily was contemplating asking Mrs. O’Neal if she could cook a meal sometime with the woman helping as much as was needed. In her mind she planned the whole meal out as she helped Mrs. O’Neal with the biscuits and her need to do so grew stronger.
When everyone started to arrive for the meal, Emily was surprised at how well the Powell brothers cleaned up. They had cast off their somewhat ragged coats and washed up, revealing that they were probably not much older than Iain. They had even taken the time to scrape the scruff off their faces revealing fine features. Both had thick black hair and dark blue eyes. They might have been twins, perfectly matching, except that Owen had a few age lines that David did not as well as a ragged scar that ran from the side of his right eye right down to his neck. Someone had once tried to kill the man, she thought, and then fought back her curiosity about the man’s life.
She ate her meal surrounded by the accents of Scotland, Wales, and America. Glancing at Neddy she saw only happiness on his face as he ate his meal and listened to the men talk. It hurt her to realize he was not still grieving for his parents, had only done so mildly before settling in with the MacEnroys, even as she accepted that it was probably for the best. What hurt was the knowledge that her sister would not be dearly remembered by many. Emily promised herself that she would tell Neddy about his parents. While it was sadly true that they had not dealt much with their child, they had given him life and died to make sure he stayed alive. For those things alone they should be remembered.
By the time the meal was done, highly praised by the men, and she and Mrs. O’Neal had cleared up the kitchen Emily was tired yet not ready to go to sleep. Her mind was too full of worries about what she and Neddy would do once she was fully healed. That time was swiftly approaching for even her leg wound was only mildly aching if she worked on her feet too much or it got bumped. It would not be long before her strength fully returned either. Soon there would be no reason for her to stay with the MacEnroys.
“Is it safe enough to step outside for a while?” she asked Mrs. O’Neal.
“If you stay within the walls. There is a porch front and back. The back porch has a swing.” Mrs. O’Neal removed her apron and slipped on her coat. “Just stay inside the walls,” she warned again, and hurried out to go to her cabin.
Emily went upstairs to tuck Neddy into bed and make sure he was asleep. She got her wrap, one of the many things retrieved from the cabin, and then headed back down. Thinking that sitting on a porch swing was a wonderful idea, she stepped out onto the back porch, the cool night air a pleasure after working in the kitchen. She had only taken a few steps when she saw Iain standing at the end of the porch, leaning on the railing and studying his domain.
“Ye dinnae need to scurry back inside,” he said, and turned to face her.
“I never scurry,” she said, and watched his lips twitch as if he suppressed a smile.
“Come to sit on the swing? Matthew made it. We chided him for his fancy but it gets a lot of use.”
Although a small voice in her head told her it was not a good idea, Emily walked to the swing and sat down. “He does wonderful work,” she said as she ran her hands over the seat.
