“Ain’t right, what they’ve done. Not a bit,” she snorts.
“Enough,” I murmur. “Please.”
I move to the basins. My hip protests, but the water’s warmth is mercy on my hands. I scrub until the ache dulls to something I can live with.
By midmorning, the sun peeks weakly through the kitchen window. The door creaks open and a small shape hovers there, shifting from foot to foot.
“Miss Alice?”
I turn. Gideon stands in the doorway with the same mop of hair and eager eyes. For a moment, everything inside me softens.
“Gideon,” I whisper, voice catching. “Look at you. I’ll have to let out the hem at your ankle again.”
He grins wide. “Been helpin’ in the stables. Mr. Collier says I’m near strong as a man.”
I smile for real then, though it hurts my split lip. “I don’t doubt that.”
He steps closer, uncertain. “I’m real glad you came back. It was awful without you.” His brightness chases some gray away. “You’ll stay now, won’t you? Things’ll be better with you here.”
I reach out and brush a curl from his forehead. “Mind your work, sweetheart. Don’t let Mr. Collier catch you idling.”
He nods solemnly and trots off.
For a long while, I stand with my hands in the wash basin, staring out at the gray Ohio sky. For the first time since I came back, something like warmth finds me again. Come afternoon, I hang clean linens on the line. My hip protests, but I grit through it. The rhythm—shake, pin, reach, repeat—keeps my thoughts from wandering too far. I pin the last sheet, its white hem flapping against the wind.
Bootsteps crush the gravel behind me.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Sherman.”
I turn. Mr. Collier stands a few paces back, hat in hand, sleeves rolled just enough to show he’s been across the grounds. His smile is thin. Forced.
“Afternoon, sir,” I say, adjusting a clothespin.
He watches the sheets sway. “Suppose a woman like you never figured you’d be the sort to take up washing.”
“Truly, it’s not so different than before,” I answer. “Only I sleep alone now.” And I’m better for it.
He gives a short laugh, low in his chest. “Reckon we’ve that in common, then. Seems odd a Sherman woman would be getting her hands dirty.”
I shrug. “I knew nothing else.”
“It’s not right if you ask me. Wealthy man like Joseph ought to have spoiled you. You were the woman of the house. A pretty lady like you, kind and proper. You deserve a softer life.”
I offer a weak smile in return but don’t reply.
He steps closer, close enough I can smell tobacco on his breath as he fills the silence. “Lonely business, running a house,” he says, eyes moving along the line of laundry.
I keep my hands moving, folding a corner of a pillowcase. I offer a polite reply. “It must be odd to step into a place left behind by us who once called it home.”
He watches me a long moment, squinting against the sun. “This is still your home.”
“Only because I’ve nowhere else to go.”
“Then you ought to make yourself comfortable.” His voice drops. “No sense living like hired help when there’s a bed in the main house.” He studies me another moment, head tilting. “You ought to know, the servants hold you in high regard. Makes things easier if you and I see eye to eye. Harmony in the house, that sort of thing.”
“I believe I understand your meaning,” I say, voice flat.
He steps closer, close enough that the line flutters between us. “Seems you and I, we’re both without family now.”
