As Zaira crossed toward the barn, she caught sight of Alannah and veered in her direction, whisking the moisture from her cheeks.
Alannah wanted to say something to acknowledge Zaira’s despondency. On the other hand, she didn’t want to inquire into personal matters and overstep boundaries.
“How was your day?” Zaira asked with a forced smile.
“I helped Cook make jam with the strawberries you picked.”
“That sounds much more delightful than my afternoon.”
The young woman clearly had no idea how hot and sticky jam-making was. In fact, Zaira probably had no idea how hot and tiring most of the kitchen work was. But Alannahcouldn’t complain. She had employment, even if it was a far cry from working in the newspaper office as an editor as she’d hoped to do.
Zaira reined in beside Alannah, the leather satchel still in place.
Alannah rubbed a hand over the horse’s flank. “I can take your horse to the barn, if you’d like.”
With a heavy sigh, Zaira dismounted. As she steadied herself, she stared off into the distance. “I thought my skills were better than they are. And today I learned I still have much to learn.”
What skills was Zaira referring to? As open and kind as the young woman was, Alannah held the question back. She couldn’t push past the roles of servant and mistress quite as easily as Zaira could. Instead, she tried for encouragement. “We all have much to learn, so we can’t be too hard on ourselves.”
“But at this rate, I’ll never accomplish anything.”
“You know what they say: However long the day, evening will come.”
Zaira patted the leather satchel. “It looks like the day is going to be an exceptionally long one for me.”
Alannah waited, unsure if she ought to say more or hold her tongue.
Zaira glanced around. The backyard was deserted except for a few chickens scratching about in the dust and a calico barn cat perched on the garden fence post, giving itself a bath.
“I don’t share my aspirations with many people—only my sisters know. And I’ve told Madigan. But now that I’vefailed, I guess it doesn’t matter who knows since my career is over before it even began.”
“Career?”
Zaira lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I’ve been writing stories.”
With as creative and vibrant as Zaira was, the news didn’t surprise Alannah. “I’m sure you’re very talented.”
“That’s just it.” Zaira flipped open the latch on the satchel. “I gave the manuscript to McDonald and Sons publisher. When I retrieved it today, they’d only read five pages and left a note on the first page that says, ‘Needs more work.’”
As much as Alannah loved to read, she’d never aspired to be a writer, unlike her cousin Hugh who’d dreamed of becoming a journalist since he was old enough to read and write.
“I could do a little editing if you’ve a mind to let me. I’ve been told I have sharp eye for catching mistakes.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, probably because she’d just been pining for an editing job moments ago.
She cringed, waiting for Zaira to scoff at her or at the very least to look at her as though she were a deranged lunatic for making such an audacious suggestion.
But Zaira cocked her head, studying Alannah as though she was seriously contemplating the offer.
“My cousin is a journalist. I always read his articles and offered feedback.” Hugh had even encouraged the newspaper owner to hire her as an editor.
Of course, Mr. Graves had been older and set in his ways, of a mind that young women ought to marry and not be bothered with anything besides being a good mother andwife. Hugh had assured her that he would get Mr. Graves to change his mind eventually. She was hoping he still would.
In the meantime, she could help Zaira.
Zaira opened her satchel and pulled out a bundle of papers tied with twine. She ran a hand over the front page reverently, as though the book were an infant who needed reassurance. “I’ve never let anyone read any of my writing before.”
“’Tis your eventual goal, is it not?”
Zaira nodded, the sunlight glinting off her hair and turning it a brilliant red.
