Caroline aimed a pointed look at Jackson. “I thought you fought for the Union.”
“You know I did.”
She gestured at the woman and raised a brow.
“Celia is my employee.”
So,thiswas Celia, ‘Papa’s friend.’ Caroline was glad she hadn’t voiced her suspicions, or she’d be eating crow with her eggs.
“I beg y’ pardon, Missa Maguire,” Celia called over her shoulder.
“I misspoke,” Jackson said with amusement playing at the corners of his lips. “I hired Celia—who is the owner of a laundry business in town—to help with the children and the house.”
“You misspoke more than that,” Caroline said. “A lady deserves the respect of being addressed by her proper name.”
He shrugged. “She won’t let me.”
Caroline frowned and looked back and forth between them.
Celia paused midway through stuffing a pair of grimy trousers into the bag. “He speaks the truth.”
“Do you not have more than a given name?” Caroline asked gently.
Celia harrumphed. “Given names is all I got. Celia was given to me at birth, by my mother. Smith was, too, but that was the name of the man who owned me. He was merciful, as masters went, and freed us afore the proclamation. Still, I don’t want his name. I’d rather take one of my own choosin’.” She went back to stuffing the trousers. “I’m leanin’ towardMurphy, but I’m still makin’ up my mind.”
Celia tied the bag closed, hoisted it over her shoulder, and carried it outside.
“Shouldn’t you help her?” Caroline asked Jackson with such repugnance it doubled as a scold.
“She won’t let me do that either. In fact, it would probably offend her.”
Caroline took a few sips of coffee and let her irritation cool.
Noah set his napkin on the table. “May I be excused?”
“’Scused,” Jewel seconded.
Jackson took stock of the children’s plates. “Yes, you may. But don’t go far, and don’t get in Celia’s way.” He stood and lifted Jewel out of her chair, and Caroline smiled as she and Noah scampered out the back door.
“You and Celia seem close,” she remarked as Jackson sat back down. “Did you meet her when you came to Sagebrush Springs?”
Jackson shook his head. “I met Celia about a year before the war ended, “he said as he flipped a couple of biscuits onto his plate. “She’d been freed, but she had no way to support herself, so she attached herself to my unit and earned money by cooking and doing laundry. We kept in touch, and I convinced her to move west.”
He ate with a measure of speed and concentration that implied a better appetite than the previous day, so Caroline let the conversation lag.
She began gathering up the empty plates when Jackson rose to leave.
“You can leave those in the sink for Celia,” he said. “She’s going to clean up from breakfast and put a big pot of soup on before she goes back to town.”
“What should I do, then?”
“Read…rest…play with the children. Whatever you like.”
Caroline appreciated being given permission for leisure, but she’d come, in part, because she assumed a widower with small children would be in dire need of help. She’d been wrong about that, too.
She sat on the back steps a while, chatting with the children and playing with the kittens. Then she headed upstairs to pack. She wasn’t blind or heartless. Jackson and his children still had plenty of grieving to do. Despite Jewel’s smiles, she cried for her mother in her sleep. But the need for her presence was minuscule compared to the pain it caused her to stay.
She’d catch a ride back to town with Celia that very afternoon, and if Jackson couldn’t or wouldn’t load her trunk, she’d send Mr. Ames to fetch it.
