surprise you.” Mrs. Carpenter held up a worn cookbook.
Tara frowned. A calico dress, a dog-eared cookbook. . .and a surprise? Something worse than making pickles? Tara wasn’t sure she was ready for one of Mrs. Carpenter’s surprises.
The older woman hugged the book to her chest. “I’ve been wanting to make a wool sweater for Mr. Carpenter, and thought what better time now that you are here. You can help me with the dye bath and the spinning—”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Carpenter.” Tara held up her hand in protest. “I have never spun wool let alone dyed wool—”
“You mustn’t worry.” She shot Tara a broad smile. “I’m going to teach you.”
❧
Tara set the gallon pot full of the used dye bath on one of the porch steps, then headed toward the clothesline with the wool. After a morning of washing and rinsing the wool, then making a dye bath and coloring the wool, she was ready to crawl back into bed. Still, she had to admit that the rich plum color of the yarn would make a stunning sweater. If she only knew how to make such an item—which she didn’t.
Of course, that was bound to change. Mrs. Carpenter planned to teach her not only the dyeing process of the wool that she’d learned today, but also the spinning and actual crafting of the garment. While she could embroider and do other simple forms of needlework, such a task was not something she’d ever attempted. Nor had wanted to. That was the very reason she enjoyed the ease of readymade fashions from the city where she could purchase the costumes featured in Harper’s Bazar with little effort.
While Mrs. Carpenter went to start lunch, Tara had simple instructions to hang the dyed wool out to dry in the shade before fetching a few potatoes from the cellar. She was hoping that as soon as lunch was over, she’d be able to pay Mr. Martin a visit.
One of the lambs bleated behind her, and Tara spun around to shoo the young animal back into its pen. How it managed to escape from the confines of its enclosure she had no idea, but it wasn’t the first time she’d had to chase the little animal back to its mother.
“Now, Cotton Ball.” She placed her hands on her hips and spoke sternly to the lamb. “I don’t have time for any nonsense today. I’ve got to finish up here so I can go and meet with Mr. Martin.” She leaned down to whisper the last sentence. “He’s going to help me find the gold.”
Cotton Ball skittered to the right. Tara lunged for the lamb and missed. He went to the left, and she followed his move, before he made a quick maneuver toward the house. . .and the tub of dye.
“No. . .no. . .no.” Tara’s eyes widened in horror. “The dye is for after you’ve been sheared, not before. . .”
She picked up her skirts and ran after the lamb. All she needed was a plum colored lamb in the sheep pen. What would Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter say to that? The lamb continued toward the tub at a brisk pace with Tara right behind. If she could stop the lamb before it tried to run up the stairs. . .
Tara didn’t see the stump until it was too late. Tripping across the lawn, she fell flat on her face at the bottom of the staircase. Frightened by her scream, the lamb tried to run up the stairs and landed in the pot of dye.
Tara looked up in horror. The tub teetered on the edge of the stair while the lamb struggled to get its footing. Tara tried to get up, but she was too slow. Cotton Ball moved forward, and the entire contents of the tub, sheep and all, dumped on top of Tara’s head.
❧
Aaron stuffed the telegram into the pocket of his denim pants and frowned as he walked down the crowded boardwalk toward the livery. For two weeks now he’d followed every lead he had, and his superiors were not going to be pleased with his findings. His discrete conversations with three suspect people in the area, had, like the rest of his efforts, turned up no new leads. His opinion now was that there was no proof left the gold ever existed. And it if
Tara frowned. A calico dress, a dog-eared cookbook. . .and a surprise? Something worse than making pickles? Tara wasn’t sure she was ready for one of Mrs. Carpenter’s surprises.
The older woman hugged the book to her chest. “I’ve been wanting to make a wool sweater for Mr. Carpenter, and thought what better time now that you are here. You can help me with the dye bath and the spinning—”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Carpenter.” Tara held up her hand in protest. “I have never spun wool let alone dyed wool—”
“You mustn’t worry.” She shot Tara a broad smile. “I’m going to teach you.”
❧
Tara set the gallon pot full of the used dye bath on one of the porch steps, then headed toward the clothesline with the wool. After a morning of washing and rinsing the wool, then making a dye bath and coloring the wool, she was ready to crawl back into bed. Still, she had to admit that the rich plum color of the yarn would make a stunning sweater. If she only knew how to make such an item—which she didn’t.
Of course, that was bound to change. Mrs. Carpenter planned to teach her not only the dyeing process of the wool that she’d learned today, but also the spinning and actual crafting of the garment. While she could embroider and do other simple forms of needlework, such a task was not something she’d ever attempted. Nor had wanted to. That was the very reason she enjoyed the ease of readymade fashions from the city where she could purchase the costumes featured in Harper’s Bazar with little effort.
While Mrs. Carpenter went to start lunch, Tara had simple instructions to hang the dyed wool out to dry in the shade before fetching a few potatoes from the cellar. She was hoping that as soon as lunch was over, she’d be able to pay Mr. Martin a visit.
One of the lambs bleated behind her, and Tara spun around to shoo the young animal back into its pen. How it managed to escape from the confines of its enclosure she had no idea, but it wasn’t the first time she’d had to chase the little animal back to its mother.
“Now, Cotton Ball.” She placed her hands on her hips and spoke sternly to the lamb. “I don’t have time for any nonsense today. I’ve got to finish up here so I can go and meet with Mr. Martin.” She leaned down to whisper the last sentence. “He’s going to help me find the gold.”
Cotton Ball skittered to the right. Tara lunged for the lamb and missed. He went to the left, and she followed his move, before he made a quick maneuver toward the house. . .and the tub of dye.
“No. . .no. . .no.” Tara’s eyes widened in horror. “The dye is for after you’ve been sheared, not before. . .”
She picked up her skirts and ran after the lamb. All she needed was a plum colored lamb in the sheep pen. What would Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter say to that? The lamb continued toward the tub at a brisk pace with Tara right behind. If she could stop the lamb before it tried to run up the stairs. . .
Tara didn’t see the stump until it was too late. Tripping across the lawn, she fell flat on her face at the bottom of the staircase. Frightened by her scream, the lamb tried to run up the stairs and landed in the pot of dye.
Tara looked up in horror. The tub teetered on the edge of the stair while the lamb struggled to get its footing. Tara tried to get up, but she was too slow. Cotton Ball moved forward, and the entire contents of the tub, sheep and all, dumped on top of Tara’s head.
❧
Aaron stuffed the telegram into the pocket of his denim pants and frowned as he walked down the crowded boardwalk toward the livery. For two weeks now he’d followed every lead he had, and his superiors were not going to be pleased with his findings. His discrete conversations with three suspect people in the area, had, like the rest of his efforts, turned up no new leads. His opinion now was that there was no proof left the gold ever existed. And it if
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