little hissing sound startled her into moving the iron. When she did, a scorch remained in the exact shape of the tip. “Oh, no!”
Elizabeth propped the flatiron and raced to the sink for a cloth, but no amount of scrubbing erased the scorch. Well, who needed a collar, anyway? A collarless dress would be unique.
This time she kept the iron moving. When one iron lost its heat, she exchanged it for the other. Pressing the yards and yards of fabric made her arms ache. Ted had called them sadirons. Good name for the heavy, ugly instruments of torture. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand the discomfort another minute, she met up with the pressed side of her dress.
Except for the collar, she’d done a fine job. She laid the garment over a chair while she set the table for four. When she’d finished, she grabbed up the dress, took the shears from the pantry and hauled them to the bedroom.
The waist was still dampish, but her dress smelled like sunshine. With endless stitches holding the collar in place, she didn’t have time to remove the seam. Using the shears, she trimmed away the lapel, slipped into her undergarments, and then donned the dress. From her reflection in the mirror she decided even with the missing collar, she looked presentable, except for her hair. She untied the twine, brushed and then twisted her tresses into a chignon. Now prepared to meet Ted’s children. Or so she told herself.
In the kitchen, Elizabeth stirred the soup. Some of the vegetables had stuck to the bottom. Well, it couldn’t be helped. How could she watch the soup and get ready? In an attempt to disguise the taste, she added pepper and salt. When she ladled up the soup, she’d avoid the bottom of the pan.
Suddenly exhausted, she flopped into the kitchen rocker. Tippy laid his head on her lap. She gave his nose a pat, and then leaned back against the chair, closing her eyes.
A sense of exhilaration slid through her, odd considering her fatigue. She’d never accomplished this much, never experienced this satisfaction.
In Chicago she’d lived like a sailboat without a rudder, without a compass, blown to and fro, getting nowhere.
Now as Ted’s wife, she had a ready-made purpose. A job. Responsibilities.
The weight of those responsibilities sat heavy on her shoulders. Yet they also gave her a new view of her life. One where waking up in the morning meant hard work, yes, but also…
Fulfillment. That was the word.
Elizabeth giggled. All that insight from preparing a bowl of soup.
But then reality reared its disagreeable head and the joy drained out of her faster than a bottomless jug.
Could she really do this? She knew nothing about motherhood, about anything outside of teas and balls.
Like a dress off the rack, she suspected the role wouldn’t quite fit. Well, when the job got too big, she’d pin a section here and there. Squeeze into the confining areas that chafed. Though the garb would surely feel more suitable for a costume ball than for her.
Regardless, she’d find a way. Do whatever she must to ensure her brother had a happy life.
But at what price?
Chapter Eight
“I don’t like you.” The pale blue eyes staring at Elizabeth were defiant, strong, so like her father’s, and not about to be dissuaded by a scorched bowl of soup.
No matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise, Ted’s daughter’s declaration squeezed against Elizabeth’s heart. For a second she wanted to rush in with words, to find a way to soothe the waters between them. But really, what could she say that would change Anna’s mind? Why wouldn’t Anna dislike the woman she’d see as her mother’s replacement?
As if Elizabeth held any such aspiration.
She wouldn’t get attached to anyone in this house. Opening her heart might lead her down a risky road she dared not travel.
Elizabeth gave a bright, friendly, let’s-work-together smile. “Well, Anna,” she began, seeking a truce between them. “We both live in this house so
Elizabeth propped the flatiron and raced to the sink for a cloth, but no amount of scrubbing erased the scorch. Well, who needed a collar, anyway? A collarless dress would be unique.
This time she kept the iron moving. When one iron lost its heat, she exchanged it for the other. Pressing the yards and yards of fabric made her arms ache. Ted had called them sadirons. Good name for the heavy, ugly instruments of torture. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand the discomfort another minute, she met up with the pressed side of her dress.
Except for the collar, she’d done a fine job. She laid the garment over a chair while she set the table for four. When she’d finished, she grabbed up the dress, took the shears from the pantry and hauled them to the bedroom.
The waist was still dampish, but her dress smelled like sunshine. With endless stitches holding the collar in place, she didn’t have time to remove the seam. Using the shears, she trimmed away the lapel, slipped into her undergarments, and then donned the dress. From her reflection in the mirror she decided even with the missing collar, she looked presentable, except for her hair. She untied the twine, brushed and then twisted her tresses into a chignon. Now prepared to meet Ted’s children. Or so she told herself.
In the kitchen, Elizabeth stirred the soup. Some of the vegetables had stuck to the bottom. Well, it couldn’t be helped. How could she watch the soup and get ready? In an attempt to disguise the taste, she added pepper and salt. When she ladled up the soup, she’d avoid the bottom of the pan.
Suddenly exhausted, she flopped into the kitchen rocker. Tippy laid his head on her lap. She gave his nose a pat, and then leaned back against the chair, closing her eyes.
A sense of exhilaration slid through her, odd considering her fatigue. She’d never accomplished this much, never experienced this satisfaction.
In Chicago she’d lived like a sailboat without a rudder, without a compass, blown to and fro, getting nowhere.
Now as Ted’s wife, she had a ready-made purpose. A job. Responsibilities.
The weight of those responsibilities sat heavy on her shoulders. Yet they also gave her a new view of her life. One where waking up in the morning meant hard work, yes, but also…
Fulfillment. That was the word.
Elizabeth giggled. All that insight from preparing a bowl of soup.
But then reality reared its disagreeable head and the joy drained out of her faster than a bottomless jug.
Could she really do this? She knew nothing about motherhood, about anything outside of teas and balls.
Like a dress off the rack, she suspected the role wouldn’t quite fit. Well, when the job got too big, she’d pin a section here and there. Squeeze into the confining areas that chafed. Though the garb would surely feel more suitable for a costume ball than for her.
Regardless, she’d find a way. Do whatever she must to ensure her brother had a happy life.
But at what price?
Chapter Eight
“I don’t like you.” The pale blue eyes staring at Elizabeth were defiant, strong, so like her father’s, and not about to be dissuaded by a scorched bowl of soup.
No matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise, Ted’s daughter’s declaration squeezed against Elizabeth’s heart. For a second she wanted to rush in with words, to find a way to soothe the waters between them. But really, what could she say that would change Anna’s mind? Why wouldn’t Anna dislike the woman she’d see as her mother’s replacement?
As if Elizabeth held any such aspiration.
She wouldn’t get attached to anyone in this house. Opening her heart might lead her down a risky road she dared not travel.
Elizabeth gave a bright, friendly, let’s-work-together smile. “Well, Anna,” she began, seeking a truce between them. “We both live in this house so
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