Chapter 40
She was going to like it here. At least that’s what Rosalind told herself as she stood in the quiet of her room, finally unpacking her things. The view of the setting sun outside her window was perfect, with rolling hills and tall grass swaying in the fields and cows bedding down for the night.
If she looked out the window on the other wall, she’d see the laundry yard where Commonwealth women earned money by doing laundry for local townsfolk.
The day’s wash had already been taken in for the night, but a young girl pumped water from the windmill, her braid swinging with each pull, and two women knelt in the fading light to weed the vegetable patch before darkness fell.
It wasn’t the quiet, lonely refuge she’d imagined when Yuri spoke of “somewhere to heal.” It was a working community, and everyone seemed to have a place in it.
She’d met most of the women earlier while touring the grounds.
Some had been milking the cows and goats, others had been turning the milk from that morning into cheese, and some had been seated at the mending table, which was yet another source of income for the Commonwealth.
Everyone had welcomed her, though some women had certainly been more standoffish than others, and some of the children especially seemed scared of strangers.
Mrs. McWhirter had told her that the women here were in various stages of healing.
Some had just left terrible situations, and others had been in residence for over five years and focused on helping the new residents as well as selling goods in town.
Mrs. McWhirter had explained that the longer the women stayed, the more comfortable they became with life away from their violent husbands.
Rosalind had asked if anyone ever left, but the woman hadn’t wanted to speak much about that.
A knock sounded, followed by the creak of hinges, and Rosalind looked up from the shirtwaist she’d just placed in the dresser to find two women she recognized.
“Rosalind?” Lydia stepped inside, her sleeves rolled to the elbow and her hair pinned in a tight bun.
Margaret stepped into the room behind Lydia. She was taller and quieter and had lines around her eyes and mouth that made her seem older than she probably was. “We thought you might want help settling in.” Margaret headed straight for the open trunk.
“And Mrs. McWhirter—or Martha, really—asked us to bring you a towel.” Lydia set a towel and washcloth on the bed, then put a small sewing basket on the dresser.
“We have a bathing room downstairs, if you want to wash off the traveling dust before bed. There’s already water warming on the stove.
If you don’t use it, someone else will.”
Rosalind smiled. “A bath sounds lovely, thank you. In fact, I think I might stop unpacking and take you up on the offer right now. Do you mind helping me with my dress?” She touched the back of it.
“It’s not the easiest thing to get out of on my own, though I’ve gotten pretty good at managing my own bindings over the past week. ”
“Bindings?” Lydia’s hands paused where they had already started undoing the long string of buttons at her back. “What do you mean bindings?”
“I . . . er . . . I was injured before I came here.”
“Did your husband hit you?” Fury laced Lydia’s voice as she undid another button. “My husband hit me too, and—”
“No. He didn’t hit me.”
“Lying about what happened won’t do you no good,” Margaret snapped from the wardrobe where she’d been hanging dresses, her entire body stiff. “Best thing a woman can do is face it, if you ask me.”
“I agree.” Lydia’s hands kept going, farther and farther down her back.
The woman could surely see her bindings at this point, and Rosalind found herself wishing she had worn one of the shirtwaists that buttoned down the front.
Did they really think Yuri was responsible for the injury to her ribs? And if that’s what Lydia and Margaret believed, how many others thought the same thing?
Oh, Yuri, how can they think such a thing about you?
She’d been trying to put him from her mind all afternoon and focus on the new life she could have at the Commonwealth.
But he had risked so very much to bring her here, and now these women—these strangers who knew nothing about her—were assuming he was just like her father and Leeland and the men Lydia and Margaret had fled.
“It’s safe here. There’s no reason to lie to protect your husband.” Lydia finished the last of the buttons. “Besides, your husband can’t exactly come here and take you away. Martha’s got plenty of shotguns, and she trains the women who stay here how to use them.”
Lydia untucked the bandage and started unraveling it. The movements were similar to what Yuri had done countless times since their wedding, but with Yuri, the action had always felt tender and gentle. There was nothing gentle in Lydia’s practical, no-nonsense touch.
“Not the boys,” Margaret added. “Boys are allowed to stay here with their mothers until they turn twelve. After that, they need to go live with their fathers or find a job.”
“Twelve?” Rosalind turned her head slightly. “That seems awfully young.”
“Not when you consider every woman here has been hurt by a man.” Lydia tugged off the last of the bandage, then set it on the bed. “That’s why Martha doesn’t teach the boys to shoot.”
“Just the women and girls learn?”
“Exactly. Can’t have any of them boys gettin’ their hands on a gun. There’s no saying what they might do. I mean, look at what your husband did to you.” Lydia nodded toward her ribs.
Rosalind slid a hand over the bottom of her ribs. “I already told you it wasn’t my husband. He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met.”
The frowns on both women’s faces deepened.
“It was my father,” she whispered, ducking her head.
Hopefully they’d believe her now. “And it wasn’t his hand.
It was his foot. He broke five of my ribs, and one of them punctured my lung.
I almost died, but my husband’s sister and brother-in-law saved me.
They’re both doctors. And then Yuri married me to protect me from him. ”
Silence settled in the room, long and heavy.
Rosalind kept her head down, staring at a rather large crack between two of the floorboards.
The sound of crickets chirping filtered through the window.
Rosalind couldn’t say how long the room was quiet for, only that Lydia was the first to speak, and her voice emerged a bit lower and rougher than before.
“Well, you’re safe here, no matter what man hurt you. That’s what matters.”
Rosalind managed a small smile. She was safe.
She knew that. But the safety here didn’t come with Yuri’s arms wrapped around her, or his words of encouragement whispered in her ear, or his quiet way of making the air around her easier to breathe.
It came with dour looks and distrustful glares whenever she spoke of the man she loved.