Chapter Seven #2
“Belle told me that what you make from selling your meat is yours alone. All the ladies have a little bit they make that they keep to themselves.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“Most of what is brought to me is divided evenly, but Myrtle keeps her baking profits. I know she shares baked goods with everyone, but she does so much more than what your families need. Belle keeps the profits from the sewing she does. By the end of winter, I’ll have enough shirts to last the year.
Maggie keeps the profits from the scarves and hats she knits, and so on.
Everyone makes something for themselves.
Now it’s your turn to do the same,” Katie explained.
Lula considered it. “Thank you. I like the idea of making money of my own. But I should give half to Ella. She’s earning it by doing the part I don’t enjoy—keeping it all organized.”
Katie smiled. “Are you getting all settled in?”
Lula rested her hands on the counter for a moment. “I am. I think.”
Katie gave her a knowing look but didn’t comment. “I’m glad. You are a welcome asset to our community.”
“Thank you.”
Lula turned to go, then stopped with her hand on the door. “Thanks for all your help. I don’t think you know what it means to all of us.” She smiled and stepped outside.
The air was colder than before.
She adjusted the shawl around her shoulders and started back toward the cabin, her thoughts heavier than when she’d come.
She needed to do the right thing and explain everything to Sebastian. She sighed. She needed to be sure he cared before she could do that. Then perhaps he would forgive her for not telling him sooner. But she couldn’t keep lying to him. Tonight. She’d tell him tonight.
Lula spent the afternoon at the cabin, though she could not have said exactly how the time passed.
She started with the washing, carrying water in from the well and heating it on the stove, but after scrubbing only a few pieces, she found herself staring down into the basin, her hands frozen. The cloth slipped from her fingers, and she had to reach back into the water to find it again.
“You’re not even trying,” she muttered to herself, then forced her hands to move again.
When the washing was done, she hung it outside and went back inside to sweep. The floor didn’t need it, but she swept anyway, pushing the broom from one corner to the other and then back again as though she might find something she had missed the first time.
After a while, she set the broom aside and went to the stove.
Supper would take time, and she knew she needed to start it early if she wanted everything ready when Sebastian returned. She pulled out what she had—potatoes, carrots, and one of the smaller cuts of meat—and set to work cutting them up.
Her knife paused halfway through a potato.
He should know.
She pressed her lips together and kept cutting. The pieces were uneven, larger than usual, but she dropped them into the pot anyway and added water. She reached for salt, added some, then stopped herself before adding more.
“I’ll ruin it at this rate,” she said quietly.
She set the salt aside and stirred the pot slowly, watching the pieces shift in the water.
For a moment, she thought about telling him that evening. Just...saying it. The way she had said it to Ella. Plain. Simple. Bill was a negro.
The thought made her chest tighten. She gripped the edge of the table and closed her eyes for a moment.
“What if he reacts the same way everyone else did?” she murmured.
She opened her eyes and went back to the stove, adding the meat and covering the pot so it could begin to cook. The stew would take time now, slow and steady, and she found a small comfort in that.
Something she could not rush. Something she could not ruin all at once.
With nothing else pressing, she sat at the table and picked up one of Sebastian’s shirts, turning it over in her hands. There was a tear near the sleeve that needed mending. She threaded a needle, though it took her two tries, and began to sew. Her stitches were neat at first. Then uneven.
Then she stopped entirely, staring down at the fabric as though she had forgotten what she meant to do with it. “You have to tell him,” she said under her breath, setting the shirt aside and pressing her hands flat against the table.
“I don’t have to do anything,” she corrected, though it didn’t feel true.
Outside, she could hear faint movement from somewhere in town. She stood abruptly and went to the door.
For a moment, she thought about going back into town. Talking to Katie. Finding someone else who might tell her what to do. But no one could. She knew that. Lula stepped back inside and closed the door.
When she returned to the stove, she lifted the lid and stirred the stew, checking it out of habit. The smell was good. Better than she expected, considering how distracted she had been.
“At least that’s right,” she said quietly.
She set the lid back on and moved to the table again, forcing herself to pick up the shirt and finish the seam she had started.
By the time she was done, the stitches were not as even as usual, but they would hold.
She set the shirt aside and folded her hands in her lap, staring at nothing for a long moment.
The day was slipping away. Sebastian would be home soon. And when he walked through the door— She swallowed.
“I’ll tell him,” she said, though her voice was uncertain. “Not everything. Not yet. But something.”-
She reached for her apron and felt the letter still tucked inside. Then she stood and turned back to the stove, readying herself for when the door would open.