Chapter 16
One week turned to two, and by the end of the third, Daisy was so miserable she barely left her bed.
She’d lost count of the days she woke to the scent of burning bacon.
Violet was a horrible cook. Always had been.
She should have felt bad for neglecting the cooking, but she didn’t.
She didn’t care about much of anything now that Clay was gone and not coming back.
The joy she used to have in creating delicious meals and baking sweet, savory pies was nonexistent.
The pleasure she felt when taking care of her family was no longer there, and she didn’t know if she would ever get it back.
It wasn’t only them. She neglected herself as well and couldn’t even remember the last time she’d properly bathed.
Her ratty hair was so dirty and greasy, her scalp itched to the point she was almost convinced she’d caught lice.
But it was hard to catch something when you never left the comfort of your own room.
She didn’t even open her drapes most days, preferring the darkness. It matched her mood.
In short, she was miserable and didn’t know what to do about it.
Light flooded her room, and she turned her head to see Rose at the door.
Her sister’s nose wrinkled as if she smelled something foul before she shook her head and crossed the room, throwing the curtains back before lifting the window.
An icy blast of air swirled into the room, bringing falling snow in with it. “Rose!”
Her sister turned, the stern look on her face not seen since before she married Graham Hart. Narrowing her eyes, Rose said, “Get. Out. Of. That. Bed.”
Each word was spoken in what she assumed was a harsh, loud tone. Rose had always been the practical one. The mother she didn’t have after their own died, and her sister was taking charge like she used to.
Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned her head just as Graham walked in, followed by Josiah.
They were carrying in the big bathtub. Violet filed in behind them, carrying two buckets of water, Gramps hot on her heels, his arms laden with drying cloths and soaps.
The procession left, only to return a few moments later with more water.
When the tub was filled and the door shut behind everyone but Rose, her sister pointed to it. “Get in, or I will throw you in.”
The heartache and depression she’d been trying to overcome had left her numb to the world, and apparently, her family was over it. She wished she were. She’d ruined the most perfect thing she’d ever had and let the man she loved leave without saying a word.
Rose crossed her arms under her breast, one eyebrow raised, until Daisy threw the blankets back and stood.
Her limbs ached as she did. She’d not been out of bed for more than to use the chamber pot in the corner for days or to sneak downstairs in the dead of night for something to eat when hunger drove her to it.
Rose never took her eyes off of her as she walked to the tub.
Nor when she went to remove her nightdress.
When she was submerged in the bath, the hot water loosening her limbs, Rose kneeled at the side of the tub and picked up a pitcher someone had brought up and filled it with water before wetting her hair.
Memories of Clay doing the same thing all those weeks ago brought fresh tears to her eyes, and before she could stop them, they were falling in earnest, great sobs shaking her entire body.
Rose let her cry, wetting and washing her hair twice before grabbing one of the washcloths and bathing her like she was five. When she’d cleaned everything she was willing to wash, she handed her the cloth to let her do the rest.
A clean dress and underthings were laid out across her hope chest when she stood from the bath. The cold air from the open window chilled her to the bone, so she snatched up one of the drying cloths.
Rose was stripping the bed, her sheets and blankets thrown to the floor, and when she gathered them up and started for the door, she turned and said, “Get dressed and come downstairs. Don’t make me come back up here.”
Apparently, she’d wallowed in her own grief long enough.
She closed the window, blocking the frigid air, and peered out at the town.
Everyone was going about their day as if everything in the world was perfect.
She glanced over at the dress shop. The building was two stories, with the top floor used as a residence.
She didn’t know which window was Veronica’s room, but imagined the girl sitting on her bed, planning her wedding to Clay.
Although she dressed as she’d been told to do, she didn’t go downstairs right away. Her body still felt too numb. What little joy in life she used to have was gone now. It was in Butte, Montana, and she’d sent it there herself.
She dried her hair with the drying cloth, then brushed it out before pulling the still-damp strands into a bun at the back of her head.
Knowing Rose would come back up and yank her out of the room by one ear made her stand and cross to the door, heading down the back stairs into the kitchen.
Violet and Rose were the only ones she found there.
A plate of food was on the table. Her sister pointed at it without a word.
The message was simple. Eat, and don’t argue about it.
The food tasted like ash in her mouth. Most things did now, but she went through the motions.
Biting. Chewing. Swallowing. She ate what she could and sat back when she was finished.
Violet and Rose were both talking, their heads turned in such a way she couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she knew it was about her.
By the time they looked at her, the dread she lived with most days had intensified.
“You can’t keep behaving like this, Daisy.”
Violet took a step toward her, laying her hands on the back of the chair across from her. “We know you feel bad, but you can’t just stop living.”
Feeling bad didn’t even begin to describe what she felt every day.
The light she’d lived in was gone now, and she didn’t know how to get it back.
The pain was so intense, she woke thinking she was dying most days and was surprised she hadn’t yet.
Could a person die of a broken heart? Even one you created on your own?
Rose joined Violet at the table, pulling out a chair to sit down. “You need to get out of the house.” She glanced at Violet before saying, “You’ll be going to the store to work with us.”
She stilled. Did she read her lips wrong? Did she say they wanted her to work at the store?
“Not every day,” Violet said. “But after breakfast, we want you at the store.”
“You don’t have to talk to anyone,” Rose added. “Just stock shelves or do the inventory. Anything to get you out of the house?”
Were they going to force her to work?
She’d never worked at the store. Not once in her nineteen years had she been made to work there, and now that she was at her lowest, when she felt one breath away from dying, they expected her to go to the store every day as if her life wasn’t a string of miserable, unbearable days?
In full view of people who would try to talk to her?
“I can’t.” She shook her head, meeting both their eyes. “There are too many people there.”
“And you don’t have to talk to any of them,” Violet said. “But we want you there.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but Rose held up a hand. “That’s final, Daisy. Come first thing tomorrow, you will go to the store and stay until we send you home. Your depression is over. It’s time to get on with your life.”
Working at the store was every bit as unpleasant as Daisy thought it would be.
Not only did she have to pretend to want to be there, but she had to stop and talk to those who started conversations with her, which was difficult on a normal day.
Now, when she didn’t even wish to be seen, let alone spoken to, it was torture.
She discovered that making them repeat themselves several times made them smile and wish her a good day before they’d move on, so that’s what she did.
Anytime anyone approached her, she’d feign ignorance when they spoke to her, saying she didn’t understand them before they’d tire of trying and leave.
She almost felt bad about it. They were only trying to be nice, but she didn’t feel like being nice back.
Despite Rose telling her that her depression was over, it wasn’t.
The sorrow she felt couldn’t be turned off on a whim, so she went through the motions.
Stocking shelves while acting as if nothing was wrong, all the while, her heart withered inside her chest.
For two weeks, she did that, and as unbearable as it was, the day her worst nightmare walked into the store, something in Daisy seemed to snap.
Veronica and her mother waltzed into the building as if they owned it, and the moment she locked eyes with Veronica, the jealousy and anger she’d felt seeing the girl's arms around Clay’s neck returned in a flash.
Daisy’s body went hot with anger, her fingers itching to scratch the girl's eyes out, and when she took a step to do just that, she remembered where she was and turned her back to the girl instead. She couldn’t even look at her.
Every time she did, she saw her and Clay kissing or embracing in the stable, and she found it hard to breathe.
She lifted one of the jars of preserves Mabel Simmons used for trades and placed it on the shelf she was stocking. There weren’t many left now that more snow was falling. People were gathering food, and she didn’t blame them. Winters were hard.