Chapter Two #2
Ella looked down at her hands. She had not meant to speak. Speaking made a person responsible for the attention that followed. “I can help with the slaughter of animals after hunting is done. My parents owned a butcher shop, and I helped my mother after Father left.”
Heat climbed Ella’s neck, but she made herself continue. “I guess I’ll help wherever I’m needed at any given time. I may eventually settle into a task that suits me well, but until then, I’ll help.”
No one spoke.
Ella wished at once that she could take the words back and place them somewhere quieter.
Lula lowered her hands slowly. “Ella Mae.”
Ella braced herself. Lula had known her longer than anyone in that room. Lula had defended her silences, teased her out of corners, and once threatened a grocer’s son with a broom for calling Ella odd. But even Lula sounded startled now.
“I had no idea you knew the proper way to butcher an animal,” Lula said.
Ella nodded once.
Belle looked at her curiously. “I think having someone who will help all of us is just what we need. Thank you for volunteering, Ella.”
Ella nodded again.
“Okay, let’s think about what we need for winter.” Maggie’s pencil touched the page and began moving again. “What should we use first?”
The question was practical. Practical questions were easier than personal ones.
Lula looked at Ella, knowing Ella would have a plan. “What do you think, Ella?”
“Beans. Potatoes if anyone has them. Dried apples for pies only after Sunday, if we need to impress anyone.” Ella paused, then added because it mattered, “Do not promise laundry before we have enough soap. Mending first. It uses less.”
“I’ll keep a ledger of who has what food stored, and what needs to be used as quickly as possible,” Ella said, before she could lose courage. “Lula should speak to the men because they will answer her before they know they have.”
Lula’s mouth opened. Then she laughed, delighted. “Well, that is true enough.”
The room shifted then. Ella felt it, though no chair moved. The women were still looking at her, but not in the way people looked when silence made them uncomfortable. They were looking as if she had been a closed cupboard and had opened to reveal exactly the thing they had been searching for.
Maggie turned the ledger toward her. “Would you sit here a minute and tell me what I’m missing?”
Ella wanted to refuse. She wanted to say she was not clever, not educated, not the sort of woman who belonged at the table while others waited. But Maggie had asked what was missing, and missing things had always troubled Ella—even more than speaking in front of a group.
For the next hour, she spoke less than anyone else and still changed the whole shape of the plan.
She noticed that Maggie’s column of figures counted soap for laundry but not for washing hands before cooking.
She pointed out that meals prepared for the lumbermen would need to be ready before dawn.
“I really think we should wait to cook for the men. We need the food we have for the winter. I’ll go to each cabin over the next few days, and we’ll see what everyone has. Some things may be redistributed.”
“You see it all at once, don’t you?” Lula said softly when the others focused on other things.
Ella looked at her. Lula’s voice had no teasing in it now.
“Not all,” Ella said.
“More than the rest of us.” Lula rested her chin in her hand and studied her with open affection. “I always knew you noticed things. I don’t think I knew you were putting the whole world in order while the rest of us were only living in it.”
Ella’s throat tightened. “I only remember what needs remembering.”
“That,” Lula said, “is not a little thing.”
Ella looked back to the ledger because it was easier than looking at Lula.
On the page, the plan had become rows, amounts, names, and days.
Laundry on Tuesday and Friday. Mending accepted any day but promised back only after supplies were checked.
Meals for the lumbermen would need to wait until spring or later.
Purchases delayed until Mrs. Johnson confirmed what would arrive.
Nothing wasted. Nothing promised twice. No task floating loose without a pair of hands to catch it.
It was not perfect. Plans never were. Weather changed. Men forgot promises. Supplies failed to arrive. But the shape of it was sound, and sound things could bear weight.
When the meeting ended, Maggie kept the ledger open beneath one hand. “Ella, would you mind looking over this again tomorrow?”
Mind was the wrong word. Ella minded very much. She minded being looked at, depended upon, asked to do something that might matter. But she also minded waste, confusion, and disappointed promises.
“I will,” she said.
Outside, the air had sharpened while they worked. Ella walked home, her skirt brushing the dying grass at the edge of the path.
But when she reached David’s cabin and found the lunch cloth gone from the table, the cup rinsed, and two fresh pieces of wood set beside the stove for her, something in her settled.
David had come home, eaten what she left, washed what he used, and noticed the woodpile without being asked.
It was not praise. It was better than praise. It was proof that she was not the only one paying attention.