Chapter 36 #2
For a long while, I stand with my hands in the wash basin, staring out at the gray Ohio sky.
For the first time since I came back, something like warmth finds me again.
Come afternoon, I hang clean linens on the line.
My hip protests, but I grit through it. The rhythm—shake, pin, reach, repeat—keeps my thoughts from wandering too far.
I pin the last sheet, its white hem flapping against the wind.
Bootsteps crush the gravel behind me.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Sherman.”
I turn. Mr. Collier stands a few paces back, hat in hand, sleeves rolled just enough to show he’s been across the grounds. His smile is thin. Forced.
“Afternoon, sir,” I say, adjusting a clothespin.
He watches the sheets sway. “Suppose a woman like you never figured you’d be the sort to take up washing.”
“Truly, it’s not so different than before,” I answer. “Only I sleep alone now.” And I’m better for it.
He gives a short laugh, low in his chest. “Reckon we’ve that in common, then. Seems odd a Sherman woman would be getting her hands dirty.”
I shrug. “I knew nothing else.”
“It’s not right if you ask me. Wealthy man like Joseph ought to have spoiled you. You were the woman of the house. A pretty lady like you, kind and proper. You deserve a softer life.”
I offer a weak smile in return but don’t reply.
He steps closer, close enough I can smell tobacco on his breath as he fills the silence. “Lonely business, running a house,” he says, eyes moving along the line of laundry.
I keep my hands moving, folding a corner of a pillowcase. I offer a polite reply. “It must be odd to step into a place left behind by us who once called it home.”
He watches me a long moment, squinting against the sun. “This is still your home.”
“Only because I’ve nowhere else to go.”
“Then you ought to make yourself comfortable.” His voice drops.
“No sense living like hired help when there’s a bed in the main house.
” He studies me another moment, head tilting.
“You ought to know, the servants hold you in high regard. Makes things easier if you and I see eye to eye. Harmony in the house, that sort of thing.”
“I believe I understand your meaning,” I say, voice flat.
He steps closer, close enough that the line flutters between us. “Seems you and I, we’re both without family now.”
“Why are you without family?”
He teeters back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Always favored soft women. You know—high society-like. But they turn their noses up at a working man like myself. Well, I may have made my money with my hands and not business, but it’s wealth all the same.”
I nod. A spark of pity nearly ignites something in my chest that gets quickly snuffed out. “You never fancied a woman of your own class?”
“Never trusted them. All their toil, they’re tired of working. Looking for a day off, not a husband.” He clears his throat, eyes widening slightly as I fold a pillowcase. “Not that the labor’s the issue. Find it mighty attractive you stuck by your husband even when he treated you poorly.”
I almost laugh, offering a wry smile instead. “I suppose someone might consider that a compliment.”
He shakes his head. “All I’m saying is there’s no shame in finding company under the same roof, you and me.”
There’s the offer, quiet but clear—finding company, paying for company. It’s all the same while I live under this man’s roof, earning my keep.
“There’s shame enough already, Mr. Collier. Best we not add to it.”
Something flickers in his eyes—irritation, maybe. “Suit yourself, Mrs. Sherman. I was only being neighborly.”
“Of course,” I murmur, watching him turn toward the porch.
“When you’re done there, help Mrs. Baxter with supper.”
Have I hurt his feelings? Wounded his ego? I hope so. I offer a lopsided grin. “Yes, sir.”
That night, I carry a folded towel to my chamber, slow on the stairs from the weight in my hip and the ache in my arms. My door creaks open and I step inside.
The floorboards shift behind me.
I turn, heart pulling tight. Collier stands in the doorway, coat off, boots muddy from the porch, face blank.
“This isn’t proper,” I say, loud enough for the corridor to carry it. “You have no business here.”
He props a shoulder to the frame. “Calm down. I only came to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
Steps echo from down the hall. Fred’s voice. “Everything all right up there, Miss Alice?”
“I’m fine,” I call. “Mr. Collier was just leaving.”
Collier doesn’t budge. “Go on back to bed, Fred,” he says calmly. “No need to play chaperone.”
Mrs. Baxter’s voice joins from further down. “You can’t go in a lady’s room!”
“That’s enough out of both of you,” Collier snaps. His friendly mask crumbles. “Back to your bunks. This is a house matter.”
A pause, then reluctant retreating footsteps.
He shuts the door behind him. The latch clicks.
I take a step back. “This is not your right. I belong to this house, not to you.”
“Calm yourself.” He crosses the room in three strides but does not touch me.
His voice is heavy. “You belong nowhere. You said so yourself. It doesn’t need to be that way.
” He leans in close, breath warm with whiskey and want.
“I could give you a home. A warm bed. A bit of comfort. That’s all this is. ”
“No.” I make it sharp, complete.
His hand shoots out, catching my wrist. “You think you’re too good?” he sneers. “A woman defiled by an outlaw?”
Something inside me cools. I lift my eyes to his, steady. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
He leans closer. “Don’t I?”
I let a breath slip slowly through my teeth. “He didn’t do anything I didn’t want. And he’s not the only one with blood on his hands.”
He blinks, thrown.
“You think you can force me out of here, throw me to the street, and I’ll just fade away?” My voice is soft, but the words bite. “You won’t even see me coming. I’ve made widows of women who loved better men than you, Mr. Collier. You ought to mind your p’s and q’s.”
For a moment, the only sound is the hiss of insects outside.
His fingers slacken just enough for me to pull free.
But instead of retreating, he closes the distance, a shadow blotting the lamplight.
“I didn’t need to take you in, you know.
Virgil explained your circumstance, and I took pity on you,” he says, thick finger in my face.
“You’ve nowhere else to go. Least you can be grateful. ”
“And I suppose you can think of ways for me to show my gratitude.”
He scoffs, curling his lip in disgust, giving me a once-over like he can’t believe how wicked I am. “Be downstairs at dawn.” Then he’s gone, the door swinging shut, latch clicking, his boots echoing down the hall.