Chapter Twenty-Three
It was right about the fourth time that Amelia dropped the scissors that she caught Ruby giving her a querying look.
They were in the room that had been converted to a workroom-cum-sitting-room for Amelia.
The children had taken to spending the afternoons in there with her after school.
They would sit on the chaise lounge or on the floor, reading or working on something, while Amelia sat at her sewing machine.
It had been an uneasy week since the harvest festival. While there had been no further signs of danger, Amelia still found herself constantly looking over her shoulder and peering into shadows. She was restless, and the anxiety was making her peevish.
Amelia ignored Ruby’s unspoken question and returned her focus to the petticoat she was working on. Ruby would be fifteen soon, old enough to leave school, and would perforce need the wardrobe of a young lady. Amelia had decided to get a head start on it, which naturally delighted Ruby.
“Is everything well?” Ruby asked quietly.
“I’m fine,” Amelia snapped. Her face flushed immediately with guilt. It wasn’t Ruby’s fault that she was out of sorts. Amelia turned around on her little sewing stool. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I’m just struggling with this batiste; it’s much finer than what I’m used to working with.”
This was at least partly true, so Amelia didn’t feel entirely wrong for lying. Ruby, who was busy flipping through a magazine that one of her friends in town had lent her, gave Amelia an assessing look.
Logan, on the floor with some tin soldiers, silently passed Amelia the scissors she had dropped.
Amelia accepted them with a murmur of thanks before turning back to her sewing machine.
Normally, she found the rhythm of the treadle soothing, able to lose herself in the feeling and let her mind wander.
Today, however, everything was going wrong, but she was determined to put on a happy face for the sake of the children.
“I think it’s about time for another fitting,” she said brightly, lifting the presser foot and the needle.
She whipped the ruffled petticoat from the machine and shook it out…
only for the bottom ruffle to sag sadly.
Amelia blinked down at it for a moment, not understanding.
Slowly, she turned back to her machine and slid the bobbin compartment open.
The little spool was completely empty. It stared back up at her accusingly for not having the good sense to check it more frequently.
Amelia let her eyes close for a moment.
“Maybe it’s not time for a fitting after all,” Ruby said into the silence with barely held-back laughter.
If this were any other day, Amelia probably would have found the situation humorous as well. As it was, she exhaled a sigh through her nose, her jaw uncharacteristically tight.
“Ruby,” Logan rebuked quietly from the floor.
“What? It isn’t!” Ruby protested.
“You don’t have to say something,” Logan argued. “You always have to say something. This is just like when Pa ripped his trousers, and you—”
“This is completely different!” Ruby protested, sitting up and putting a fist on her waist. “Pa was going to town, and—”
“—and you had to vex him,” Logan interjected. “Just like with Molly and the jam at school!”
“Well, if you’re going to bring up school, let’s talk about the time you put that frog in Rupert’s milk before you start acting like some kind of saint. You think just because you’re quiet that you never do anything wrong,” Ruby said haughtily.
“Well—well, at least I don’t pretend to be grown!” Logan fired back.
Amelia stood up suddenly from her stool, her nerves frayed and at her wits’ end with them. “Out, both of you,” she ordered. “I don’t want to hear another word from the pair of you until dinnertime. Find some useful occupation.”
“Like what?” Ruby asked, wrinkling her nose up.
“I don’t frankly care,” Amelia snapped. “There is a whole ranch out there full of chores to do. Find one and do it. Now!”
Ruby and Logan stared back at her, wide-eyed.
It was the first time that Amelia had had to raise her voice at them, and none of them seemed to know how to react.
Cody regularly shouted, at least when Amelia first arrived, but she’d never had to resort to it.
Her cheeks felt warm, and her nostrils flared with each breath.
Quietly, Logan bent and retrieved his soldiers.
Ruby waited for him, rising slowly and holding her magazine to herself.
She didn’t look at Amelia as she left the room, holding out her arm to usher Logan forward.
Logan shot Amelia a surreptitious look as he went.
Ruby put her hand on Logan’s shoulder, easily slipping back into the role of caretaker and guardian that she’d occupied when Amelia first arrived.
The door closed quietly, the latch clicking into place. The silence and solitude were a harsh rebuke to Amelia. She sat back down heavily on her stool, looking down at the partially completed petticoat. She hadn’t meant to snap at them.
I’ll make it up to them, she promised herself. It was a poor balm.
She turned back to her machine. With a click, she released the bobbin and put it on the winder at the top of the machine.
It took a couple of tries to get the thread to catch properly, which only deepened her irritation.
It was like nothing could go right for her.
She gritted her teeth and heaved another sigh.
At last, the thread started to wind as she worked the treadle.
The bobbin was nearly filled when there was a knock at the door to her sewing room. Still frustrated, Amelia couldn’t keep the sharpness from her voice when she called, “What?”
There was a moment of hesitation that she could feel even through the door, and then it was creaking open just wide enough to show Cody standing there. “Still at it?”
“Evidently,” Amelia snipped. She pulled her pincushion closer and pulled a needle from it.
She focused hard on threading it, then ran the trailing threads through a block of beeswax.
Cody watched the entire process. Amelia gritted her teeth in response.
The very last thing she wanted right now was an audience.
“Is the machine making it easier at least?” he asked. Amelia detected a note of hope in his voice, as if he were eager to know that he’d been useful to her.
“It’s proving more work than it’s worth today,” she said flatly.
She glanced up at him. He didn’t exactly look disappointed, but he did seem to lose some of the wind from his sails.
“When will dinner be ready?” he inquired.
“When it’s ready,” she snapped. “Look, can I just finish this? Please.”
Cody shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her.
Amelia cast her eyes back down, making a great show of focusing on her task.
Part of her hoped that her poor manners would drive him off.
Instead, he withdrew without further comment, closing the door again.
Amelia sighed. She took up her needle and began a running backstitch along the gap in the ruffle. Her needle flew in and out, her stitches fine and even. Her mind wandered as she worked, the last few years passing like a blur as she tried to understand how she got to this place.
Dean is still after me, she thought, daring to admit it to herself for the first time. It won’t be so easy to just pick up sticks and move on this time.
Her forehead creased at that thought. She didn’t want to just abandon this life—she liked it here. It was the first place that she could see herself building some kind of life since Kate had died. She found she didn’t mind Cody as much as she once had, and she was genuinely fond of the children.
The children.
If Dean comes here, he could hurt them, she realized with a start. She pricked her finger on the needle, a dot of blood welling up slowly. She popped the finger in her mouth automatically.
There was nothing in Dean’s character or their history together to suggest that he wouldn’t do such a thing. In fact, if he learned that she had any sort of feeling for them, then he was sure to find a way to use them against her. There was very little he wouldn’t do to get what he wanted.
Setting the petticoat down, Amelia used her free hand to touch Kate’s necklace under her blouse, a mindless habit. “What would you do, Kate?” she murmured.
There was no answer.