Why had she been so foolish to believe a man like him would marry her? A poor nobody from the mountains? Cinderella was one thing. Real life was another.
Pining for a wish didn't do any good. All she could do was embrace what she had.
Around the turn in the road, a small house came into view. Perhaps a similar size to those up in the mountains, but that was where the similarities ended. Whitewashed wood, a porch lining the front, large windows with dark green shutters, and … even a green front door.
It was one of the prettiest houses she'd ever laid eyes on.
After growing up in a ramshackle mountain cabin fit to bust from her large family, Kizzie barely knew what to do about living in a place like this. Of course, she'd lived in the attic rooms of the Morgan house when she'd worked as a maid, but never a whole house just for her. And now Charlie.
“I knew you'd like it,” Charles said, bringing the car to a stop in front of the house and waving toward a long road ahead. “Town is thataway.”
He rounded the car and opened the door for her to exit, and her gaze traveled back to the house. The entire experience would have been almost storybook if this had been her wedding day with Charles as her groom.
“You get Charlie inside and settled, and I'll start unloading some of these things for you.” He nodded to the house, his brown eyes almost glowing. “You're going to love it.”
Kizzie moved up the path to the front steps, taking in the clean look of the place. Her brother Jeb had often talked of building a white clapboard house. Would she ever see it if he did?
Her throat closed, so she swallowed, taking the three steps onto the porch. With a little turn of the knob and push to the door, she stepped across the threshold into a front room, through which she could see into a kitchen. All the floors gleamed as if they'd just been laid. The front room boasted one soft chair and a rocking chair, both facing the fire, with a circular rug in between. Against one wall stood a small table with two additional chairs, just near the doorway into the kitchen.
She took timid steps forward, breathing in the scents of fresh paint and floor polish. Her mama would have loved the kitchen. Cabinets with doors to hold food or dishes. A new cookstove. Another type of container similar to something she'd seen in the Morgan house, but she couldn't remember what the box-shaped device held. Another little table waited in here with two chairs and … a high chair?
Have mercy! She could have fit two of her mama's kitchens inside this one.
A back door opened into the fenced-in yard, and another door stood at the juncture of the corner of the kitchen and the wall to the sitting room. Stepping closer, she peered into a bedroom, complete with large wrought iron bed, washstand, wardrobe, and … a cradle in the corner. Two large rugs lay on the floor, one on each side of the bed, to buffer against the cold of winter.
She'd never had her own room before. Even as a maid, she shared a room.
“Did you see the bathroom?” Charles rounded the threshold into the kitchen, carrying a box of miscellaneous items. “It's on the back of the house. Newly added.” He nodded toward the kitchen sink. “And there's running water. Not hot water, like we have at the big house, but at least you can stay warm and dry while getting your water.”
The joy radiating off him piqued her own. He placed the box on the floor and left the room for another haul. Simple white curtains hung on each of the windows, fresh and clean. The scent of lye and, perhaps, Sunlight carbolic soap wafted in along with other smells like the scent of pine burning in the fireplace and the fresh scent of rubbing oil, likely used to refresh the furniture. She knew the task well, as one of her own at the Morgan house.
Unlit lanterns waited by the bed, and Kizzie stepped forward, lowering a sleeping Charlie into the cradle. He released a quiet sigh and stretched out his body, his eyes never opening from his slumber. She nudged the cradle, and it moved in gentle rhythm as Charlie stilled back into a deeper sleep. The tiniest of smiles touched his cupid lips, and Kizzie's own responded.
What was it Granny used to say? If a newborn smiles, angels are watching over him?
Kizzie nodded. Well, she'd hold on to the idea. She didn't expect God had any angels left for her, since she'd been so discontent back in the mountains and then made so many wrong choices since coming to the Morgan farm, but … Her gaze fastened on little Charlie. At least angels guarded her boy.
She met Charles in the kitchen as he placed two more crates down. Then he guided her to one of the back windows. “If you look out there, you'll see I had the boys build you a washhouse with its own stove. I even got one of those rotary washing machines to take some of the toil out of the process.” His grin broadened again. “With a baby, I suppose you'll have lots of washing to do. Cole said the space could be used for canning too, if you need it.”
“Thank you.” The words came out slow, almost whispered. The past month, her life had turned upside down and started spinning in directions she could barely follow. Cast out by her daddy. A baby. And now, mother in a home by herself being kept up by the father of her child.
But not married.
“And there's a cow in the barn, plus one of my older mares for the buggy. Her name is Daisy.”
He marched back through the house toward the front door, leaving her by the window, her thoughts crowding in until her eyes stung.No.She couldn't be afraid or weak now. This was her life.
She had to accept the consequences of her own choices and move forward. She drew in a breath and turned toward the nearest box, its contents showing cooking utensils.
“And I've told Mrs. Hanes, the owner of Sally's Place in town, that you'll stop in this week to choose a few ready-made dresses.” His gaze met hers as he set another box down. “You can alter your own clothes, can't you?”
She'd never owned a ready-made dress in her life. “Yes.”
He studied her, stepping close to rest his hands on her shoulders. “Do you like it? Imagine if your family could see you now. Wouldn't they be impressed?”
For something she didn't earn.
Or deserve.
