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“The closest road’s several miles away and you won’t find anyone driving it this time of night. You’d get lost before making it to the highway, so it’s best you stop fussing.”
Annalise’s feet stilled and Grace looked back. “I wish you’d stop doing that.”
She shrugged. “I’m just trying to save you the frustration and a few blisters.” She pivoted and kept walking. “Besides, he’d find you before you made it off the farm. He’s an excellent tracker.”
Great. Her stalker was an Amish bounty hunter with Jason Bourne tracking skills.
Grace pulled open the wooden latch door to the outhouse and set the lantern inside on a small table. The small space and tight walls captured the light, illuminated the little square house.
“It’s not what you’re used to.”
“Not quite.” Annalise stared at the latrine and dry sink. A pump protruded from the center of the floor. She’d gone back in time.
“I’ll give you a minute.”
The door closed, leaving her alone in the small outhouse, which measured four times the size of a modern one. No mirror, built-in wooden bench seat with two mysterious holes, a basin and pitcher, and a folded linen cloth.
“Great.”
Bunching up her skirts she managed to get through the surreal ordeal and find some tissue tucked in the corner. When she searched for a flusher that wasn’t there, the experience suddenly seemed comical and she laughed.
Once the first chirp of laughter escaped, a bigger, deeper chuckle followed. She just peed in a hole. There wasn’t a sink, but she found a crude shaped chunk of lard soap by the pitcher, so she used that to wash her hands. The soap smelled nice, like ginger and citrus.
She dried her hands and scanned the outhouse again. They actually used this—every day. She could never.
Grace knocked. “Finished?”
“Yes.”
She stepped into the small room carrying a stack of folded items. “I’ll hang your clothes for you.” Depositing the items on the dry sink, she removed a hanger from a wooden peg on the wall.
Annalise frowned. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
A flush rose to Grace’s cheeks. “Not to insult you, but you’ve traveled and slept in a barn. I assumed you’d want to wash.”
Well. There was no arguing with that. “If you’ll just show me how to use the pump—”
“Adam asked me to help you. You can undress.”
Glancing at the windowless wall, she considered their privacy. “I’d rather just do it my—” Something tingled at the back of her head and her words stopped.
Grace removed the straight pins from her apron and tsked. “You can tell a male helped with this. It’s clumsy work. He’s lucky you didn’t prick yourself.”
Annalise’s arms hung like limp noodles at her side as Grace lifted the cape blouse over her head and placed it beside the bonnet and apron on the dry sink.
“You have such pretty hair. Once it grows past the middle of your back it’ll be easier to style and tuck away. I can show you a few tricks with a string and some pins.”
Her glance shifted to Grace’s bonnet.
The girl gathered Annalise’s dress and lifted it over her head. “I’ve never cut my hair. Our Ordnung forbids it. That’s the Elder’s book of rules. But it’s not a bad rule. Once hair reaches your thighs it stops growing. Guck emol do. What in heaven’s name do you have on under here?”
Annalise glanced down at her pajamas, her last link to the life she had twenty-four hours ago. Grace made quick work of removing the top and bottom, stripping Annalise of the last stitch of her identity and leaving her shivering in the open room.
Keeping her eyes on her task, Grace dumped the pitcher down a hole and refilled it with fresh water. Why was she allowing this?
Her mind pushed forward, trying to speak, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. And part of her accepted the ease of silence, savored it.
“I’m afraid this will be cold.”
Thank God for her forced silence, because if she had the power to scream, she would have released a blood curdling war cry as the frigid water dumped over her shoulders and down her back. She shivered violently as Grace made quick work of scrubbing her skin.
“Almost finished.”
Soaked to the bone, Annalise glared at her. Another pitcher dumped over her, rinsing her skin and soaking the floor where a small grate swallowed the overflow. Sweet mother of all that is holy, she was fucking freezing. Her breathing shifted to an aggravated pant as she wished with all her being that she could punch Grace.
“Sorry.” She laughed. “You won’t always be as easy to persuade. For now, it’s coming in handy. There. All finished.” She stepped back as Annalise’s frozen limbs shivered spastically in the cool air. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”
She was going to kill her.
Grace rolled her eyes and wrapped the towel over Annalise’s shoulders, quickly buffing her arms and legs dry. She moved the lantern off the little stool and placed it on the dry sink.
