Page 4 of The Salamander

Eunice faced the cook, tempted to smile. She was a sturdy woman in her late forties, her white apron tied over a plain woolen gown, and her mob cap barely taming wiry gray curls. Her hazel eyes, glinting like polished oak in candlelight, softened with crinkled warmth when she spoke of the Haradens, her tough exterior hiding a heart fiercely loyal to the family. “You need have no concerns, Martha. I’ll take good care of this chamber and help you with the others when my duties with the children allow.” She kept her voice steady, though inside she felt her heart trembling. To serve here, where God could use her, was enough.

Martha’s eyes crinkled, a grin breaking through, betraying her approval. “Aye, well, the master’s away plenty with the militia, and it’ll be worse now he’s off to sea with that Tyrannicide. Don’t expect him hoverin’ round.”

“I don’t mind,” Eunice said, her cheeks flushing. “I only wish to care for his girls, to be where God has placed me.” Her thoughts flickered to Jon Haraden’s kind smile.

Her mother’s Kashmir shawl caught the window’s light as she smiled at Martha. “Eunice’s heart is steadfast. She’ll serve this house well.”

They stepped into the girls’ sleeping room next door, where two small beds flanked a large window. Beneath the window was a wooden chest. A carved wooden cradle sat in the corner. A rag doll lay on the bed she assumed was Hannah’s, its button eyes worn with love. Hannah stood in the doorway, clutching her locket, her golden hair framing her sweet face.

“That locket,” said Martha, “was the master’s gift to Hannah’s mama. It never leaves the child’s neck.”

Eunice nodded, understanding. Thomas had given her small gifts she treasured for his memory. Smiling at Hannah, she said, “I would do the same were I her.”

“Polly’s a light sleeper, like her mama,” said Martha. “That one,” she nodded at Hannah, “has her mama’s spark—keeps us hoppin’.”

Ignoring Martha for the moment, Eunice met Hannah’s gaze. “I’ll take good care of your sister with you, Hannah, and be your friend when you’re ready.” Her smile held a prayer, a hope to anchor this grieving home.

Eunice wanted to respect the space their mother doubtless treasured. The appliqué quilts on the beds were charming with flowers and hearts stitched carefully.

“Did your mother make the quilts for you and Polly?” Eunice asked Hannah.

The girl nodded. Her blue eyes flickered, interest piercing her frown.

“I like them,” said Eunice. “Your mama had a gift.”

Eunice’s mother’s hand rested on her shoulder. “You’ll do well here.”

Martha didn’t offer to show them the master’s bedchamber or the other chambers that lined the hall. Instead, she led them downstairs, muttering, “Well, now that’s done, we can get on with the day’s work. Hymns settle babes fine enough but they won’t clean stoves or bake loaves.”

Eunice’s heart lifted as she thought of bringing joy to this home where hurt lingered.