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Inside, he met the short, rotund proprietress, and after looking around the small neat room holding her goods, he found just what he needed. After paying for his purchases, he thanked her, she thanked him, and he returned to the carriage to resume his journey.
He found Raven outside with the wash. In the open field beside the cottage, four sheets were already hung on lines of rope stretched between tall metal poles. Between the poles were two empty poles, which he assumed would hold the rest of the items needing to be hung. She was wearing an old leather apron to protect her clothing, and on her feet a pair of aging brogans had replaced her usual pair of worn black leather slippers. Standing a short distance away, he watched as she used what appeared to be an old broom handle to lift a jumble of steaming towels out of the cauldron of boiling water. Straining from the weight, she eased the load into the one holding the rinse water. As she repeated the process, he walked over. “Can I help you with that?”
She smiled tiredly. “Thanks for the offer but I’m nearly done.” She transferred a second massto the rinse water and slowly stirred the contents with her stick.
He eyed two smaller water-filled barrels. “What are those for?”
“One holds bluing for white things like sheets. The other starch. You’ve never seen laundry done?”
“Not the full process, no,” he admitted. “Ours was always sent out.”
“People with means to pay are smart. It’s grueling work, especially for a large household. Helen doesn’t have many clothes, so I’m counting my blessings. I’m not looking forward to spending the evening ironing the sheets and pillow slips though, but it could be worse. I could be handling the laundry and ironing for a family of six instead of just hers and ours.”
Although his knowledge of washday was limited, he knew that the contraption next to the cauldrons, with its rollers and crank atop a tub, was a wringer. “How about I man the crank while you feed the pieces into the wringer?”
“Okay.”
Her lack of sleep showed in the small circles below her eyes and the weary slump in her shoulders. The caustic effects of the lye in the hot wash water had reddened her hands. Again, he wished he could make her life easier, particularly in a way more impactful than assisting with a wringer, but a small step was better than none.
“Turn it slowly,” she cautioned, feeding a towel into the wringer. “We don’t want the rollers to tear it.”
Focusing on both the speed and the progress, he kept her words in mind. As the towel made its journey, the excess water drained into the tub beneath. Once the towel came out the other side, she gave the compressed item a few shakes and placed it in the basket with the other things waiting to be hung.
“Can I help with the hanging?”
“Ever hung clothes before?”
“No.”
She picked up the basket. “Then I have to say no.”
“Why?” How difficult could it be, he wondered inwardly.
“Because if you accidentally drop a piece into the dirt, I’ll have to wash it again, then kill you and bury you beneath those trees over there.”
“Oh.”
“If you want to be useful, dump the water out of the cauldrons and refill them so I can wash our things.”
“That I can do.”
She carried the basket away and he set about his assigned task.
Two hours later, everything was washed and hung. They took a break to eat lunch, then after emptying the cauldrons for the last time, he helped her scrub them out and set them on thegrass to dry. The day was sunny and breezy, and as a result the sheets that had been washed first were all but dry. He checked his pocket watch for the time. It was half past two. He’d have to go get Helen in an hour or so. They were seated on the cabin’s porch. Raven was in the rocker, eyes closed. He studied her and asked quietly, “Are you asleep, little corvus?”
“I wish,” came her soft reply. Her eyes opened slowly. “Gathering my strength so I can take down what’s dry. I may have time to iron her sheets before cooking supper. I’d hoped to search her mother’s room while she was away but there’s been no time.”
She worked entirely too hard, he thought.
As if having read his mind, she smiled tiredly. “Stop looking so concerned, Steele. I’m just feeling the effects of my sleepless night, nothing more. This is how I make my living, remember? I’ll be fine. Promise.”
In his perfect world, she’d spend the evening leisurely soaking in a tub of bath salts and bubbles instead of ironing sheets and preparing food for someone else. “If I promise to be careful and not let anything fall to the ground, will you allow me to help you?”
She nodded and pushed to her feet. “Sure. Come on.”
Pleased that she’d agreed, he assisted with the chore of unpinning the now dry items from the lines, and true to his pledge, made sure nothingended up in the dirt. They carried the laundry-filled baskets to the building that housed the kitchen and into the room where she’d do the ironing.
She asked, “What time is it?”
