Wolf Creek Widow. Penny Richards
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She’d always liked autumn, though she couldn’t say the same about winter.
Thinking of winter brought a new problem to mind. How would she manage to get the laundry back and forth with two children in tow? Arkansas winters were known for their fickleness. The weather might be as warm as spring one day and rainy and cold or snowy a few days later. The previous winter, Meg had dropped the children off at Widow Hankins’s house on the way to town and picked them up again on her way home. The widow had watched them while Meg did the laundry. According to Rachel, Mrs. Hankins wasn’t doing so well, and Meg figured the last thing the older woman needed was to chase after two little ones.
One more problem to work out, she thought, getting to her feet. Well, at least she had plenty of time to do so. What else could a person do while they were mending and ironing but think?
As she was stripping off the worn cotton gown she’d donned soon after the Allens left, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the wavy, splotched mirror leaning against the wall. Even in the room’s dim light, she gasped at what she saw. There were no visible scars on her body; they were all inside, but the ordeal had taken its toll, nonetheless.
Never one to carry any extra pounds, she’d lost so much weight that she looked as if she were recovering from a long illness, which she supposed she was. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes as well as tiny lines at their corners, and her mouth tilted downward at the sides. Her tangled hair looked as dull and lifeless as she felt.
It was enough to bring her to tears. Almost. But she’d learned the hard way that crying changed nothing, except to sometimes make things worse. No, she would shed no tears over how she looked, just as she’d shed no tears since Elton’s last assault. Things were what they were and all the crying in the world would not change them. Aunt Serena would tell Meg that she was still pretty and that inner beauty was the important thing—not that she was doing too well in that department, either. Rachel would tell her that the weight would return and that her body would soon regain its glow of health. She would tell Meg to be thankful she’d been spared to bring up her children.
Done with self-pity, Meg drew in a shallow breath and donned the clothes she’d worn the previous day. When she and Nita finished the laundry, she’d heat some water for a bath and make herself presentable. A good scrub always made her feel better.
She thought of Ace plucking the twig from her hair and wondered in dismay what he’d thought about her appearance. Her body flooded with sudden shame. For all her faults, maybe because of her excess vanity, her mother would be the first to tell her that there was no excuse for not taking care of your appearance. Aunt Serena would second that, but for entirely different reasons.
Filled with a new purpose, Meg went into the kitchen, coaxed the coals into a small fire and put on some coffee. Oh, how she’d love to have one of those pretty white granite stoves Gabe Gentry sold at the mercantile!
She’d no more than thought it when she pushed the ridiculous notion from her mind. In the scheme of things, a new stove was the last thing she should be thinking about. She went back to her room, picked up her brush and began to work the tangles from her hair. By the time she’d finished and plaited it into a long braid, the coffee was ready and the early-morning sun was streaming through the clean windows.
After a breakfast of coffee and leftover corn bread fried in a little butter and drizzled with sorghum molasses, Meg took the remainder of the mending and a second cup of coffee to the front porch. She sat in the warmth of the morning sun while she plied her needle. She was finishing her third cup when she saw Nita coming down the lane on her horse. She was alone.
“Good morning!” the older woman called as she neared the house.
“Morning,” Meg replied, wondering why Ace wasn’t with Nita.
“Ace went on into town to pick up the laundry in our rig,” she explained without Meg asking. “He thought it would save a little time. He has my ironing board with him.”
Meg nodded. She still found it hard to believe that a man as blatantly masculine as Ace Allen would willingly do wash. “So we should have the water hot enough to start by ten or so,” Meg said, calculating how much time the trip both ways would take.
“I’d say that’s about right,” Nita agreed, sliding from the gelding’s back and hitching him to the post.
“I was wondering if we could heat some water for a bath when we finish,” Meg asked in a hesitant voice. “I...I’m a mess.”
“Of course we can,” Nita said readily. “I should have thought of that yesterday. Why don’t we heat your bathwater along with the laundry water and have that behind us before Ace gets back? That way we can throw in your clothes at the end. We have plenty of time.”
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
Meg nodded. “I fried up some corn bread and had it with butter and molasses.”
“One of my favorites,” Nita said with a smile. “I see you’re working on the mending Ace brought yesterday.”
“Yes. I didn’t quite get finished last night.” She blushed. “I fell asleep in the rocker.”
“Well,” Nita said, “that’s not so surprising. You’ve had a busy couple of days, and you’re still recovering. You’ll be back to your old self soon.”
Her old self. Meg didn’t think she wanted to be her old self. That woman was spineless and took what was dished out to her, whether she deserved it or not.
“Why on earth not?”
“What?” Meg looked at Nita sharply. What had she asked?
“I was asking why you said you weren’t sure you wanted to be your old self,” Nita explained.
Meg couldn’t believe she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, but since she must have, she felt obligated to provide an answer. “The old me put up with a lot of things I shouldn’t have.”
“Did you have a choice?”
“Not much of one,” she conceded.
“I suppose I’m being nosy, but I’ve been wondering if you knew how your husband was when you married him.”
Meg’s burst of bitter laughter had no place in the sweet tranquillity of the morning. She gave a negative shake of her head and kept her eyes glued to the shirt in her hands. “I didn’t have a clue. All I knew was that he was handsome, and he told me I was beautiful and I believed him. He bought me presents and said he’d love me forever.”
Seeing the sympathy on Nita’s face, Meg gave a helpless shrug. “I knew he drank a little, but before we married I never once saw him lose his temper. He was always so sweet and gentle.”
“So you fell in love with him.”
“Love?” A sigh trickled from Meg’s lips. “I’m not even sure what love is. I thought what I felt was love. Maybe it was. Or maybe I just liked the notion of loving someone. Whatever I felt, it didn’t last long after we said our ‘I dos.’” She shot Nita a quick embarrassed look. “I’m sure you’ve heard around town that I was expecting Teddy when Elton and I married.”
“There are always those who like to gossip,” Nita said. “I don’t pay much attention to it.”
“In this case it was true.”
Nita offered her another of those kind smiles. “At least he had the decency to do the right thing and give the child his name.”
“Yes, well, we’d all have been better off if he hadn’t,” Meg said in an acerbic tone.
Nita Allen might be shocked by the bold confession, but Meg didn’t care, and she made no offer to explain. How could she tell this giving woman who’d come through so many trials herself about her fears for her children? How could she explain that she was afraid that her sweet Teddy would grow up