Three

Nancy knew she would have to downplay the incident or her father would storm over to Mrs. Clark’s house and give her a bawling out that she wouldn’t soon forget. Should she tell her father about Dr. Foster’s offer? Or should she go and talk to Mrs. Foster first and then tell her father?

She had pleaded with Pa for weeks before he finally agreed that she could work for Mrs. Clark, and when she now told him how the woman had talked to her, he would throw a fit. But she had to tell him before he heard it from another source. Nancy knew she would have to downplay the incident or he would storm over and give Mrs. Clark a bawling out that she wouldn’t soon forget.

When she heard the clock in the kitchen strike the hour of five, Nancy slipped out of bed, washed quickly, and put on her clothes. Her father expected his breakfast to be ready when he got up, and she didn’t want him to be irritated this morning.

Nancy stirred the coals in the iron stove, laid wood chips on the coals, adjusted the damper on the stovepipe, and soon had a hot fire going. She had laid out the cutlery, pottery cups, and plates the night before. She quickly filled the coffeepot with water from the pitcher pump that brought water from the deep well behind their house. It was a sore spot with Pa that water lines hadn’t been run to their street yet.

When the stove was hot, she mixed up a batch of biscuits and shoved them into the oven. She cut thick slices of ham and put them in a skillet. The coffee was hot when her father came from the bedroom. Everything was just the way he liked it, so he should be in a good mood.

“Mornin’, Pa,” she said in her brightest voice.

“Best of the day to you,” he said. “That ham smells good.”

She poured a mug of coffee and placed it beside her father when he sat down. “I’ll get the milk while your coffee cools. The food is almost ready.”

Nancy hustled downstairs to the cellar dug below the level of the first floor. The Logans bought milk and eggs three times a week from an Ohio farmer. When she came out of the cellar with a pitcher of milk, Nancy saw Clay approaching the house.

“You got breakfast ready, Sis? I’m starved.”

“Just about.”

“I’ll wash up down here.”

“No hurry. I’ve got to fry the eggs yet. How many do you want?”

“Three will be enough. That is, if you’ve got plenty of ham.”

Nancy laughed over her shoulder at her brother as she hurried up the steps.

She set the pitcher beside her father. “How many eggs for you?”

“Two.”

To Nancy’s relief, the civil unrest in the country wasn’t mentioned while they ate. As soon as Clay finished eating, he said, “I’m going fishing before I go to bed—maybe I can catch a string of catfish for supper.”

Clay left the house, and while she removed his dishes from the table, Nancy heard him whistling as he headed toward the river. Waiting for her father to finish his breakfast, she looked out the window. The heavy fog on the Ohio when she had gotten up had lifted considerably, and the sun was breaking through the haze.

Her father finished the ham and biscuits on his plate, and Nancy refilled his coffee cup as he pushed back from the table with a satisfied look on his face. He always said that if a man had a good breakfast, he could make it through the day. If there was a good time to approach her father about something that would irritate him, this was it.

Nancy perched on the edge of her chair. Pa sipped on his coffee, a remote expression on his face. She wished she knew what he was thinking about. She opened her mouth twice before she could speak a word.

“Pa.” Her voice trembled a little, and she wondered if her father noticed it. He turned his attention to her and waited. “Mrs. Clark fired me yesterday.”

A frown spread across his features. “Go on,” he prompted.

“She was entertaining Dr. Foster. I carried in the tea tray and stumbled, and the bread and cake fell on the floor. She said I was clumsy and ordered me to clean up the mess I’d made. I got mad and told her to clean it up herself.”

One corner of Pa’s mouth twisted upward into a grim smile.

“She fired me then, but I intended to quit regardless. I don’t like to work for her.”

Nancy expected him to say, “I told you so.” Instead he said, “Anything else I need to know before I pay Mrs. Clark a visit?”

“I stumbled over a duster I’d dropped on the floor when I went to the door to let the doctor in. So it was my fault, but I didn’t like the way she hollered at me. I’d rather you don’t say anything to her, but I don’t suppose she’ll pay me the money she owes me. And I left my reticule there with some coins in it.”

Her father’s expression grew serious, and Nancy waited breathlessly for his decision. Although his temper could be volatile at times, usually he deliberated before he took action. At length, the tense lines on his face relaxed.

“I’ll bide my time on this,” he said. “Since you were at fault and had the gumption to tell her off, that should be enough for now. But she will pay you what she owes you, and she’ll return the bag and money.” He turned a stern eye on his daughter. “Maybe this has taught you a lesson.”

Nancy squirmed in her chair, and the beginning of a smile curved the corners of her mouth. “Not exactly.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Dr. Foster stopped by last night and told me that his mother needs some help. I want to go see her today. I still need to earn some money for that new dress and hoop I’ve told you about.”

A look of pure anger crossed Pa’s face. He hit the table with the palm of his hand, which shook his cup and sloshed coffee on the table. He jumped to his feet and angrily strode around the room. “Why can’t you be content with what you have? We have plenty to eat, a roof over our heads, and all the clothes we need. Why do you want to copy people who are better off than we are?”

Although her father’s anger usually daunted her, Nancy held her ground.

“I don’t know! That’s just the way the good Lord made me. It’s not just pretty clothes I want, but I want to learn things, too.”

“I paid to send you to that female seminary for five years. You can read and write better’n I ever could.”

Nancy struggled to maintain her determination. She knew instinctively that there was more at stake than the issue of working for Mrs. Foster. If she relented now, she could see the trend of her future. She would continue to keep house for her father until he decided it was time for her to marry, and he would choose her husband. Nancy realized that was the normal scheme of things for women, and perhaps it always would be, but she wasn’t content to settle for the way things had always been if she could improve her circumstances. She wanted to earn some money. And she wanted to learn new things, for she’d had just enough education to realize how much more there was to know. And she wanted to choose the man she married—someone she could love.

She knew her father would scorn such romantic notions, so she said, “But I want to learn more. When I go to the library and check out a book, I see hundreds of books. How many books do we have in this house? One—the Bible. I want books I can call my own. I’d even like to have my own Bible. I don’t like to be disobedient or defy you, Pa, but as long as I take care of you and the house, I don’t see why I can’t take time to do the things I want to do.”

Surprisingly, amusement flickered in his eyes.

“Go right ahead, then. I never did think much of a woman who let a man run over her.”

Nancy was stunned for an instant, finding it hard to believe that he had acquiesced so quickly. Then she galvanized into action and did something she hadn’t done for years. She ran to her father, threw her arms around him, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek.

“Thanks, Pa. I’ll go see Mrs. Foster today.”

“I’m warning you about one thing. I don’t want you to be took in by the Fosters’ religion. They’re Quakers, and they have some farfetched ideas about what the Bible teaches. I ain’t havin’ my daughter spoutin’ their heresy.”

Nancy wasn’t sure how the Quaker religion differed from her own, but she wouldn’t argue the point now. She intended to follow up on her victory before he changed his mind.

He took some coins out of his pocket. “If you’re goin’ uptown this morning, bring home a newspaper. I want to see what Campbell has to say in the Intelligencer today. I don’t like the way things are happenin’ in this country. There’s not much standin’ between us and war.”

Even the gloom on her father’s face as he made this ominous prediction didn’t dampen Nancy’s anticipation of the day. She took extra care in washing the dishes and cleaning the house. Pa always put more fuel in the stove when he had a noon snack, so she put a pot of white beans on the back of the stove where they could simmer most of the day. She would make it a point to be home in time to fix the rest of his supper. Since he had been so nice about letting her work for Mrs. Foster, Nancy didn’t intend to neglect him. She just hoped Mrs. Foster would like her work.

Nancy spruced up the kitchen as fast as she could. She carried a bowl of hot water into her bedroom and sponged her body, using a bar of honey-scented soap she’d bought at the store. Although she knew Mrs. Foster wouldn’t see her underwear, she chose the best she had. She put on a linen chemise, a petticoat, and a pair of scarlet flannel drawers that came to her knees. She pulled the drawstrings tight around her slim waist before she stepped into her gray calico dress with a tight-fitting bodice and a gored skirt that flowed out gradually from her tiny waist to the wide hemline. She frowned at her image in the small mirror that hung over her dressing table. Her appearance didn’t suit her, but it was the best she could do. Wrapping a white shawl around her shoulders, she hustled down the steps, paused at the shop door to call good-bye to her father, and headed uptown.

The Fosters lived in a modest, two-story, white frame house about halfway between the river and the high bluff behind the city. Nancy knew the location of the house, for she and Stella had walked by it more than once. Behind the house was a barn where Dr. Foster kept his two horses. A small building that had once been a garden house had been converted into his office. As Nancy approached the home, she wondered if she would see him today. She couldn’t help wondering if her desire to work at the Fosters stemmed from a chance to make money to buy the dress or the opportunity to encounter the handsome doctor. She tried to put such confusing thoughts out of her mind as she walked up two steps to the porch and timidly knocked on the front door.

A tall woman with a gentle, wise countenance opened the door. She didn’t bear any physical resemblance to Dr. Foster, so Nancy didn’t know if she was his mother.

“I’m Nancy Logan. I came to see Mrs. Foster.”

“I’m Hope Foster,” she said in a soft and soothing voice and ushered Nancy into a small sitting room to the right of the entrance. “Sit down, Nancy. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, ma’am. I had my breakfast earlier, but thank you.”

Nancy sat gingerly on the chair Mrs. Foster had indicated, thinking that she had never been offered refreshments in the Clark home and had never been allowed to sit anywhere except in the kitchen when the cook gave her a small lunch. She deduced that working for Mrs. Foster would be as different from working for Mrs. Clark as daylight was from dark.

In a quick glance she noted that her hostess’s gray hair had been braided and wrapped around her head. A dainty white muslin cap sat on her head like a crown.

Sitting near Nancy, Mrs. Foster said, “My son tells me that you might have time to help with our housework.”

“Yes, ma’am. I need to make some money.”

“Tell me a little about yourself, Nancy.”

“Did he tell you why I’m not working for Mrs. Clark?”

Mrs. Foster nodded, and her eyes seemed gentle and understanding.

“I live with my pa and brother on the riverfront. My mother died ten years ago when I was eight, and I’ve been doing for them since then. So I know how to do housework.”

“I usually do my own work, but I’ve been having back problems. Heath wants me to slow down.”

“I’d be glad of the chance to work for you. I could work a few days for free to see how you like my work. Mrs. Clark had me do a lot of things over—said I hadn’t done them the right way.”

A gracious smile overspread Mrs. Foster’s face. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. It won’t take long for you to learn how I want things done. Perhaps you can work for me four hours a day, three days a week. I could pay you thirty-five cents a day. Would that be satisfactory?”

Quickly Nancy calculated in her mind that she would make more than a dollar each week. She still had the better part of three months until Independence Day, which would allow plenty of time to accumulate enough money for the new dress and maybe some left over for other things.

“That sounds all right, but I’ll have to ask Pa.”

“Yes, of course. If he agrees, perhaps you could start day after tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nancy stood up because she didn’t want to overstay her welcome. “If Pa doesn’t like our arrangements, I’ll come and tell you tomorrow. If he does, I’ll come two days from now at nine o’clock.”

Nancy had wanted to see the doctor, and she glanced covertly at his office as she left the Foster home. She didn’t see him, and in spite of her excitement over landing another job so quickly, she went home slightly disappointed.