A tin tub, a small boy, two women, three men, and a tiny cabin.
A recipe for trouble, and not one found in Mrs. Beeton.
As Emma waited for the water to heat, she turned the situation over in her mind. No matter how she looked at it, she had a predicament on her hands. She’d made such a fuss over the need for baths that she didn’t see how she could back away from her demand, even though she’d identified a few problems. Especially not now that she’d sent the men to fetch tub and bucket, and in view of the quantities of water she’d pumped and set to heat. And then, the additional water they would need to still fetch for so many baths.
As soon as she had finished with the washing up, Colley had made herself scarce. Emma suspected the older woman had gone to the barn, where she would enjoy the company of the animals she loved. She also feared Colley knew there might be a bit of a disagreement—or more—in the cabin, and she hadn’t cared to be present for that.
“Explain your plan to me again,” Peter said when only the two Lowery men and Emma remained in the cabin.
“Very simple,” she answered, determined to see this through to the end. “Baths are important. The time for baths has come. We will bathe.”
The cabin door burst open. With a great deal of banging and clanging, Wade and Ned got the tin tub inside, and then set it up a few feet in front of the hearth. It looked enormous in the small room.
With the tub in position, Emma could no longer escape the truth. How were she and Colley, two women, going to bathe in a cabin full of men? Wade and Ned could easily be sent to the bunkhouse, but Peter was injured, Colley had said he shouldn’t move, and at the moment he lay on Robby’s usual bunk—
“Aha!” The solution to the predicament burst into her thoughts fully formed. “Please carry the tub to Colley’s room. She and I will need our privacy, gentlemen.”
She hoped Colley didn’t object to her presumptuousness—at least, not too strenuously. Emma had, after all, chosen to invade the older woman’s sanctuary.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the surprise on Peter’s face. He hadn’t expected her to come up with a solution. But she had begun to glimpse how resourceful she could be, something she’d never realized before her fateful trip to Portland. She’d had no need for that resourcefulness before. She liked the Emma she was coming to know.
Now, if only that Emma could figure out what she would wear after she took off her filthy, torn clothes, and had the bath she so wanted.…
To buy herself additional time, she turned to the two Lowery men. “Robby, you’re first.”
He opened his mouth as wide as the mouth of the kettle of boiling water. “Me first? Why?”
Why? Oh, dear. She couldn’t very well tell him all the reasons why. Not with his father lying right beside the child.
“Why… um… oh, yes! Because you’re the smallest of us all. And children need baths to be healthy. It would appear you’ve done without one for too long already. And you need the least amount of hot water for proper cleanliness. It’ll take less time to heat enough for you. While you bathe, I’ll heat more.”
Robby didn’t argue with her odd logic, but from the twitching at the corners of Peter’s mouth, Emma knew she hadn’t fooled him. He might not have figured out precisely everything that troubled her, but he knew she didn’t have everything planned out as she’d said.
Think! She needed an answer, and soon.
When the men set the tub in Colley’s tiny room, the metal contraption dwarfed the area. But the room had a door that closed, a luxury that allowed the bather a measure of modesty.
Emma required privacy. No matter what.
“Here’s a length of flour sack to dry yourself, and a piece we use as a dishcloth,” she told Robby.
“Dishcloth?” he asked, horror-stricken. “I’m no dish, Lady Emma.”
She fought a smile as she reached up to the top shelf on the wall by the hearth. “Oh, indeed. I do agree. But the cloth will help you do the job right. Here, take this bar of soap, and please make sure you use both, cloth and soap, especially around that neck and behind the ears. And don’t forget your hair. Not that you’ll wash that with the dishcloth, of course, but you see that you wash it too.”
The boy’s bottom lip protruded like a shelf, and his eyes resembled a thunderstorm about to burst. Still, Emma wouldn’t budge, and the father wouldn’t speak. She wished Peter would say something to encourage the child, but she realized her host was testing her. And fighting yet another laugh.
“This will work,” she assured the father as the son dragged himself into Colley’s room, one of Wade’s shirts trailing on the floor behind him. It was the smallest piece of men’s clothing they had found on that short a notice. The boy had refused to wear one of Colley’s shirts to bed, even though the garment was clean and identical to the one Wade brought to share. Emma smiled at the memory.
“Colley’s a lady, and I ain’t,” he’d said.
“Am not,” Emma had corrected.
“Are so.”
“I,” she said, fighting a laugh again, “am indeed a lady, but you are not. The correct way to say it is ‘I am not.’ Please repeat it the right way.”
He’d sighed, but complied anyway. “I am not a lady. An’ I won’t wear ladies’ clothes.”
Emma had decided it would be far less trouble to send Wade for one of his shirts than to argue any further. Now, armed with an adequate, manly shirt, and after they’d emptied the bucket, the kettle, and two other pots into the tub, she chased the boy toward the bath. He slammed the door as he stepped into Colley’s room.
Emma covered her mouth to muffle her laughter. She wasn’t quite sure why Robby objected to a bath, since she found bathing one of the most enjoyable activities, but his reaction had been funny.
A moment later, she heard the clapping. She spun, her cheeks blazing, and caught a glint of admiration in Peter’s eyes. She froze.
“That,” he said, “was almost worth having a broken leg.”
“Are you sure it was only your leg you injured?” she asked. “I’m afraid you must have hit your head as well.”
“Oh, Sawyer did knock me out, but that doesn’t take anything away from this moment. Robby does not like his baths, never has. Don’t reckon many little boys do, seeing as I didn’t when I was his age. You just did something I doubt any of the rest of us here could have done that easily.”
His compliment pleased her, especially when she thought back to his many harsh critiques. “I wouldn’t be quite so ready to celebrate so soon. I’ll wait until he comes out, all clean and shiny.” She pointed. “That door is closed. There’s nothing that says he’s in there and busy with that cloth, as I told him to be.”
Peter let out a hearty chuckle. “Good for you! I did wonder if you’d think enough like Robby to figure that out. Let’s wait and see.”
“It strikes me your leg might not be in as much pain as before by now,” she said. “Did Colley’s doctoring help?”
“It’s not comfortable, but it has reached the level of passable. I reckon in a day or two I’ll be well enough to—”
“Oh, no! No, you don’t.” Emma wagged a finger at him. “I heard Colley say you couldn’t walk on that leg for quite a spell. You don’t want to undo all the good work she did. She says it must stay still so it grows back straight.”
He shrugged. “I can’t afford the time away from the sheep. It’s no different than leaving the camp to fetch you to Bountiful. I have work to do. I’ll be fine after a day or so.”
“I don’t see how your presence on the meadow will fatten your flock any better than if you take the time to heal. I’ve found Colley a most sensible woman, and her advice seems sound. Besides, since you are in that condition on my account, why, there will be no hurry involved.” She tamped down the rush of guilt. “You will let your leg recover properly.”
He frowned, but not for long. A moment later, the twitching at the corners of his mouth started up again. “Are you fixing to be the one to make sure I don’t move? Because I’m much larger than you. I don’t reckon you could stop me, once I set my mind to heading back to work.”
“Perhaps not alone, but I’m sure Colley will help me.”
“Colley will help you what?” asked the lady under discussion from the doorway. “What all are you settin’ me up to do now?”
“Do?” Emma asked, mischief in her smile. “Nothing to do, but I do believe you might want to know your patient is in quite a hurry to return to his flock. He objects to resting his leg, since he says he’ll be fine in a day or two.”
“Izzat right, Pete?” Colley strolled to the bunk. “You thinkin’ that leg’s gonna hold ya up in just a coupla days? Cuz I don’t reckon it will for a longer while than that, seein’ as I’ve had one of my own, and doctored up more’n my share of broken bones.”
He shrugged. “More than likely it will set up quick. It won’t feel none too good, but it should work.”
Colley shook her head. “Ain’t fixin’ to let you give it a chance to leave you lame for good.” She bent and picked up his boots. “Takin’ these old, smelly things out to the barn with me now. You can go after ’em oncet your leg’s healed.”
Well aware of the condition of the ground around the cabin, the barn, and the bunkhouse, with all the rocks, branches, uneven bumps, and holes in the often soggy, muddy surface, Emma doubted any sensible soul would try to brave it on his bare feet. She’d learned that lesson herself the hard way. Now it was her turn to fight a laugh, so she turned away from Peter and busied herself with the next batch of heated water.
“Give a holler when you need me to fetch them other two fellers fer their baths.” Humor colored Colley’s words. “Don’t look like either one of ’em’s gonna be any happier’n Robby about it. Like little boys, all of them, I tell you.” On her way out the door, she paused, sent Emma one of her broad, genuine smiles. “Reckon I was right about ya all along, Miss Emma. You will do fine, after all. You will indeed.”
Emma didn’t dare turn to see how Peter took Colley’s validating word. She stayed in the kitchen corner, fussed with perfectly arranged items, moved a mixing bowl one inch to a side on the nearest shelf.
Peter chuckled. “I’ll bide my time. You might have outsmarted my boy, but you won’t outsmart me.”
“All that matters at this time is your leg.” Emma swallowed hard, turned, met Peter’s gaze, her heart full with the realization of what he’d done for her. “I could never forget you were injured because you came to my rescue. I can’t thank you enough for what you did. If you hadn’t, Sawyer would have—”
“Please, don’t think about it another minute. I couldn’t have lived with myself if he’d hurt you while you were here, at my camp. Any man would do what I did. I’m glad you’re not hurt.”
In the past, she might have taken the easy way out by letting the conversation die right then, but nothing like this had happened before. What this man had willingly done for her was nothing to take lightly.
She approached the bunk. “I’m truly sorry, Peter. You never asked for any of this. I landed here because of nothing you did. Now you’re hurt because of me—”
“Shh!” As he struggled up into a better sitting position, his gaze remained clear and direct. Emma couldn’t miss the sincerity there. “Who’s to say I wouldn’t have had to face Sawyer even if you hadn’t been here? He had been stealing my flock, remember? I don’t reckon he would have stopped all on his own.”
Once again, the thought crossed Emma’s mind. Had Peter killed the rustler? She couldn’t say what might have happened between the two men after she’d fainted. They had still been locked in a fierce fight when she’d lost consciousness. In the heat of the moment, Peter might have gone ahead and exacted his own justice.
He crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t waste time thinking on that, if I were you. I didn’t kill that man. I was furious, and you know it, but I also know God reserves vengeance for Himself. I won’t say it isn’t mighty hard for a man to back away, and I won’t say I didn’t want to get in a few licks for myself, but I did keep my head straight enough. I didn’t kill him. He’s the one who knocked me out.”
Emma wanted to believe him, especially since the better she came to know Peter, the more she appreciated him, and the more she found to respect and admire. But she hadn’t seen what happened, and in the end, one of the two men had wound up dead. It hadn’t been Peter.
BANG!
Robby flung open the door to Colley’s room. “I’m done,” he said. “And I did use your dishcloth.” He held out the drippy piece of cloth. “But I ain’t no dish to wash with none of them cloths again.”
His wounded dignity was such that Emma didn’t have the heart to correct his grammar. “I do believe you’re properly ready for bed now.”
“Bed, too?” His outrage was priceless.
“Perhaps not right away,” she conceded. “The rest of us still need our baths.”
In the end, she won the battle of the baths. First Colley, then Wade, and then Ned took their turns in the tub. The men had protested, saying a lady should go first, but Emma still needed time and insisted. As the minutes sped by, she grew more anxious. Would she have to don a pair of Colley’s trousers for the simple sake of cleanliness? Her cheeks heated.
The possibility was too scandalous for her to entertain, but she feared it might come to that. It was unlikely that Colley might have a simple skirt or dress hidden somewhere among her things. Even if she did, anything that belonged to the ranch manager would be far too large, since Colley was five or six inches taller than Emma, and outweighed her by a good twenty pounds or more.
Emma sat at the table, her hands clasped tight in her lap, mulling over her situation. She wanted no one to see her growing uneasiness. While she sat and fretted, Peter and Robby chattered about the new lamb, they prayed, and before long, the child fell asleep tucked in close at his father’s side. Not much later, Emma noticed Peter had followed suit, a slight smile on his lean, tanned face. Peace had settled in on the cabin for the night.
Emma’s heart warmed at the sight before her. Tears welled up in her eyes. The love between Peter and Robby was undeniable and familiar. She’d grown up with that kind of love, and she treasured it, even more now that she’d faced hardship, now that she knew Papa was suffering because of her disappearance.
While she no longer hated Peter’s summer camp, nor did the thought of spending any length of time there make her desperate, she did still feel the urgency to return to her father’s side, to ease what she was sure had turned to grief. The more she thought of her father, the more Emma realized the love of her aunt and uncle, of the Millers at the home in Portland, and especially of her dear Papa, was all she truly missed.
The parties and the gowns, the attention and the elegance, the travel and the luxury and all those other things she’d loved before had lost their luster. She’d faced the horror Sawyer had meted out, and she’d fought him with everything she had. Well, yes, she had indeed needed help, and Peter had offered it, but she had also learned not to give her trust quite so easily in the future.
During the short span of time since she’d set off from Denver, Emma had also discovered the satisfaction of using her determination and wits to conquer a challenge. She’d gone from scarcely setting foot in a kitchen, to having served a meal to a trio of hungry men. And they’d enjoyed what she’d served. Now, at the end of the day, as she sat and waited her turn at some soap and water, she had the privilege of witnessing the love between a father and his child. She saw between the two Lowery men what really mattered after all.
Nothing in the trunk she’d missed so much at the start of this experience had any true worth.
She’d learned so much in such a short while… but she suspected God still had a great deal more for her to learn.
This episode in her life, as frightening as it had been, had given rise to something else inside her, something more than a shift in her attitude. An ache she never had experienced before now made its presence known in a deep, secret corner of her heart. As she watched Peter and Robby, the ache grew and mellowed and became a part of the new her. In the love they shared, Emma recognized how much she wanted someone to love like Peter loved Robby, like Papa loved her.
Yes, she did want to marry, and all the rich gifts such precious love brought with it. The want began to feel more like a craving, and she realized it came from the need to love as her father had loved her mother, even after Mama’s death. She wanted to love as the man before her had loved the woman whose trunk he still kept.
She wanted to be loved like that in turn.
Strange how she’d come to discover that about herself as she sat in the most rustic of homes, as she waited for her turn to soak in a crude tin tub, as she longed to wash with a bar of plain lye soap and a dishcloth borrowed for a bath. It amazed her to see what really mattered to her now that she’d been stripped of all she’d known a handful of meaningful days before.
Armed with yet another sample of Colley’s seemingly endless supply of clean flour sacks, Emma went into the makeshift bathroom, anticipating the moment she would sink into the modest quantity of warm water. The gas lantern lit the room with a warm golden glow, and as tiny as it was, she still felt as though she’d walked into a palace.
For the first time since she’d left Denver she was completely alone, in a spot where she could close the door, where the rest of the world would leave her alone. And yet, all she could think about was soap and water.
Emma smiled as she unbuttoned the cloak. While she couldn’t wait to be done with these ruined clothes, it was the memories she wished she could shed as easily. Harder still was going to be replacing them. She should have spoken to Colley about it already, but she hadn’t wanted to give Peter any more reason to laugh. She supposed she would have to put the rags back on until she came up with a plan. She’d run out of time.
And she was in a hurry to get clean.
As she began to remove her torn blouse, a knock came at the door. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Colley. Open up, there, Miss Emma. I have somethin’ here for ya you’re gonna be happy to see.”
Curiosity piqued, she grabbed the ripped edges of the blouse and opened the door. Colley slipped inside, an armful of cotton calico leading the way.
“Here ya go, missy,” the older woman said, holding out the garments. “They’re the clothes the old missus kept here for her summers. Pete never got ’round to getting rid of all her things, and I reckon it’s just as well you put ’em to use after these years. Especially, seein’ as how well you done so far with that there cookery book of hers.”
Emma’s eyes grew huge. “I couldn’t possibly wear Mrs. Lowery’s clothes. It wouldn’t be right. We have to think of Peter and Robby. The memories—”
“It was Pete what sent me here with ’em. As much as you’d want your own clothes, he knew you had nothin’ with ya, an’ he knew, too, how much stock you were puttin’ on this bath. Cain’t say’s I blame ya. I like my soap and water, too.”
She knew Colley was trying to set her mind at ease, reminding her how much she wanted to bathe, and being practical as always, but nothing could distract her from the truth. Those were the clothes Peter’s wife had worn, the garments Robby’s mother had used when she’d fed him, rocked him to sleep. Emma had already stepped into enough of the late woman’s jobs. She couldn’t also step right into her clothes. Would she even feel like herself if she did? And which self, which Emma, should she feel like?
There was no means for one to turn back the clock. She doubted she could ever go back to her previous life, where she enjoyed luxuries without giving them any thought or appreciation. Was she ready to see herself even more as the new Emma she was becoming?
And would Peter view her differently when he saw her in those clothes?
“Don’t you have an old skirt or dress I could borrow?” she asked Colley.
“Ain’t worn one of ’em for years, going on eighteen or twenty of ’em. They don’t work too well fer a woman working sheep on a ranch with her man.”
Emma’s curiosity grew. Colley had a husband? Why had she never mentioned him? But the shuttered expression on Colley’s face didn’t invite questions. She chose to let the other woman speak her piece.
“Ain’t never oncet thought Pete would get past losin’ Adele,” she said. “It means somethin’ he’s told me to git these things fer ya. I wouldn’t turn ’im down, if I were you. It’s right high praise, I reckon. An’ he’s a good man.” She frowned, her gaze on Emma’s, and more stern than she’d ever seen. “Now don’t ya go thinkin’ nothin’ wrong ’about the fella. He’s as fine as a man comes, and he’s only thinkin’ of helpin’ ya while yer here. Always wants what’s best fer all of us here. He takes his responsibilities serious-like. Pete ain’t nothin’ like that there Sawyer, ya know.”
Emma gasped. “It never even crossed my mind, Colley. I think only the best of Peter. Why, if it weren’t for him, Sawyer… well, I would be the one with the injuries, and they wouldn’t be something as simple and innocent as a broken leg.”
The older woman shuddered, clamped her lips into a tight, thin line, and let her gaze dart away. Emma didn’t blame Colley. Even the thought of what might have happened had Peter not shown up when he did was more than she wanted to remember.
She tried again. “It’s not anything against Peter. I just feel quite awkward in another woman’s… life. I’m already teaching her son, cooking for him and his father, caring for her home… I—I don’t know.”
Colley tsk-tsked and slammed her fists on her hips. “Now you tell me here, missy. Do ya or do ya not want that bath? Cuz I reckon if ya do, there’s not much to be done ’bout it. That”—she waved at Emma’s blouse—“ain’t nothin’ you’re gonna be wearin’ ’round here. An’ that there skirt… well, it’s right filthy, beggin’ pardon, of course. This ain’t like none of them big cities yer used to. We do practical things ’round these parts. You need clothes. Here’s clothes.”
“I suppose there’s not much more I can say, is there?” She reached out for the clothes.
Smiling broadly, Colley stuffed them into Emma’s arms.
“Now take yer bath while I dry my hair. We still have us a coupla things to do tonight, you and me. Before we get some sleep, that is. Don’t be dawdlin’ too long, either. Mornin’ comes ’round right quick.”
“Do? What do we need to do tonight?”
Colley gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Ya’ll see soon enough. Let’s not waste any more time.”
Moments after Colley walked away, Emma disrobed and stepped into the still-warm water. As imperfect as her surroundings were, the water felt lovely and lavish, and if she closed her eyes, she felt quite pampered as the warmth eased her sore muscles. She didn’t remember ever appreciating a bath as much as she did right then. Not when she’d bathed with the most extravagant of French-milled violet-scented soaps and the most opulent gardenia-fragranced oils, or even the soothing lavender extract Aunt Sophia always had waiting for Emma’s enjoyment. When she dried off with the humble flour sack, she enjoyed the clean sensation as much as she’d ever enjoyed the most exquisite of Turkish-cotton towels.
Bliss, in the form of a bath, didn’t need extravagance.
Soap, water, and a clean cotton flour sack did just fine.