Tracie Peterson - [Land of Shining Water 02] (3 page)

She tried to imagine their home. Father had said it was a wood-frame structure that had two large bedrooms on the first floor and a third upstairs. Emmalyne had already chosen the upper floor for her room—not that she’d really been given a choice. She imagined the privacy and ability to get away from the arguments her father was bound to have with Mother. It seemed the two were always quarreling over one thing or another—usually related to expenses.

Perhaps she would be allowed to paper her room. She would, of course, have to buy the materials herself. Her father would never pay for such a frivolous thing. Emmalyne still had some money of her own she’d received from sewing, but it was dwindling fast. She couldn’t help but wonder if she might be able to take in some sewing here. Of course, with their home so far removed from town, it would probably be difficult to find customers.

The wagon slowed, and Emmalyne craned around to see if they had arrived. Her father urged the horses right. Emmalyne gasped, unable to silence her shock. The driveway was
little more than a grass-grown path with ruts, but it served to bring them alongside a well-weathered house—if the place could even be called that. Signs of neglect were everywhere. Thick, high weeds had taken over what might have once been an attractive little yard. The walkway that led to the broken-down porch was obscured by an overgrowth of vegetation and debris.

“What hath God wrought?” she finally murmured.

Alighting from the wagon, Emmalyne stared at the sight. Were they really to live here? The porch roof sagged at an odd angle and clearly needed support. The wooden steps to the porch were . . . well, missing, with the exception of a partial frame showing where they once had been. The structure itself was in great need of paint and repair. Two of the windows were broken, and the tail of a tattered curtain blew out of one as if shooing them away from the abomination.

“Well, donnae stand around like a stookie,” her father declared, his Scottish brogue thick with irritation.

A stookie, an idle person, would not be a correct description of Emmalyne. There would be no rest for her in the weeks to come.

“Ye be a-cleanin’ the bedrooms and kitchen first,” her father ordered. “We’ll be stayin’ here on the morrow.”

“But this place will take weeks to put in order,” Emmalyne protested. “Unless, of course, you want to hire someone to help me.”

“Wheesht! Be quiet! Ye know I donnae have the coin to spare. Ye can manage jest fine. Yer mither can help ye.”

“But Mother has been sick,” Emmalyne countered. “This wouldn’t be a good place to bring her. She should be close to a doctor.”

Her father turned a fierce scowl on her. “Ye need to be mindin’ yer mouth, lass. Now leave us go in and see to matters there.”

Emmalyne felt herself grow red at the rebuke, but she nodded, knowing that inside would probably be no better. It turned out she was right. The former owners had abandoned the place, it seemed, without thought to putting anything to rights. Several broken chairs were overturned atop a tattered rug. Beneath that, very worn boards made up the floor. They were so scarred and damaged, Emmalyne wondered if they could ever be properly sanded and stained.

She moved as if in a daze through the downstairs. The front room where the curtain flapped from the window was mostly empty. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and the fireplace looked like it hadn’t ever been cleaned. Animal tracks and their droppings were easy to spot, and there was a strange collection of leaves in one corner.

“The frame seems solid enough,” Angus offered hopefully.

Emmalyne looked at him in disbelief. “If it is, then I’m Queen Victoria.”

He grinned at his sister and gave her a wink. “Well, Ye Olde Vic, you’d best not let our father hear you say so.”

“Where is Father?” she asked, looking around in surprise. “He was right here a minute ago.”

“Said he wanted to see the rest of the property. There’s supposed to be a barn in the back for the horses.”

“I can’t believe the state of this place.” Emmalyne wouldn’t have dared to grumble so in her father’s presence. “I suppose
there’s nothing to be done about it.” She grabbed the scarf she’d tied around her neck and arranged it on her head to keep her hair protected from the dirt and dust.

“I’ll fetch the mop and bucket.”

“I’d rather you find the big wash pot Father said was here. I’ll need that carted outside.”

Angus nodded. “I can manage that well enough. Anything else?”

“A fire. I’ll need a fire to heat the water.”

Again he nodded. “Would you like me to chop some wood, as well? I doubt you’ll get by with just one pot of hot water for this place.”

“Aye.” Emmalyne headed for the door. “We’ll need plenty of wood, water, and soap to make this house livable.”

She heard a scratching noise and looked over in time to see a large mouse scurry across the floor toward the kitchen stove. If mice were the only current residents, she’d count herself lucky.

“Angus, we need to be on our way,” her father called as she stepped out onto the porch.

“Where are you going? I thought you were going to help me.” Knowing she’d once more overstepped her bounds, Emmalyne tried to soften her voice. “I mean, I thought we could get more done together.”

“I cannae. We’re to meet with Rabbie and his men,” Father said, surprising her with an actual explanation. “Ye get to work, and we’ll be back by and by.”

Angus came around the side of the house. “Your kettle is out back, Emmy. There’s gonna be no moving it. I’ll bet it weighs three hundred pounds. It’s well positioned for a fire. I’ll get you some wood.”

“Nae.” Her father shook his head. “We must be on our way. Yer sister knows well enough how to set a fire and chop wood.”

He made his way to the wagon and took out the supplies from the back. He placed everything on the ground and then motioned to Angus. “Come along.” Looking back at Emmalyne, he nodded toward the house. “Set it to rights, lass. We’ll be back in a few hours to see what ye’ve managed.”

With no further comment, he climbed into the wagon and waited only long enough for Angus to join him before flicking the reins. In all her twenty-eight years, Emmalyne had never known her father to show the slightest concern for her welfare. It never seemed to cross his mind that it might be dangerous to leave his daughter alone or that the work might be beyond her strength to accomplish alone.

Emmalyne sighed, gathered as many of the cleaning supplies as she could carry, and made her way into the house. She was glad she’d tucked her apron and remaining food into the bucket. At least she’d have something to eat if her father delayed in returning.

Inside, she pulled on the apron. Getting the water heating was of primary importance. She walked through the sad little kitchen and found an even sadder back door hanging from a single hinge. Though rickety, the stairs were still in place here and led to a nice clearing. The dirt was so hard-packed that it very nearly made a smooth surface on which to work. Not far from the caldron a rusty-looking pump gave her hope of easily accessible water.

Emmalyne inspected the caldron and found it to be serviceable. It would have to be scoured before it would provide an adequate receptacle for clean water, however. She quickly went
to work gathering downed limbs and branches for kindling. She was happy to uncover a small collection of logs near the side of the house. A growth of new weeds among the old, along with dried vegetation from a previous summer, had hidden the wood from cursory glances. Fearing the possibility of snakes, Emmalyne gingerly gathered the pieces and looked around for an axe. To her dismay, there didn’t appear to be one anywhere. She did, however, find an old handmade hammer. That and a wedge served her well enough, and soon the wood was split and a fire burned bright.

Next she turned her attention to the pump. Priming it, she prayed that God would let the water flow. Her prayers were answered. Water began to sputter through the pipe and fall onto the hard-packed dirt. Taking up a bucket, she put just enough water into the caldron to clean it.

Using water, shaved soap, and her mop, Emmalyne managed to scrub the iron pot. It wasn’t perfect, but she felt satisfied for today. She knew it would take a great many cleanings before things were in the kind of order they would need. They would just have to abide the situation.

With the caldron finally in acceptable shape, Emmalyne filled it with bucket after bucket of water. She surmised from her trips back and forth that the kettle held about forty gallons. It was a good amount of water to get her started. Hopefully by the time she needed more, her father would have returned, and she could tell him of their need for an axe and maybe a saw.

With the water heating, Emmalyne went back into the house to figure out what to do first. Her father had said the bedrooms and kitchen were to be her priority, and she had to agree. However, Emmalyne had been cleaning house long
enough to know that it was always best to assess the entire situation before actually starting.

On her way upstairs, she noted the steep and uneven steps. Near the top, Emmalyne tripped on the lip of one step and nearly fell headlong onto the floor. Righting herself, she frowned. “A ladder might have been easier . . . and safer.”

In her room, sunlight filtered in not only from the single dirty window, but from a hole in the roof. The room wasn’t large by any means, but it would be big enough for her. There was space for a bed and a dresser, but not much else. She would have to see if Angus could climb atop the roof to patch the hole—especially before the next rain.

Going back downstairs was just as perilous as it had been going up. This time, however, Emmalyne was more cautious, and she reached the bottom without further problems. She immediately inspected the other two bedrooms. They weren’t much larger than the one upstairs. She determined that the bedroom on the front of the house was a tad smaller and figured that would be Angus’s room. With this in mind, she started in on the other bedroom, knowing her mother and father would expect to take residence there. The room held a collection of odds and ends discarded from the previous tenants. Emmalyne took the castoffs outside and sorted them into stacks. There was always a chance she might find some useful items. Then she checked the water and found it still too cool. It didn’t matter; there was plenty to do before she’d have a chance to wash anything.

If there had been a single bad thing about being left alone, it was that it gave Emmalyne too much time to think. As always, her thoughts drifted to Tavin and the life they might have known together had she not acquiesced to her father.
Fenella had written, begging Emmalyne to change her mind, certain that if Emmalyne gave the word, Tavin would come to the city and rescue her. But Emmalyne had given no such instruction. Then it wasn’t long before Fenella had told her that Tavin had left. No one knew exactly where he was bound or when he might return.

A part of Emmalyne had been relieved. With Tavin’s location unknown to her, she could better fight the urge to give up her promise to her parents. If no one knew where he was, there was no sense in her setting out to find him. At least that’s what Emmalyne told herself. She also tried to convince herself that it was foolish to go on thinking of him—that he was forever out of her life. Unfortunately, her heart told her otherwise.

Looking about, Emmalyne couldn’t help but wonder how close they were to the MacLachlans’ property. She went on to reason that they must surely be within a short walk. Maybe once she’d arranged the house and Mother had adjusted to her new quarters, Emmalyne could make a visit and reestablish her acquaintance with Morna MacLachlan. That is, if Tavin was still gone from the area.

Emmalyne frowned and wrestled with her thoughts. It would be a blessing to see Tavin’s mother again. Maybe Fenella lived nearby, as well. Renewing her friendship with Fenella might make the move back to St. Cloud bearable. The two girls had once been the best of friends, and Emmalyne missed their closeness. But as she imagined the two of them chatting about the years gone by and all they had experienced, Emmalyne suddenly felt less inclined to see her friend again. As little more than a glorified maid to her parents, her life had been dismal and boring at best. She could tell Fenella
about books she’d read and a musical performance or two that she’d once attended with Mother, but life in Minneapolis had not left her with a wealth of pleasant memories. And what if Tavin decided to come home for a visit? Or for good? She shuddered. That would be sheer misery.

Emmalyne turned her focus back on the work to be done. By late afternoon, she was filthy and exhausted. She had eaten the last of her breakfast and had cleared out the two main-floor bedrooms and the front room, as well. The walls cried out for paint and paper, but she doubted Father would spare the coins required for either. A little whitewash would go a long way toward cheering up the little place, however. Perhaps she could spend some of her own precious money for that.

She had just started work in the kitchen when she heard the wagon pull into the yard. Rushing to the door, she was surprised to see the conveyance full of furniture and trunks. Her father appeared from around the side and began to untie a rope.

“Our things came in early,” he explained.

Emmalyne nodded, pleased. “We can just put everything in the front room. I have it cleared out, and that would make a good place to organize it.”

Her father glanced at her. “And what of the bedrooms?”

“Yours and Angus’s are clean. I didn’t worry about mine just yet. There’s a hole in the roof, and I figure Angus will need to climb atop to patch it up.”

“You figured that, did you, sister?” Angus teased from his side of the wagon. “I suppose for some of your good shepherd’s pie, I might be persuaded.”

“And I suppose I might be willing to make that for your supper tomorrow,” she said with a smile. Emmalyne cherished
her brother’s good nature, especially in light of her father’s harsh spirit.

Her father grunted and lowered a huge trunk from the back of the wagon. Hoisting it onto his back as though it weighed very little, he trudged toward the house. Angus picked up a couple of chairs and handed them to Emmalyne.

“I’ll see to the roof momentarily,” he told her.

“And the steps to the porch, perhaps?” she asked hesitantly, her voice low. “It’s quite difficult climbing up and down without them.”

He glanced that way, hand shading his eyes. “Aye. I’ll see to it. I spied a couple of good-sized stones, large and flat, near the barn that might suffice for now. Most likely cut for some similar purpose. I’ll see what I can do about bringing them around.”