Page 33 of Chosen By Swift

Alys looked pained as she admitted, “I don’t know. My mother is pregnant again, and it’s not going well. Polly, my eldest brother’s wife, will help when she can, but she has three little ones at home. Before the slap, Aunt Jimmy would have paid for help but—.”

“The slap?”

“My father struck my aunt.”

“And what did her husband do?” He couldn’t imagine allowing another man to strike his mate.

“Nothing. He’s dead.”

“Oh.”

“But she has nephews, and she’s very wealthy so I suspect my father is going to get a taste of his own bitter medicine soon.” She clasped her hands together and lowered her head. She closed her eyes, and he realized she was praying. He held still as she silently gave thanks, and when she was done, she smiled at him. “Thank you for waiting.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Please,” she gestured toward the food.

He frowned. “No, you go first.”

“Oh, I couldn’t! You’re my husband. You should always be served first.”

“Not in this house.” He remembered what she had said about men being the heads of their households. “In our new family, you go first.”

“But—”

“That’s an order, Alys.”

“Yes, sir.” Her reply was submissive and contrite, but the little smile that played at the corners of her mouth told him she approved of the way he was going to run their home.

After she had filled her plate, he did the same, and they enjoyed their meal together. He asked her questions about the farm and her siblings, making sure not to stray into anything too serious, and she asked him about his family. When she learned his mother was living far away, she showed such compassion and concern. He knewat thatmoment that his mother would adore Alys for her kind heart.

“Once you have the compartment loaded, you close the door, make sure this light turns green and then tap this button to start the cycle,” he said after they finished their meal. “It will wash and dry the dishes in less than thirty minutes.”

“That’s incredible! Imagine if something like this existed for laundry!”

“It does.” He opened the washer/dryer unit concealed behind a wall panel. “It’s the same concept as the dishwashing unit. The detergent refill tubes are inserted here. You load the clothing into the drum. Close the door. Select the correct cycle. Tap this button. Sixty minutes later, you have clean and dry clothes.”

Alys gawked at the appliance. “Does it iron, too?”

“Iron?”

“Press the clothing? Starch?”

“Oh. No. We don’t have those things here.”

“But your uniform pants had creases,” she said, gesturing to his legs.

“The fabric has some kind of treatment on it. I don’t really know how it works,” he admitted. “But it’s heat activated in the drying cycle.”

“How very convenient!” She looked at her hands. “Oh my gosh! I’ll never have chapped, itchy hands again!”

He frowned. “Why would you—?”

“The lye soap,” she explained with a grimace. “It’s murder on skin, but it’s really the only way to get everyone’s laundry clean on the farm.”

“You washed your family’s laundry by hand?”

“Once a week,” she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I start the night before by sorting all the garments and treating any stains. In the morning, I start the water boiling in the laundry shack out back. The vats are usually ready by the time I’m done making breakfast and getting everyone fed. Mama takes over with the little ones, and I spend the morning scrubbing, rinsing and hanging everything out to dry. I leave all the ironing to the evening, after I've made supper and cleaned up the kitchen.”

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