Page 41 of Hank and Elsie
“That’s enough,” Mrs. Bailey snapped, her expression tight. She glanced at Miss Taylor and then at Hank in apology. “I promise, I’ve brought them up better.”
Miss Taylor set down her teacup and sent Mrs. Bailey a reassuring smile. “I do believe an American virtue is honesty, which your children obviously have in abundance.”
Mrs. Bailey’s expression eased into a smile. “I suppose so.” She glanced around the room and sighed before looking at Elsie. “I know it will be hard to leave here, Daughter. But we truly do need you.”
“I know, Ma. I don’t mind. There will still be time to complete both harvests before I must return to town for the Harvest Festival. Miss Taylor expects me to help with her booth.”
Her parents exchanged glances. “Very well,” Ma said. “Ifwe’ve finished bringing in the crops, we’ll attend the Harvest Festival, too. But, Elsie, that’s anif.”
The dismayed expression on Elsie’s face made Hank volunteer. “I can help you out. If you don’t have someplace to put me, I can sleep in the hayloft.”
Every eye turned his way.
Mr. Bailey made an up-and-down motion to indicate Hank’s Sunday attire. “You sure about that? It’s dirty, backbreaking labor.”
“Honest labor. My neighbors and I have only large gardens and small crops of animal feed. We three take about a day’s labor at each one’s place. I can come after that.”
Mr. Bailey glanced upward, as if checking out the sky. “Can’t rightly turn you down, Mr. Canfield. Getting all our crops in faster will surely make a big difference to our family.”
Mrs. Baily gave Hank a speculative look.
Yes, ma’am, I’m interested in courting your daughter.Not that he said so, of course. He knew better than to overplay his hand with Elsie.
“We can make up a pallet for you, Mr. Canfield. There’s no need to sleep in the barn.”
Hank could tell by the stiffness of her words that the family might not have bedding to spare.Well, this time of year, they probably had blankets enough, but not sheets.“Tell you what. I’ll bring my own blanket roll, and all you have to supply is some straw.”
Mrs. Bailey’s face relaxed. “Well then. Won’t be the most private or comfortable of accommodations. But we’ll do our best to make you welcome.”
One glance at Elsie’s shining eyes was enough of a reward for Hank. Helping the Baileys with their harvest would surely give him some courting time.
In October,the Saturday evening before she was to leave town, Elsie was in her room packing for her return home. She’d laid out her old clothes on the bed, intending to give Mary her Sunday dress. Same for her undergarments and old shoes. She’d work the harvest in the old clothes she’d left at home and bring along the forest-green apron she’d recently made.
She looked down at her feet and lifted her skirts a bit to admire the new high button boots, and then turned her foot to the side to view the small heels that elevated her height an inch. She’d purchased them at the mercantile after being paid by Mrs. Sanders for her embroidery work and receiving her wages from Miss Taylor. Even better, she had enough money left to buy the boots for her father.
Her glee at her new footwear hadn’t worn off, to the point that wearing them made her want to take dance steps instead of doing the sedate glide she’d been practicing. Here, in the privacy of her room, she could do a twirl and sashay before running out of space and laughing at her own silliness.
She glanced at the coins for her father knotted in her handkerchief and carefully placed in the middle of the small table. She’d wrestled with her conscience when she received the embroidery money, torn between giving her parents half or buying the boots, herself.
After consulting Miss Taylor about the thorny dilemma, the two agreed that since Elsie had only promised them half her wages,andthe embroidery money was earned on the side,andsince she was using the funds to purchase the boots, for which purpose Pa would have taken her money, anyway, her actions would not be morally incorrect.
Her gaze traveled to the new satchel she’d fashioned to hold all the items she was taking. She’d used three layers of burlap to make a large bag with a sturdy shoulder strap. Then she’d taken discarded scraps of fabric and pieced them together like a crazy quilt to completely cover the burlap and added a drawstring. Miss Taylor had praised Elsie for her ingenuity in creating a colorful and practical bag from what was usually throwaway items.
Elsie had also crafted a muslin bag to protect the boots, which she then placed into her satchel. She’d rolled her nice undergarments and tucked them inside, before wrapping the shirtwaist and skirt around them.
Miss Taylor tapped on the doorframe. “I have something for you.” She held up a pair of leather gloves. “You don’t owe me anything for these,” she hastily added. “I was trying to fashion work gloves for ladies.” She grimaced. “My first experiment, working with the thicker leather challenged all my skills. So, I’m afraid these are full of extra pin holes and the middle finger on each is slightly lopsided. But I think I’ve figured it out now for the future.” She handed Elsie the gloves.
“Oh, Miss Taylor,” Elsie said on a breath, examining the workmanship of the gloves. Only by peering closely could she see the slight slant of the middle fingers. She looked up with a grin. “Your idea and my idea oflopsidedare quite different.”
Miss Taylor chuckled. “I know, I’m a perfectionist. But I figured there are ladies who work the land and other heavy chores who might want to protect their hands, so we could sell a lot. It’s worth offering.”
Elsie slid them on and flexed her fingers, relieved the loose fit meant they didn’t restrict her movements. The leather was thicker and a bit coarser than the gloves Miss Taylor imported from Chicago.
“After finally having soft hands from using your lanolin cream every night, I desperately need these. Thank you. I wasn’t looking forward to blisters and then rough skin that would snag on fragile fabric and trim.”
“Sewing isn’t the only time a lady wants soft hands,” Miss Taylor teased. “Now that you’ve caught the eye of Hank Canfield, not to mention those cowboys who’ve been shyly smiling and tipping their hats to you on Sundays….”
Elsie’s cheeks heated. “Thank goodness, those cowboys are too tongue-tied to approach me. I’m not interested in any of them.”
