Page 42 of Hank and Elsie
“I notice you aren’t including Mr. Canfield with that bunch.”
“I’m too young to get married,” Elsie said stoutly. She meant every word, even though wishful thoughts about Hank Canfield sometimes drifted into her head before she caught them and banished fanciful ideas of a courtship. “I’m enjoying myself too much working with you.”
“And I with you, my dear. I selfishly support your stance because doing so is to my advantage. Plus, I don’t favor girls getting married so young. The younger you are when you marry, the more children you will bear, risking your life and your heart each time. Why, by thirty you could have ten children!”
“If I’m still alive,” Elsie said bitterly. “Ma’s cousin died birthing her tenth, even though, after number nine, the doctor sternly warned her husband that she shouldn’t have any more.”
Miss Taylor grimaced. “Leaving that selfish husband with ten children to raise,” she said, her tone sharp. “That man’s practically a murderer.”
“Seven,” Elsie corrected. “They lost three along the way.”
Miss Taylor let out a sad sigh. “I shouldn’t be having this conversation with an unmarried young lady.”
“You’re unmarried,” Elsie said pointedly. “Besides, Ma had a similar conversation with me. But only after I told her thatworking for you would keep me from the necessity of marrying early.”
“Well, you can still enjoy Mr. Canfield’s company during the harvest. This will give you a chance to better know his character. Who knows, perhaps you’ll cross him off your list of possible far, far future husbands.”
Even as Elsie laughed in response, she couldn’t help thinking that crossing Hank off that list would prove hard, indeed.
Driving homewith her family in the buckboard, her parents on the seat and Elsie between her siblings, leaning against the tailgate, seemed like traveling back in time to her life a few months ago. Even her clothing was the same. After changing into her former best dress, with a deep breath of freedom, she’d slipped her work shirtwaist and skirt, along with the hated corset, into the patchwork satchel to wear on her return home.
Luckily, her yellow dress still fit. She’d gained some weight with having more abundant meals. But the corset had also molded her waist into a smaller size.
She sent a baleful glance at the bag and promised herself she’d enjoy the relief from tight stays and stiff clothes.Hopefully, Hank won’t fault me for having a real waist that was four inches bigger than he’s previously seen.
Some straw poked the underside of her leg,upper limb, she corrected, and shifted a couple of inches to find a more comfortable spot. She chided herself for missing riding in the cushioned back seat of Dr. Angus’s surrey.
How quickly I became spoiled.Elsie suppressed a smile.Well, I’ll take being spoiled to grubbing on the farm.
Her sister was so focused on readingLittle Womenthat Elsie doubted she was aware of the discomfort of their ride.
Ricky fiddled with a blade of straw, trying to find the correct angle to make a whistling noising.
Usually, Elsie found his preoccupation with making strange sounds annoying, but today, she was still enjoying being with her family. Idly, she wondered how soon the hardships and annoyances of daily living would wear away at that feeling.I’ll try to keep this sense of appreciation going as long as possible.
Glancing at the foot of the wagon, she eyed the patchwork satchel containing her belongings and Pa’s boots, tucked into the corner next to the basket full of supplies. In addition to more prosaic items, Ma had purchased two cans of peaches, some dried cherries, and, surprisingly,whitesugar and flour, an almost unheard-of treat.
I made that possible.
Elsie sniffed to see if she could catch a whiff of cinnamon, a spice that they seldom could afford. But she only inhaled the familiar smell of dust and dry grass.
Still basking with pride, Elsie remembered placing the knotted handkerchief holding her wages into her father’s hand.
Pa opened the knot of the handkerchief and glanced at the money, before carefully picking out the coins and putting them into his pocket.
He gave her back her handkerchief. “We’ll be able to buy supplies at the mercantile, paying cash.” His half-smile crinkled the lines around his eyes, inviting her to share in the relief of not owing the Cobbs more credit. “Your Ma wanted some extra victuals for that man of yours.”
“He’s not my man,” Elsie protested, feeling her cheeks heat.
“We’ll see.” Her father cleared his throat, obviously setting aside sentiment. “We’d best be going. We have a lot to do to prepare for the harvest.”
With a snap, Mary closed the book. “Trying to read with all this jolting is making me ill.”
“Silly one. What did you expect?” Elsie took the book from her. “I shouldn’t have given you this until we were home.”
“Once we’re home, Ma will have us busy from morn to night, and there will be no time for reading,” Mary complained, although she kept her voice down so their parents wouldn’t hear. “What if I don’t finish the story before you have to return the book to Mrs. Gordon?”
“That’s the nice thing about a book. The story will be there, waiting. I’m sure Mrs. Gordon will let me borrow it again.”
