Page 81 of Winterset
“Thank you, Mr. Jennings. For the supplies, the sweets, for everything.”
“It was nothing.”
“Not to me.” I held his gaze, hoping to convey just how much this meant to me. How much I appreciated these gifts, how much I appreciatedhim. But I held his gaze a moment too long, and it felt almost intimate. My cheeks warmed with embarrassment, and I looked away. “When can we get started on the wall?”
“Whenever you would like,” he said.
“Now. I wish to start now.”
“Then we will. I must warn you, though, that it will take at least a day of preparation to remove the ruined papers and rotted wood and likely another day to replace it with good wood.”
“Why, Mr. Jennings, that sounds like a challenge. If we all work together—you, me, Bexley, Charlie, and Mrs. Owensby—I believe we can have it done by dusk.”
“Dusk?” He shook his head. “Perhaps by dawn,ifwe work all night.”
“Then we better get started immediately,” I said.
Mr. Jennings smiled fully, the dimple in his chin making a rare appearance. “Yes, we’d better. I will get the others so we can get started.”
Oliver
“You were right,” I saidto Miss Lockwood, amazed. “I did not think it possible, but you were right.” It had taken the five of us all day, but we had done it: we’d stripped the old papers off the wall, removed and replaced the rotted wood around the window, and even rehung the plain wall papers, and all by dusk.
Miss Lockwood grinned up at me. “Honestly, I didn’t think it was possible either, but I am thrilled that we did.”
“As am I. It will take some time for the papers to dry, but you should be able to start painting them in a day or two.”
“I can’t wait!” She clapped her hands excitedly.
“In the meantime, are you ready for dinner?”
She glanced down at her dress and then at me. “Not in the least.” She laughed, pulling scraps of wall paper off her dress and out of her hair. “And ... neither are you.”
I looked down at my shirt sleeves and waistcoat. I’d removed my coat earlier so I would not ruin it. Curled pieces of the wall paper looked an awful lot like feathers. “Why did you not tell me I looked like a half-plucked chicken?” I ruffled my fingers through my hair, and so many scraps fell to the ground that it looked like it was snowing.
“You don’t,” she giggled.
“Oh, don’t I?”
“No, you look more like you are molting,” she said, and I shook my head at her, smiling. “Iamquite hungry though.”
“So am I. What do you say we throw propriety out our newly fixed window and eat dinner as we are?” I suggested, wanting to preserve the easiness we’d built between us.
“Yes!Please.”
I offered her my arm, and she readily took it. Progress.
In the dining hall, a simple dinner was already set on the table: finger sandwiches and fruit. Mrs. Owensby had worked alongside us most of the day, so something quick and simple was just the thing.
Famished, we sat and served ourselves.
“Mm,” Miss Lockwood moaned. “Finger sandwiches have never tasted so good.”
“Delicious,” I agreed, and then neither of us said anything more until we’d had our fill.
Usually, Miss Lockwood excused herself as soon as she finished eating, but tonight, she sat back in her chair with a satiated smile.
I did not want to hope, but perhaps she was not ready to bid me good night. It was not late. And although I was physically exhausted, I was not mentally tired. I tried to think of something we might do together so she would linger with me a little longer. “Would you care to join me for a game of ... chess?” I proposed the first two-person game that came to mind.
