Thick, gray-black smoke spiraled up from the burning rag and crept along the ceiling. She waved it aside and peered into the hole. The smallest stick had caught on fire. Things were looking good.
Whistling at her success, she ambled around the cluttered kitchen, looking for a cookbook. She took this search
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considerably more seriously than she had her inspection for paper, and opened one cupboard after another. Next she tried the drawers. When she found herself lifting up the silverware to see what was underneath, she knew she was getting panicky.
There were no cookbooks.
How in the hell was she supposed to cook without instructions?
She flung the pantry door open and stared into the neatly aligned shelves. That sinking feeling immediately came back into her gut. The food was in industrial-sized sacks, stacked one after another and tied up with fraying rope. And jars. There were hundreds of glass jars brimming with colorful globs that reminded her of an eighth-grade science lab. Each jar proudly bore a date?as if people chose food by date rather than content.
Anxiety began to unravel Tess's self-confidence. She squeezed her eyes shut and sought divine help. Okay, I believe in reincarnation. So ESP must be real, too. Mom, give me a recipe. Or you, Carol. Come on, don't be shy. Jump on in.
Long minutes passed. No one answered.
Apparently deceased relatives and guardian angels were like cops. There was never one around when you needed them.
She opened her eyes. A thick sack of flour filled her vision.
Flour. Okay, what did a person make with flour?
Bread. She dismissed that idea immediately. She may not have been a great cook, but she'd been a world-class shopper. Bread makers sold for two hundred dollars? anything that expensive had to alleviate a ton of hard labor. She had to start small.
Small bread. Biscuits! She could do that.
Smiling broadly, she got out everything she thought she
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needed?flour, salt, eggs, and milk. She plopped the ingredients on the table and got to work.
Two hours later, she had five carefully cut out, pancake-sized circles of dough scattered amidst a mountain of flour. Grimacing, she pinched off a section from the biggest one and tasted it. The dough hit her stomach like a lead balloon.
"No more," she mumbled, feeling decidedly ill. She was through taste-testing. This was batch number six, and there was enough dough in her gut to make a large pizza.
She didn't care if the biscuits tasted like shoe leather. She was done. Period.
She backhanded the sheen of sweat from her brow and tucked a flour-coated lock of hair behind her ear. Straightening, she set down the rolling pin and clapped the excess flour from her hands. For the first time in two hours, she looked up from the table.
And winced. The kitchen was ... trashed. There was no other word for it. Dozens of pots and pans were strewn across the floor, their existence forgotten as she'd searched for a cookie sheet. Flour covered the table and lay like a dusting of new-fallen snow on the floorboards. Smoke clung to the ceiling.
Cooking, apparently, was a dirty business.
Oh, well, she thought. You didn't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Turning back to the now hot stove, she dragged a huge cast-iron pot toward her. It bumped and scraped and clanked atop the metal stovetop.
She lifted the lid and tossed in the potatoes, onions, and preserved carrots she'd cut up earlier. Setting the lid down carefully alongside the pot, she filled the pot to the top with water, added salt from the box alongside the stove, and dropped in the haunch of meat she'd found in the mesh container hanging above the dry sink.
She watched it simmer for a few moments, then shoved
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her hands in her apron pockets and slowly turned around. The magnitude of the mess struck her again, and she winced. It made her tired just looking at the chaos around her.
Sighing, she walked over to the table and slumped on the hard wooden seat. She knew that if she didn't do something?and fast?she'd fall asleep right there and then.
Tiredly she pushed to her feet, grabbed two buckets from beneath the dry sink, and headed outside.
Her breath caught at the beauty of the afternoon. Lush grass rolled out from the house and dropped gently toward the sea. Thousands of wildflowers peeked colorful faces up from the rolling, golden-green grass. Far below, the steel-blue water of Haro Strait sparkled. Sunlight gilded the softly rustling leaves of the oak tree.
She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of springtime. Birds chirped, wind whistled, leaves fluttered, bees buzzed. To Tess, so many years in silence, it was like the finest of symphonies. Nothing in Carnegie Hall could be so grand.
Humming, she ambled lazily toward the cistern and threw back the heavy wooden lid. Clear blue-green water caught the sunlight and sparkled up at her.
It took her forever to fill and heat sixteen buckets of water, but when she returned to the kitchen and poured the last bucketful into the full-length copper tub she'd found in the shed, she knew it had all been worth it.
She stripped out of her waistless nursing gown and tossed it over the nearest chair, eagerly climbing into the tub.
The water was barely more than lukewarm, but it felt heavenly just the same. She scrubbed her hair and body with lavender-scented soap until her skin tingled and glowed. Then she rested her head on the tub's copper rim
g4 and closed her eyes. She'd just relax for a few minutes before she had to clean the kitchen-----
Before she knew it, she was asleep.
Chapter Seven
Jack was dead tired as he climbed the sagging steps to the house. At the closed door, he stopped, trying to find the icy numbness he would need to deal with Amarylis. It was difficult?he was so damn tired?but he kept trying, searching his soul for the shield of detachment he needed so desperately with his wife. Steeling himself, he yanked the door open and strode inside, running right into the copper bathing tub. An echoing clang echoed through the humid room.
Jack looked down. His blood immediately ran cold.
Amarylis was asleep in the tub, her arms draped casually on either side, her knuckles resting on the wooden floor. Moonlight-pale hair cascaded all around her, puddling on the floor in swirling, touchable pools. And her skin. Sweet Jesus, her skin ...
The pink outline of her nipples shimmered through the colorless water. Desire flashed hot and hard through his body. God, how he remembered the feel of her flesh, how pliable and warm and willing she'd once been.
The door slipped out of his nerveless fingers and banged against the wall with a loud thwack.
She came awake with a start. "What? Huh?"
That's when Jack noticed the kitchen. He latched on to anger as a preferable emotion to desire. "Christ Almighty!"
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"Jack?" she said sleepily. "It must be you. I'd know that pleasant voice anywhere."
"It looks like a cannonball landed in here. What in the hell are you doing?"
"Jack!" This time his name was a shriek, as if she'd just realized she was naked in the tub. She flung herself sideways and grabbed a towel, plastering it to her body.
"What are you doing?" he demanded again.
She got slowly to her feet, the damp towel clamped protectively across her body. "Cooking."
"You can't cook."
"You can say that again."
"I said you can't?"
She burst out laughing. "I didn't mean it literally, Jack."
"Goddamn it, Amarylis, you know I hate a mess."
She sobered instantly and looked at him. He tried to shield the desire in his gaze, but he had a sick, certain feeling that she'd seen it. She eased her death grip on the towel and stepped toward him. "You're afraid," she said quietly, her voice filled with wonder.
Jack stiffened and tried to retreat, but his feet felt nailed to the floor. He
stood there, breath held. His senses were so alive, so sensitive, he heard each droplet of water as it streamed down her naked legs and plopped in the bathwater. The quiet, quickened strains of her breathing stabbed through his midsection like hot needles, making him shiver and want and ache.
He riveted his gaze beyond her, staring dull-eyed at the stove. He forced himself to remain perfectly still, even though his skin felt too tight for his body, and he wanted desperately to run.
The touch was so soft, he barely noticed it at first. But when he did, the gentle caress felt like a slap. He grabbed her hand and yanked it away from his face. "Stop it," he said in an embarrassingly husky voice.
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Her eyes captured his, held his gaze in a fire-hot'grip. "I think I guessed that about you."
Her voice, so soft and edged in the memory of the South, slid down his chest and landed hard in his groin. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.
"About hating messes, I mean," she went on. "You're the kind of person who slaps a coat of paint on a crumbling wall and calls it new."
The clean lavender scent of her wreathed him, lulled him. His damp palms tingled with the need to touch her, to feel the silky softness of her skin.
"Not me," she whispered, never once taking her gaze from his eyes. "I might make a mess?a hell of a one, actually?but when I'm done, there's a brand-new wall. Strong and lasting."
Jack felt as if he were being sucked over the edge of a huge, crumbling precipice. Any moment, if he didn't break away, he'd go tumbling into the fathomless brown depths of her eyes, and he'd never come out alive. The realization gave him a surge of strength. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her backward enough to hold her at arm's length. "Clean up your goddamn mess." "Okay."
Her easy acquiescence unnerved him. Frowning, he added, "And don't go around building any walls, either." She smiled enigmatically. "Don't worry, Jack. Apparently I have to tear down a few first."
Hours later, after the kitchen was clean, Tess stood beneath the oak tree with Caleb in her arms, waiting for the girls to come home from school. A cool late afternoon breeze ruffled through the grass and plucked at her skirt hem. The crisp springtime scents of freshly turned soil, new grass, and blooming flowers filled the air.
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But, for once, the beauty didn't capture Tess's attention. She couldn't stop thinking about her confrontation with Jack.
She rocked Caleb gently in her arms, moving in time with the whistling cant of the wind.
Something had happened today with Jack. Something she'd never expected. When he'd walked in on her, she'd felt ... sexy.
Tess had been many things in her life, done many things. She was no virgin, but neither had she ever felt really comfortable with her sexuality. She'd always thought it was because she wasn't pretty, or because her deafness made intimacy difficult.
Today Jack had set her to wondering about all that. From the moment their eyes had met, it was as if she'd been struck by lightning. Strong, undeniable sexual currents had been loosed in the room, splaying back and forth between them like a live wire. She knew Amarylis was physically pretty; she'd seen that in the mirror. But that didn't mean a whole lot to Tess. She'd learned long ago that beauty was on the inside.
But today, in Jack's eyes, she'd seen her own beauty. Seen her own desirability.
It stunned her even now to realize how much that meant to her. How it had made her feel. Without even thinking, she'd been on her feet, clutching that ridiculous cotton towel to her dripping body as if it protected her modesty.
His eyes had drawn her, left her powerless to resist their dark, hypnotic pull. It shouldn't have surprised her, this deep, almost primal attraction to Jack, but somehow it had. All along she'd thought she was drawn to his pain or his heartache or his need. Now she saw the truth: she was drawn to something deeper, something beyond the pain. To the man himself.
For the first time she'd seen him not as a father, or a
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man in pain, or an adversary. Today he'd been simply a man. And she hadn't been the pudgy, frightened deaf loner, or the makeshift mother to his children. She'd been just a woman, moving toward a man who attracted her.
She'd moved with a grace she'd never before possessed, looked at him with a seductive strength she'd never even imagined.
And when she'd touched him?a simple, nothing little brush of skin on skin that lasted no longer than a heartbeat?she felt as if she'd touched fire.
What on earth had possessed her? She knew he hated his wife, had known it from the moment he first looked at her.
But now she knew something else; something dangerous and surprising and more than a little frightening. He wanted her.
And even more frightening was the fact that she wanted him, too. "Mama!"
The shrieked word ripped Tess from her daydream. She brought her head up and saw Savannah and Katie skidding to a stop in front of her.
"M-Mama," Savannah said again, twisting her lard tin's steel handle. "What are you doing out here?"
Katie stumbled in her haste to hide behind her sister's skirts. Cautiously she peered around Savannah's elbow.
"I don't know," Tess said. "It was just so pretty, I thought I'd get some fresh air before supper."
Savannah blanched. "Oh, I'll get started right n?" "The stew's on." The girls gasped.
Tess laughed. "I don't know how it'll taste, but I decided to try cooking. Why don't you girls go have some fun? I'll call you when it's time to wash up." Neither one of them moved.
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Finally Savannah said, "How?"
The question caught Tess off guard. Startled, she looked at the girls. Their sad, frightened eyes tore at Tess's heart. If only she could ease their pain, help them. But how? She'd never spent much time with children. She'd probably say something wrong and botch the whole thing. It was undoubtedly better to hang back and study the situation a bit more before diving into the fray.
Then it struck her. She was their mother. It didn't matter to them that Tess didn't know the first thing about parenting. All they knew was that they were lonely and afraid, and neither of their parents seemed to care. Until now.
Tentatively she said, "H-How about if we go pick some wildflowers together?"
Surprise widened Savannah's blue eyes. "Really?"
Tess knew instantly that she'd done the right thing. "Yes, really."
They started to come toward Tess.
"Wait," she said.
They froze. Fear rounded their eyes.
Tess winced. What had Jack and Amarylis done to these girls to make them so damned afraid? Smiling softly, she said, "You can leave your books and lunch pails here. That's the first rule of having fun. You need your hands free."
They went to the porch and plunked their lard tins and books down on the bottom step. Then, slowly, they turned around.
Tess smiled with a new sense of confidence. "Okay, let's go."
She tried to keep up a steady stream of banter as she led the girls through the sheep pasture. The indigo rays of a late afternoon sun glanced off the grass hillside, illuminating dozens of multicolored flowers. A soft breeze came up from the Straits, ruffling the tall grass.
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"That's a wild rose," she said, pointing to a scraggly little bush that was just beginning to bud. "I'll have to pull that up and plant it by the house. That way we'll be able to see the flowers when we sit on the porch at night."
"We ain't never sat on the porch at night," Savannah said matter-of-factly.
"Well, that's about to change. Oh! Look!" Tess clutched Caleb more tightly and hurried toward the small cluster of maple trees up ahead. "What?"
"Come on." Tess bent down and found a few maple seedcases. The girls closed ranks around her. Frowning, they watched as she picked through the winged seedcases for just the right ones and then stood. Shifting Caleb to her left arm, she flicked a seedcase
into the air. The boomerang-shaped seed whirled and danced in the night breeze like a helicopter before it floated slowly to the grass.
"Here." She placed some in the girls' hands.
Savannah stared down at the seeds in her palm. "You want me to throw them in the air? Why?"
"It's fun."
Savannah frowned. "Oh."
Tess took another seedcase and flicked it hard to the right. It twirled around and hit Tess in the eye. "Aagh!" She clamped a hand over her eye and slumped dramatically to the ground.
Savannah and Katie rushed to her side. "Mama! Are you all right?"
Tess grinned up at them. "Of course I am." There was a moment of stunned quiet before the girls burst into laughter. Tess felt a surge of happiness at the sound. She knew then why the sound had always stayed with her, even in the muted darkness of her deafness.
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Grinning, she got to her feet. "Okay, see that tree down there? Let's see who can hit it."
Savannah and Katie giggled and sidled beside Tess. And the Seed-twirling Olympics began in earnest.
Later, Tess smoothed out the beautifully embroidered tablecloth and carefully set the blue earthenware plates and silverware in just the right spots. A lightning jar full of purple and pink wildflowers sat in the exact center of the table. Dented tin containers of salt and pepper flanked the jar.
Everything was perfect.
Whistling softly, she turned and went into the bedroom. Opening the armoire, she stared at the clothing lined up so neatly inside.
She wanted to find something special to wear. After the wonderful time she'd had with the girls, she felt unexpectedly hopeful about this life. She was fitting in, and she was beginning to make a difference. Tonight would be their first family dinner, and she wanted to look her best.
The first thing she pulled out was a pair of ankle-length muslin pants with a drawstring waist and no crotch.
"Pretty racy," she muttered, dropping them on the floor.
Next came an hourglass-shaped, boned corset just the right size for a Barbie doll. The corset hit the floor next to the pants. She would not be squeezing her postpartum body into that thing.
As she pulled out garment after garment, Tess became increasingly aware of two things: One, none of the dresses would fit her unless she wore the corset, and two, women in 1873 were supposed to be uncomfortable.