Eden. Carolyn Davidson

reinforced his promise to her. That he would not harm her, that she would suffer no injury at his hand.

      “Look at me, Katie.” He could have forced her to turn on her heel and face him, and indeed, she expected him to. But instead he only waited. And then his second hand touched her arm, a presence so gentle she could not move from it. She released the hold she had on the sink and moved to obey him.

      “Relax, Katie,” he whispered. “I only want to talk to you about our living arrangements. And since I seem to be in charge tonight, I’ll make the decisions and tomorrow you can let me know if you see things differently than I. Will that suit you?”

      She blinked furiously in an attempt to halt the tears that ran unimpeded down her cheeks and he smiled, then bent and pressed his lips against her forehead. A relief she had not thought to feel swept over her then and she recognized that he was being most patient with her emotional state. Her forehead felt the impression of his mouth, there where his lips had touched her so briefly, and she searched her memory for such a thing happening in her life.

      “No one’s ever kissed me before, John. Like you just did, I mean. Maybe when I was little, for I think I remember a lady who held me on her lap, but not in a lot of years.”

      His mouth opened as if he searched for words to speak and then he shook his head, telling her of what would happen. “I’ve taken your new clothes in the bedroom, Katie. The bundle is on the floor, but I put your nightgown on the end of the bed. I want you to get undressed and wrap yourself in the quilt that’s on my bed, and then come back out here. All right?” He waited then, his patience seemingly unending and his lips curved again, his eyes kind as he watched her for her response.

      “Yes, all right.” It was all she could manage, but it seemed to satisfy him. He nodded and released her, turning her toward the other room, where the bed lay in shadow. She stepped over the threshold slowly, and then stiffened her spine. John had been clear on this matter, and all she must do was as he asked. Get undressed and wrapped in the quilt he’d offered.

      The man had told her the lay of the land and she might as well do as she’d been told. After all, she didn’t see that she had much choice anyway. And if he’d wanted to hurt her, he could have already done so. For there was within her a fear of anything masculine, and if nothing else, John Roper was just that. A man. A man who was capable of bringing harm to her if he so chose.

      Her chin lifted, her pride coming to the forefront and she sat on the edge of the bed, easing her heavy shoes from her feet. Then she bent and slid her stockings off, unwilling to wear the heavy things another minute. Tomorrow would be time enough to wash her underclothing. Perhaps the man had a washtub and some soap. And it would be none too soon, for her underclothing was the same she had put on three days ago, the Schrader family not being much on clean clothes or bodies.

      Her mind traveled rapidly to the new clothing he’d bought for her and she smiled with a quick lightening of her spirits. She’d have new underthings to wear tomorrow, those soft leather shoes and even brand-new stockings. Her old things could be washed up and put aside for an emergency, but tomorrow she would wear soft new undergarments next to her body and dress as a lady.

      It had been a bone of contention during the years of her life that Katie had taken every opportunity to wash herself and her belongings, and had taken much abuse because of her high-falutin’ ways, as Mrs. Schrader had said. Now, perhaps she would have hot water and soap available on a regular basis and her body would be as clean as a scrub rag could make it. That thought alone was enough to cheer her and she smiled.

      Glancing up at the kitchen as she rose from the mattress she caught sight of John as he locked the back door, then turned down the oil lamp over the table. The glow from the wood-burning stove gave substance to his form as he crossed to the bedroom door.

      “Shall I light a candle? Or can you make out what you’re doing in there?” He halted, hesitating in the doorway and she paused in the unbuttoning she had begun, her dress open down the front, her chemise exposed.

      “I’ve undressed in the dark my whole life, John Roper. There’s enough light from the window and that fireplace out there to see what I’m doing, and I suspect there’s a slop jar in the corner where the washstand is.”

      “You’re right on both counts, Katie. There’s towels and washrags over there in the drawer beneath the bowl and pitcher. Help yourself.” He went to the kitchen sink then, pumping water easily, filling a cup and drinking from it as he waited for her to make ready for the night.

      The washrag smelled clean and she poured some water into the bowl provided and sloshed the rag in it, then rubbed his bar of soap on it, wrung it out and used it on her face and reaching beneath the bodice of her dress, used it beneath her arms, not willing to carry the scent of her perspiration into bed with her. A matter of pride she supposed, but she’d smelled the odor of unwashed bodies for years and if it was in her power, she would not allow her own to be of that ilk.

      In moments, she had rinsed the cloth in the water and repeated the journey it had taken over her face and arms, removing the soap readily. The towel was rough, but she was used to such things and it took only moments to prepare for bed. Using the slop jar was beyond her right now, for there was no screen or any way to hide her doings from him and she could not bring herself to be so familiar.

      “Can I use the outhouse?” It was the most difficult thing she’d ever had to request, but he didn’t appear to be shocked, only murmured a different solution.

      “I’ll stay out in the kitchen a little longer and close the bedroom door. You can use the facilities over in the corner. I’d just as soon not send you outside again tonight, but you’re welcome to your privacy, Katie.”

      He was as good as his word and did as he’d suggested, leaving her to tend to her duties hastily before he should return, the few minutes long enough for her to don the nightgown he’d bought for her. She’d barely pulled it down over her body, admiring the soft fabric and the small pearl buttons marching down the front placket, when he rapped on the door and then opened it, making a small production of entering the room, as if he would give her warning of his coming.

      She grasped the quilt he’d offered and wrapped it around herself, then walked past him into the other room, heading for the couch he’d offered for her use. She slid quickly atop the firm surface, forming a cocoon of the quilt.

      “All set?” He stood in the doorway between the two rooms, and asked the question softly. “There’s a pillow here for you to use, Katie,” he offered and approached carefully, tossing the pillow to where she lay.

      “Thank you. I appreciate that,” she told him, watching as he went back into his bedroom, listening as she heard the bed creak beneath his weight. Whether he undressed or not, she did not know, for she turned her face to the back of the couch, her head on the pillow he’d given her, and closed her eyes.

      “I’ve never had so nice a pillow.” The words came from her lips before she thought twice and she grimaced as she thought of how foolish she must sound. As if a pillow was a thing of great importance. Yet it was true. The feathers that filled the pillow beneath her head provided a luxurious place to rest and she was grateful.

      From the bedroom, John’s laugh was soft, and she was aghast at her own words. He must think her foolish.

      But apparently he was not surprised by her words for he spoke readily. “Berta, the housekeeper in the big house made me the set when I moved into this cabin, just the other day,” he said. “She dug up the towels and quilts for me, too, and the canned things you saw in the kitchen cabinet.”

      His voice carried to her and she turned over on the couch, forming an answer. “She must be a nice lady.”

      John chuckled. “She is, but no one would dare to call her nice to her face. She puts on a big front, snapping and snarling at the men when they come in for meals. Her biggest gripe is dirt on the floor, and woe betide the man who comes to the table with his hat on. She’s a great one for manners, Berta is, for all that she’s gruff and picky.”

      “She sounds