Read Online A Bride Most Begrudging by Deeanne Gist - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Deeanne Gist
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rag?”
“Hanging there, on that peg.”
Walking to the peg, she snatched up the bucket and rag. Off the shelf, she removed the soap and dropped the coarse yellowed block into the bucket. “A drying cloth?”
He retrieved a cloth from another peg.
“It’s wet.”
He nodded. “You have to rise early if you want first use of the drying cloth.”
First use? “May I slip on my old skirt before embarking on my excursion, O Great One?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You may.”
Zigzagging her gaze between him and the door, she waited. The dolt simply presented his back to her.
Setting her cloth, bucket, and fresh dress on the table, she slipped on the skirt. Drawing close, Mary silently placed a small wrapped bundle inside Constance’s bucket. The sweet aroma of fresh bread surrounded the girls.
Constance glanced quickly at Drew. His back was still turned. Grandma bent over the bed tightening its ropes. Sally watched the women with unabashed curiosity, while Constance and Mary shared a smile.
Scooping up the items on the table, Constance marched out of the cottage.
————
Standing ankle deep in the creek, Constance sluiced the bucket of water over her with an invigorating rush, then lathered her hair and body for the third time. She didn’t care if the crude soap stripped off her skin; she wanted no residue from that wretched ship left on her person.
She poured water down her body several more times, then stood with eyes closed, cataloging each part of herself. She felt a droplet of water slide down her neck, hit the upper swell of her breast, then plummet through the valley between. Placing her hands against her ribs, she grimaced at the ease with which she could delineate each one. Pressing her hands lower, she tested the flatness of her stomach, then stopped and circled around her hips and thighs. Yes, she’d lost a considerable amount of poundage, but she was clean. Blessedly clean.
Making her way to the bank, she retrieved her cloth from the bush, dried her face, then raised her chin. The sun wrapped its rays around her, enveloping her with warmth.
Never had she bathed in the daylight hours, much less out in the open. After the dark confinement of the ship, it was precisely the catharsis she needed. Not only did it give her an unprecedented sense of freedom, but it made her feel as if she were sharing this Eden with God Almighty himself.
She smiled. The thought of bathing every day wasn’t nearly as daunting as it had been last night. With a satisfied sigh, she wrapped her hair up in the cloth and reached for the dress.
Unlike the dresses she was accustomed to, this homespun frock was all one piece. The sleeved bodice had been sewn directly onto the skirt, and there was no chemise at all, nor was there need of one. She slipped it on, and though the crude material grated against her skin, never was she more appreciative of a gown. No matter that the sleeves hung below her hands or the hem drug on the ground. The cut of its bodice covered every inch of her while its cleanliness and open-air scent intoxicated her.
She wondered whose it was, then tenderly rolled up the sleeves and made a cursory effort at drying her abundance of hair. It was a useless endeavor. She threw the cloth back over a nearby bush.
At the creek’s edge, she wrung out her wash cloth, watching the leftover suds butt up against the bank before scattering and eventually dissipating.
Finding a soft patch of fragrant grasses, she lay down, fanned out her curls, and studied this wilderness called America. A duck squawked at his companion and then dove beneath the water while a bird hovered above the surface, snatching the food away just as the duck reappeared.
She frowned. He should work for his own supper instead of stealing someone else’s. She quickly shied away from that thought, but not quickly enough. Not before it transformed for a fraction of a second into When have you ever worked for your own supper?
She hastily rolled
“Hanging there, on that peg.”
Walking to the peg, she snatched up the bucket and rag. Off the shelf, she removed the soap and dropped the coarse yellowed block into the bucket. “A drying cloth?”
He retrieved a cloth from another peg.
“It’s wet.”
He nodded. “You have to rise early if you want first use of the drying cloth.”
First use? “May I slip on my old skirt before embarking on my excursion, O Great One?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You may.”
Zigzagging her gaze between him and the door, she waited. The dolt simply presented his back to her.
Setting her cloth, bucket, and fresh dress on the table, she slipped on the skirt. Drawing close, Mary silently placed a small wrapped bundle inside Constance’s bucket. The sweet aroma of fresh bread surrounded the girls.
Constance glanced quickly at Drew. His back was still turned. Grandma bent over the bed tightening its ropes. Sally watched the women with unabashed curiosity, while Constance and Mary shared a smile.
Scooping up the items on the table, Constance marched out of the cottage.
————
Standing ankle deep in the creek, Constance sluiced the bucket of water over her with an invigorating rush, then lathered her hair and body for the third time. She didn’t care if the crude soap stripped off her skin; she wanted no residue from that wretched ship left on her person.
She poured water down her body several more times, then stood with eyes closed, cataloging each part of herself. She felt a droplet of water slide down her neck, hit the upper swell of her breast, then plummet through the valley between. Placing her hands against her ribs, she grimaced at the ease with which she could delineate each one. Pressing her hands lower, she tested the flatness of her stomach, then stopped and circled around her hips and thighs. Yes, she’d lost a considerable amount of poundage, but she was clean. Blessedly clean.
Making her way to the bank, she retrieved her cloth from the bush, dried her face, then raised her chin. The sun wrapped its rays around her, enveloping her with warmth.
Never had she bathed in the daylight hours, much less out in the open. After the dark confinement of the ship, it was precisely the catharsis she needed. Not only did it give her an unprecedented sense of freedom, but it made her feel as if she were sharing this Eden with God Almighty himself.
She smiled. The thought of bathing every day wasn’t nearly as daunting as it had been last night. With a satisfied sigh, she wrapped her hair up in the cloth and reached for the dress.
Unlike the dresses she was accustomed to, this homespun frock was all one piece. The sleeved bodice had been sewn directly onto the skirt, and there was no chemise at all, nor was there need of one. She slipped it on, and though the crude material grated against her skin, never was she more appreciative of a gown. No matter that the sleeves hung below her hands or the hem drug on the ground. The cut of its bodice covered every inch of her while its cleanliness and open-air scent intoxicated her.
She wondered whose it was, then tenderly rolled up the sleeves and made a cursory effort at drying her abundance of hair. It was a useless endeavor. She threw the cloth back over a nearby bush.
At the creek’s edge, she wrung out her wash cloth, watching the leftover suds butt up against the bank before scattering and eventually dissipating.
Finding a soft patch of fragrant grasses, she lay down, fanned out her curls, and studied this wilderness called America. A duck squawked at his companion and then dove beneath the water while a bird hovered above the surface, snatching the food away just as the duck reappeared.
She frowned. He should work for his own supper instead of stealing someone else’s. She quickly shied away from that thought, but not quickly enough. Not before it transformed for a fraction of a second into When have you ever worked for your own supper?
She hastily rolled
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