Read Online My Darling Melissa by Linda Lael Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Lael Miller
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was busily prying at rock-hard shells.
After an hour her right hand ached so badly that she had to work with her left. She was awkward and slow, and often the knife slipped, gouging her. Saltwater from the bins got into the cuts on her hands and set them afire.
“You’d better hurry it up,” commented the woman on her right, along about noon, “or they’ll show you the road.”
Melissa looked longingly at her coworker’s leather gloves, wishing that she’d known enough to purchase a pair. She tried to pick up her pace and promptly punctured herself again.
A deafening whistle shrilled, and all labor suddenly stopped. The worker on Melissa’s left, an Indian woman of indeterminate age, smiled at her, revealing several missing teeth. “Dinner time,” she said.
Her friendliness encouraged Melissa a little. She returned the smile. “How long do we have?”
“If I were you,” announced the other woman, with the gloves, “I wouldn’t be worryin’ about no dinner hour. You’ll be lucky if you still got a job once old Rimley sees that you can’t handle the work.”
“Leave the girl alone, Flo,” interceded the Indian. “You weren’t doing so much better on your first day—remember?”
Flo, a plain woman with blond hair and a strong jaw, rose, pulling at her gloves as she moved. She made a harumphing sound, fetched her dinner pail from beneath the long bench where the shuckers sat, and walked away.
“I’m Rowina Brown,” said the woman who remained, holding out a friendly hand. Like Flo, she wore gloves.
“Happy to meet you,” Melissa said, and inwardly she was laughing at herself. She’d sounded like a guest at a tea party in somebody’s rose garden. “My name is Melissa.” She flinched at Rowina’s grip on her sore hand.
Gentle curiosity flickered in Rowina’s dark eyes, but she didn’t ask any questions. She retrieved her own pail, still bearing the label of a lard company, from under the bench and stood up. “Come along then, Melissa. I’ll be happy to share what I have with you.”
Melissa felt shame at having to accept a part of this poor woman’s meal, but she was desperately hungry, since she hadn’t bothered with breakfast or thought to bring along a sandwich or a piece of fruit. She put aside her pride and nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Rowina led the way out of the shucking shed and down the beach. It was mild for a March day, and the two women sat down on a gnarled, whitened log to enjoy the weather and a meal of cold meat and plain barley bread.
“That’s rabbit,” Rowina said pleasantly, with a nod toward the meat Melissa was holding in one hand. “My boy Charlie shot it just yesterday.”
Melissa thought of Hershel, the rabbit her sister-in-law Fancy had once used in her magic act, and gulped. The creature had escaped into the woods behind the familyhome in Port Hastings a few years before; perhaps this was one of his descendants.
“Is something wrong?” Rowina inquired.
In that moment Melissa decided that Hershel’s progeny would have to fend for themselves. “Oh, no, of course not,” she answered quickly, taking a firm bite. The rest of their short respite from work was tinged with homesickness, though, because Melissa kept thinking of her family. She adored them all, even though a few members—three, to be exact—could be completely impossible on occasion.
“You can get good gloves at Kruger’s Mercantile for seventy-five cents,” Rowina said as they began their afternoon’s work.
Melissa made a mental note to stop at Kruger’s directly after she left the cannery, provided she had the strength for such an errand. She was praying for the sound of the whistle long before it blew.
Port Hastings
Katherine Corbin, a blond woman with indigo-blue eyes and a trim figure, surveyed the sullen crew gathered in her study for a meeting.
Adam, her eldest, was as big a man as his father had been, broad in the shoulders and possessed of a lethal
After an hour her right hand ached so badly that she had to work with her left. She was awkward and slow, and often the knife slipped, gouging her. Saltwater from the bins got into the cuts on her hands and set them afire.
“You’d better hurry it up,” commented the woman on her right, along about noon, “or they’ll show you the road.”
Melissa looked longingly at her coworker’s leather gloves, wishing that she’d known enough to purchase a pair. She tried to pick up her pace and promptly punctured herself again.
A deafening whistle shrilled, and all labor suddenly stopped. The worker on Melissa’s left, an Indian woman of indeterminate age, smiled at her, revealing several missing teeth. “Dinner time,” she said.
Her friendliness encouraged Melissa a little. She returned the smile. “How long do we have?”
“If I were you,” announced the other woman, with the gloves, “I wouldn’t be worryin’ about no dinner hour. You’ll be lucky if you still got a job once old Rimley sees that you can’t handle the work.”
“Leave the girl alone, Flo,” interceded the Indian. “You weren’t doing so much better on your first day—remember?”
Flo, a plain woman with blond hair and a strong jaw, rose, pulling at her gloves as she moved. She made a harumphing sound, fetched her dinner pail from beneath the long bench where the shuckers sat, and walked away.
“I’m Rowina Brown,” said the woman who remained, holding out a friendly hand. Like Flo, she wore gloves.
“Happy to meet you,” Melissa said, and inwardly she was laughing at herself. She’d sounded like a guest at a tea party in somebody’s rose garden. “My name is Melissa.” She flinched at Rowina’s grip on her sore hand.
Gentle curiosity flickered in Rowina’s dark eyes, but she didn’t ask any questions. She retrieved her own pail, still bearing the label of a lard company, from under the bench and stood up. “Come along then, Melissa. I’ll be happy to share what I have with you.”
Melissa felt shame at having to accept a part of this poor woman’s meal, but she was desperately hungry, since she hadn’t bothered with breakfast or thought to bring along a sandwich or a piece of fruit. She put aside her pride and nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Rowina led the way out of the shucking shed and down the beach. It was mild for a March day, and the two women sat down on a gnarled, whitened log to enjoy the weather and a meal of cold meat and plain barley bread.
“That’s rabbit,” Rowina said pleasantly, with a nod toward the meat Melissa was holding in one hand. “My boy Charlie shot it just yesterday.”
Melissa thought of Hershel, the rabbit her sister-in-law Fancy had once used in her magic act, and gulped. The creature had escaped into the woods behind the familyhome in Port Hastings a few years before; perhaps this was one of his descendants.
“Is something wrong?” Rowina inquired.
In that moment Melissa decided that Hershel’s progeny would have to fend for themselves. “Oh, no, of course not,” she answered quickly, taking a firm bite. The rest of their short respite from work was tinged with homesickness, though, because Melissa kept thinking of her family. She adored them all, even though a few members—three, to be exact—could be completely impossible on occasion.
“You can get good gloves at Kruger’s Mercantile for seventy-five cents,” Rowina said as they began their afternoon’s work.
Melissa made a mental note to stop at Kruger’s directly after she left the cannery, provided she had the strength for such an errand. She was praying for the sound of the whistle long before it blew.
Port Hastings
Katherine Corbin, a blond woman with indigo-blue eyes and a trim figure, surveyed the sullen crew gathered in her study for a meeting.
Adam, her eldest, was as big a man as his father had been, broad in the shoulders and possessed of a lethal