Read Online The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) by Vikki Kestell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vikki Kestell
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discarded, he doggedly loaded onto a cart
and hauled to the burning pit.
Breona called a break at half
past noon. Hot, grimy, and bedraggled, they washed in the kitchen and then
gathered in what had been the dining room. Gretl and Marit passed out
sandwiches, apple slices, and cups of water. They sat upon blankets and ate in
weary silence.
At the end of 30 minutes, Breona took charge again. “Aye,
’tis a mote o’ work we’ve doon this morn, boot we’re nae doon this day.” She
glanced at Rose. “Kin we b’ doin’ a wee bit o’ dreamin’ afore we begin agin,
Miss Rose, Miss Joy?”
At first Rose didn’t understand what she meant, but Joy
thought she did. “You mean . . . shall we walk through the house
with eyes of faith, Breona? Imagining what it will be when we are done?
“Aye, tha’s th’ ticket!” Breona exclaimed, her eyes alight.
Groaning and rubbing sore muscles, the party arose from the
floor. Joy clapped her hands then opened her arms grandly and walked about the
room. “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please! I give you our dining
room .”
“I would like our dining table to be large enough to seat
our entire family here. On special occasions we will lay a lace cloth, indulge
in dozens of candles, and use our best china.” She giggled. “We don’t have a
table or china yet, but I’m using my eyes of faith!” Joy curtsied
prettily and several of the girls giggled.
“This way, please!” Rose ushered them toward the great room.
As they traipsed into it, Joy and Rose were rewarded by appreciative murmurs of
“It is so different!” and “Wonderful!” and “Oh, look at the windows and all the
light they allow in!”
Rose curtsied also and gestured graciously toward the
fireplaces, one at each end of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, kindly envision
many soft, deep chairs with pillows and footstools for all. Here we will sit of
an evening, warm and cozy by a fire, sipping our tea, and telling of all our
day’s adventures.”
“Oh,” asked Maria softly. “Will someone read wonderful books
to us here?”
“Of course,” Rose replied. She wrapped an arm about Maria’s
waist. “It would be my pleasure to do so. For hours, if you like.”
“What color wallpaper will we have?” Flora asked, utterly
caught up. “Please say it will be pink and cream, with rosebuds and ivy!”
The empty room echoed with laughter and chatter. “Not pink ,”
someone objected. Flora flushed and started to retort, but Joy laid a calming
hand on her arm.
“Flora, I love the sound of pink rosebuds and ivy. Perhaps
we can find them in the perfect paper for your bedroom.”
Flora brightened at that and the group trooped across the
entry into the parlor to admire the progress there and to speculate on how the
room would look when repainted and papered. The library, however, was a
different story.
Nancy, her strawberry hair and translucent skin covered in
fine dust, gestured toward the book shelves—two walls of them, floor to
ceiling. “Breona, all these books are ruined.”
She then pointed to the several stacks of books sitting on
the floor, their edges furred in fine mold. The stench of mildew permeated the
room. Where the carpets had been pulled, the wood floors bore evidence to water
damage.
Missing window panes were boarded over, but the damage was
evident. The group grew serious at the prospect of burning so many books—books
that would cost a small fortune to ever replace!
“Sunlight, strong sunlight moight be th’ savin’ o’ th’m,”
Breona muttered. But to all of them, the reek of mold was overpowering and the
likelihood of saving the hundreds—perhaps a thousand!—volumes seemed remote.
“What should we do?” Nancy asked. Rose was pleased that she
looked to Breona for her guidance.
“I’ll be askin’ Billy t’ open t’ room t’ th’ air an’ then
fittin’ new glass,” Breona replied, a little distracted by the enormity of the
problem.
Next they
and hauled to the burning pit.
Breona called a break at half
past noon. Hot, grimy, and bedraggled, they washed in the kitchen and then
gathered in what had been the dining room. Gretl and Marit passed out
sandwiches, apple slices, and cups of water. They sat upon blankets and ate in
weary silence.
At the end of 30 minutes, Breona took charge again. “Aye,
’tis a mote o’ work we’ve doon this morn, boot we’re nae doon this day.” She
glanced at Rose. “Kin we b’ doin’ a wee bit o’ dreamin’ afore we begin agin,
Miss Rose, Miss Joy?”
At first Rose didn’t understand what she meant, but Joy
thought she did. “You mean . . . shall we walk through the house
with eyes of faith, Breona? Imagining what it will be when we are done?
“Aye, tha’s th’ ticket!” Breona exclaimed, her eyes alight.
Groaning and rubbing sore muscles, the party arose from the
floor. Joy clapped her hands then opened her arms grandly and walked about the
room. “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please! I give you our dining
room .”
“I would like our dining table to be large enough to seat
our entire family here. On special occasions we will lay a lace cloth, indulge
in dozens of candles, and use our best china.” She giggled. “We don’t have a
table or china yet, but I’m using my eyes of faith!” Joy curtsied
prettily and several of the girls giggled.
“This way, please!” Rose ushered them toward the great room.
As they traipsed into it, Joy and Rose were rewarded by appreciative murmurs of
“It is so different!” and “Wonderful!” and “Oh, look at the windows and all the
light they allow in!”
Rose curtsied also and gestured graciously toward the
fireplaces, one at each end of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, kindly envision
many soft, deep chairs with pillows and footstools for all. Here we will sit of
an evening, warm and cozy by a fire, sipping our tea, and telling of all our
day’s adventures.”
“Oh,” asked Maria softly. “Will someone read wonderful books
to us here?”
“Of course,” Rose replied. She wrapped an arm about Maria’s
waist. “It would be my pleasure to do so. For hours, if you like.”
“What color wallpaper will we have?” Flora asked, utterly
caught up. “Please say it will be pink and cream, with rosebuds and ivy!”
The empty room echoed with laughter and chatter. “Not pink ,”
someone objected. Flora flushed and started to retort, but Joy laid a calming
hand on her arm.
“Flora, I love the sound of pink rosebuds and ivy. Perhaps
we can find them in the perfect paper for your bedroom.”
Flora brightened at that and the group trooped across the
entry into the parlor to admire the progress there and to speculate on how the
room would look when repainted and papered. The library, however, was a
different story.
Nancy, her strawberry hair and translucent skin covered in
fine dust, gestured toward the book shelves—two walls of them, floor to
ceiling. “Breona, all these books are ruined.”
She then pointed to the several stacks of books sitting on
the floor, their edges furred in fine mold. The stench of mildew permeated the
room. Where the carpets had been pulled, the wood floors bore evidence to water
damage.
Missing window panes were boarded over, but the damage was
evident. The group grew serious at the prospect of burning so many books—books
that would cost a small fortune to ever replace!
“Sunlight, strong sunlight moight be th’ savin’ o’ th’m,”
Breona muttered. But to all of them, the reek of mold was overpowering and the
likelihood of saving the hundreds—perhaps a thousand!—volumes seemed remote.
“What should we do?” Nancy asked. Rose was pleased that she
looked to Breona for her guidance.
“I’ll be askin’ Billy t’ open t’ room t’ th’ air an’ then
fittin’ new glass,” Breona replied, a little distracted by the enormity of the
problem.
Next they
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