Read Online Wishes on the Wind by Elaine Barbieri - Free Book Online
Authors: Elaine Barbieri
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so that means you'll be getting your orders from Mabel most of the time. When you're done helping her, you can report to me in the kitchen. There's always something for you to do here."
Not waiting for a reply, Cook had motioned to another frowning, middle-aged woman a few steps behind. "This here's Margaret Seller. She's Mrs. Lang's maid, and she works upstairs only. She don't touch nothing down here and you're not to touch nothing upstairs. Understand?" At Meg's nod, Cook had continued. "From time to time, when he ain't required by the Master outside, we have Johnny Law helping us here in the house. You'll meet him soon enough. Then there's Mr. Townsend, the head groom, the fellows that work in the stables, and them that work on the grounds. You're not to bother with the men folk, you hear?"
Picking up a dark dress and a white apron from a nearby chair, she had handed Meghan the garments she now wore. "You can change in the storage room. When you're done, come back here. No dallying, hear? We start our day early and we work until everything's done the way the mistress likes it. Keep in mind, you'll work for your money in this house, miss. There'll be no dragging your feet, or out you go!"
Cook's directions had continued, but Meghan's concentration had lapsed under the staff's unfriendly stares. She realized then, as had been confirmed only too clearly in the time since, that they all considered her an outsider and she was not welcome.
Her stiff O'Connor pride had come to the fore at that point, and she decided that like it or not, they'd have to get used to her, and to blazes with them all and their opinions of the Irish!
As time passed, however, she found it more difficult than she expected to hold her tongue and accept unwarranted criticisms on a daily basis. She knew her patience was nearing an end.
Returning to the present, Meghan tuned out Mabel's abrasive tones and took another shirt from the basket of clothes she had scrubbed so diligently for the past hour. She pinned the garment carefully to the line, marveling again at the superior quality of the fabric. She had no doubt this one shirt alone was more costly than her mother's and her own meager wardrobe combined.
Turning as Cook called from the kitchen doorway, Meghan saw her beckon to Mabel.
"No need for you to stop working, miss!"
Frowning at Mabel's sharp admonition, Meghan replied with a controlled, "Yes, ma'am."
Watching as Mabel waddled toward the kitchen in a huff, Meghan resisted as long as she could before sticking out her tongue at the woman's retreating back.
Her satisfaction minimal, Meghan returned to her work with a disturbed shake of her head. Maybe Father Matthew was wrong about her coming to understand these people, because the truth was, the more she came to know them, the more she disliked them. Pausing, Meghan amended her thoughts. Actually, she wasn't being fair. She had seen very little of the Langs since she had begun working in the house. Confined to the servants' area as she was, she had gotten only a glimpse of Mr. Lang the first day, when he appeared in the kitchen doorway and gave her a keen, penetrating glance. She saw Mrs. Lang briefly each morning when she came to the kitchen to speak to Cook, but the mistress seldom glanced in her direction. She had seen the pretty, blonde Grace Lang a few times. Each time she saw the girl she looked more perfect than the last, so well-groomed was she, and so stylishly clothed in outfits that showed not a day's wear. She couldn't quite believe that mature-looking young woman was only a year older than she.
As for the arrogant David Lang, she had only heard his laughter in the hall and gotten glimpses of him outside as he galloped by on his great stallion. Oh, but she had heard plenty about him.
Groaning inwardly as she pinned another wet shirt onto the line, she recalled the endless
Not waiting for a reply, Cook had motioned to another frowning, middle-aged woman a few steps behind. "This here's Margaret Seller. She's Mrs. Lang's maid, and she works upstairs only. She don't touch nothing down here and you're not to touch nothing upstairs. Understand?" At Meg's nod, Cook had continued. "From time to time, when he ain't required by the Master outside, we have Johnny Law helping us here in the house. You'll meet him soon enough. Then there's Mr. Townsend, the head groom, the fellows that work in the stables, and them that work on the grounds. You're not to bother with the men folk, you hear?"
Picking up a dark dress and a white apron from a nearby chair, she had handed Meghan the garments she now wore. "You can change in the storage room. When you're done, come back here. No dallying, hear? We start our day early and we work until everything's done the way the mistress likes it. Keep in mind, you'll work for your money in this house, miss. There'll be no dragging your feet, or out you go!"
Cook's directions had continued, but Meghan's concentration had lapsed under the staff's unfriendly stares. She realized then, as had been confirmed only too clearly in the time since, that they all considered her an outsider and she was not welcome.
Her stiff O'Connor pride had come to the fore at that point, and she decided that like it or not, they'd have to get used to her, and to blazes with them all and their opinions of the Irish!
As time passed, however, she found it more difficult than she expected to hold her tongue and accept unwarranted criticisms on a daily basis. She knew her patience was nearing an end.
Returning to the present, Meghan tuned out Mabel's abrasive tones and took another shirt from the basket of clothes she had scrubbed so diligently for the past hour. She pinned the garment carefully to the line, marveling again at the superior quality of the fabric. She had no doubt this one shirt alone was more costly than her mother's and her own meager wardrobe combined.
Turning as Cook called from the kitchen doorway, Meghan saw her beckon to Mabel.
"No need for you to stop working, miss!"
Frowning at Mabel's sharp admonition, Meghan replied with a controlled, "Yes, ma'am."
Watching as Mabel waddled toward the kitchen in a huff, Meghan resisted as long as she could before sticking out her tongue at the woman's retreating back.
Her satisfaction minimal, Meghan returned to her work with a disturbed shake of her head. Maybe Father Matthew was wrong about her coming to understand these people, because the truth was, the more she came to know them, the more she disliked them. Pausing, Meghan amended her thoughts. Actually, she wasn't being fair. She had seen very little of the Langs since she had begun working in the house. Confined to the servants' area as she was, she had gotten only a glimpse of Mr. Lang the first day, when he appeared in the kitchen doorway and gave her a keen, penetrating glance. She saw Mrs. Lang briefly each morning when she came to the kitchen to speak to Cook, but the mistress seldom glanced in her direction. She had seen the pretty, blonde Grace Lang a few times. Each time she saw the girl she looked more perfect than the last, so well-groomed was she, and so stylishly clothed in outfits that showed not a day's wear. She couldn't quite believe that mature-looking young woman was only a year older than she.
As for the arrogant David Lang, she had only heard his laughter in the hall and gotten glimpses of him outside as he galloped by on his great stallion. Oh, but she had heard plenty about him.
Groaning inwardly as she pinned another wet shirt onto the line, she recalled the endless
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