Free Brides of Prairie Gold by Maggie Osborne

considers herself too refined to lift a finger."
    The mere suggestion of Augusta Boyd assisting with the tasks of ordinary mortals appeared to shock Bootie. Mem sighed. She wondered if Bootie had really joined this venture to be with her, or if the appeal of the journey had been that Bootie had finally spied a way to insinuate herself into Augusta Boyd's charmed circle. If Mem had an apple seed for every time Bootie had taken to her bed in grief over being excluded from one of Augusta Boyd's teas or soirees, she could have planted an orchard.
    They washed their laundry first, clumsily and not very thoroughly. Smiling, they exchanged excuses with Hilda Clum and Cora Thorp as to why they were not taking time to heat boiling water and do the job properly. Mem was not the only bride to rush through her chores; apparently everyone was impatient for a bath and eager to visit Addison's farmhouse and see what there was to see. Bootie helped her drape their wet petticoats and gowns on willows to dry in the thin spring sunshine, then finally they were free to rush down to the bathing area.
    Halting on the path, Mem observed the others for a minute, then laughed out loud with pleasure. Ona Norris and Thea Reeves frolicked in the cold water like young otters, splashing and shrieking and laughing as their skin turned red with cold. Sarah Jennings stood in water fluming around her knees, wearing a white shimmy and pantaloons, washing Lucy Hastings's hair. Cora Thorp, Hilda, and Jane Munger pressed head to wet head, examining a family of sand turtles they had found along the bank.
    Bootie and Augusta huddled on the stream bank in dismayed silence, the sun shining on loosened tresses of reddish gold and blond, contemplating the cold tumbling water with dread. They could stand there all day if they liked, Mem decided, but not her. She threw off her gown and petticoats, then ran forward in her chemise and pantaloons and plunged into the stream, yelping when the icy flow struck her skin.
    Lord, Lord, it was marvelous. An experience that was simply incomparable. How many women ever had the opportunity to bathe in the open air like a child of nature? After splashing water up her arms and over the goose bumps rising on her shoulders, Mem tugged her hair loose, then bent at the waist and let the heavy spill of auburn drop into the water. She laughed with joy as frigid water stung her scalp like icy needles. If she hadn't been a dignified twenty-eight year old, she would have joined the younger women splashing and chasing each other through the shallows. She was sorely tempted. But she had promised to relieve Perrin at the top of the rope, and it wouldn't be fair to waste time in play.
    When she stood upright to wring the water from her hair, she noticed that Bootie and Augusta still shivered on the bank, as dry as two Methodists, cringing from flying droplets and shuddering. As might have been predicted, Augusta's pantaloons were trimmed with expensive imported lace and her chemise had been tailored to her trim body instead of fitting loose like everyone else's did. Augusta observed Ona's and Thea's frolics with an expression of superiority and distaste.
    Mem truly did not comprehend Bootie's infatuation with Augusta Boyd. In Chastity, Augusta had been a distant queenly figure, too elevated by society and her own imagination to take notice of the likes of Bootie Glover or Mem Grant.
    A closer acquaintance forced by the trail had not improved Mem's impression. In her opinion, Augusta Boyd was self-absorbed, selfish, standoffish, and a generally useless woman. She was curt to the teamsters, imperious with Mr. Snow, and painfully rude to Webb Coate. She was barely civil to poor Cora Thorp and seldom mingled with the other brides. If Augusta Boyd was the product of money and position, then Mem was glad she had neither.
    Quickly she finished washing, glorying in the tingle of the cold water and in feeling clean again, then she dashed out of the stream,