Free Swept Away by Mary Connealy

made terror stoke her belly, even knowing he was probably dead.
    She had to do something, keep busy, or she’d let the ugly memories of her last few years take over. She risked sitting up, very slowly, but she couldn’t risk walking around . . . so she reached for the nearest stack. It was clothing heaped high enough it might possibly conceal a bedside chest.
    It was as if Ma Reinhardt were scolding in her head, telling her she was lazy, an idler, ungrateful to the family who’d taken her in.
    Taken her in and stolen her land and treated her like a slave.
    The terror and the fact that it wasn’t in Ruthy to be idle with or without Ma Reinhardt’s nagging made her reach for a wadded-up shirt on the top and start folding it.
    As she worked her way down the pile, she realized exactly what she was folding. Women’s clothes. Where did women’s clothes come from in a town with hardly any women? And more important, what size were they? She looked down at her battered dress. It had been in bad shape before she’d taken a long ride on a flooded river.
    There was no woman living in this house, of that Ruthy was sure. She’d seen the mess in Dare’s kitchen, after all. No woman would put up with that.
    Which meant these clothes were very likely unspoken for.

    And she could do one more thing in complete silence. Discard the dress she was wearing for this very pretty green calico.
    If Dare wanted it back, he’d probably let her wear it while she washed her other one more thoroughly.
    With a quick glance at the locked door, which meant she could be completely private, it was the work of moments to change her clothes all the way to her skin. Feeling more decent and orderly, she decided to make everything within reach orderly.
    She set to work.

    “Let me in, Rosie.” Luke rapped on her door. “Dare’s bringing breakfast up. His office is empty for the minute.” A clicking of the door’s lock told Luke she was awake and nearby.
    The door swung open. “My name is Ruthy MacNeil. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you straightaway yesterday, but I was worried about being found. I’ve calmed down now, and I’d like you to stop calling me Rosie.”
    “I like Rosie better.” Luke looked at her red curls and couldn’t hold back a smile. She’d brushed her hair, and instead of tight ringlets, her hair hung in pretty waves. Her clothes were clean, not what she’d had on before. The skin was peeling off her nose so she was still a little worse for wear, but she looked very nice for a woman he’d fished out of a river just yesterday.
    “What have you done?” Dare spoke with sharp surprise from behind Luke.
    “She’s just letting us in for breakfast, Dare.” Luke frowned at Dare’s tone just as Dare shoved past him.

    “You cleaned this room?” Dare held a metal tray covered with food. He’d piled eggs on one plate, side pork on another. A third plate was heaped with fried potatoes, and he’d set a tin pot of coffee in the one remaining corner. There were spare plates stacked beneath the potatoes. Forks and tin cups were dropped into the spare spaces. Luke’s stomach rumbled just from the smell.
    Dare set the tray on a small square table. “I didn’t even know there was a table in here. I’ve only been in this room once since I moved in. I opened the door, saw nothing but stacks of junk, and swung the door closed fast.”
    “It is a complete waste of time to just sit around.” Rosie centered the tray on the table. “Idle hands are the devil’s playground, you know. Most of the things needed only to be folded and tidied and tucked into drawers or crates that were already here.”
    Luke saw one wall of the room stacked with boxes. Tidy boxes. He’d bet she did all of that while she was locked in here.
    Dare sank into one of three matching wooden chairs set on three sides of the table; the fourth side was pushed up against the wall under a stack of boxes. There was barely room to pass between the bed and the table.