Free The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) by Vikki Kestell Page A

finally got them moving for the day.
    Mid morning, Rose passed by the staircase and heard voices
from the hallway above.
    “But washing floors and windows is ruining my hands,”
Rose heard a girl whine. “Miss Cleary always demanded that we keep our hands
soft and smooth! She never allowed us to put them in hot water.”
    Breona’s no-nonsense lilt echoed down the stairwell. “Ach!
Ye poor bairn! And where ist precious Miss Cleary a-settin’ at this ver’
minute? D’ ye think her hands will be stayin’ soft and smooth in th’ jailhouse?
Eh? Loikley ’tis scrubbin’ th’ toilets and washin’ th’ laundry she is this
minute!”
    Rose heard an unintelligible reply from the girl, Flora, she
believed, followed again by the final word from Breona. “Th’ winders all doon
th’ hall air yers t’ be cleanin’. I giv ye 60 minutes, lass.”
    Rose could plainly visualize Breona’s thin hands, red and
rough from years of cleaning, although she was not yet 20 years of age. One
more sentence sounded faintly down the stairs. “An’ ’tis no more excuses from
ye, little miss.”
    Dear Lord , we need your grace ! Rose pleaded as
she hurried away,
    ~~**~~

Chapter 9
(Journal Entry, July 13, 1909)
    Moving day is upon us. We are all, without exception,
weary. Breona, with the wisdom of Solomon, called a holiday yesterday, although
we have more than enough work to keep us employed for months. She assigned us
to two groups and we set out to walk the neighborhood and picnic at the river.
    I admit we are hardening to this work. I have slept well
several nights now although I believe I have grown a permanent callous upon
each hip.
    I noticed, too, that we seemed to have energy to play and
enjoy ourselves yesterday. Everyone, excepting perhaps, myself and our Mr.
Wheatley. He and I were content to sit upon a blanket in the cool shade,
nodding off with our backs against a tree, much of the morning.
    The dear man has overextended himself, I fear. Grant took
him aside and begged him not to try to keep up with him and Billy. If this
approach fails, we will fall back on a stronger force, and have Breona speak
with him. We simply cannot do without this sweet, gentle man.
    In his own quiet way, he seems to impart a stability to
our new home that our youthful, unruly, and sometimes wild girls crave. They
will listen, spellbound, as he tells of his experiences in the war, although I
am sure he frequently embellishes his tales. I only say so as I have heard at
least three differing renderings of a certain Southern Army incursion against
whom his company defended a vital armory.
    Every evening he begins a game of checkers with whomever
he can cajole into playing. The girls are quickly learning his moves and are
making his wins a bit more hard-bought. He can also be a great tease with the
girls, which they now receive with laughter and giggles.
    It is something to behold, his charming, doting ways with
them, for they know, quite intuitively, that he is a safe and sheltering harbor
in a world where the men they have known have been only selfish and cruel.
    —
    The long, arduous process of making the house livable enough
for them to move into was over. They had painted and papered the dining room,
great room, parlor, and three bedrooms. The remaining repairs and
refurbishments would be done a room at a time, shifting furniture from room to
room as they went.
    The task had taken longer than any of them had anticipated,
and Rose had never been more exhausted. As she dressed in the dim light of
early morning she realized with a start that the waistband of her skirt was
loose.
    Oh Jan! I can hear you chiding me right now, and I can
see your blue eyes, so filled with love and strength. You would insist that I
eat more, wouldn’t you? she
thought fondly. How I wish you were here.
    She brushed her hair thoroughly, braided it, and twisted the
braid into the coil she wore pinned at the back of her head. Cleaning the hair
from her brush she sighed.