Free Whitefeather's Woman by Deborah Hale Page A

the supper table set her stomach aflutter.
    Ruth nodded. “Caleb often takes pity on the bachelors and widowers in town and invites one of them out for a square meal. I think he remembers what it was like when he and Zeke had to shift for themselves to get a bite to eat in the evenings.”
    â€œOf course,” murmured Jane. “That’s kind of him.”
    How selfish to think only of how the presence of unfamiliar company would affect her, she chided herself. When this poor man was probably looking forward to agood, home-cooked meal after weeks of boardinghouse or saloon fare.
    â€œWe’ll eat in the dining room tonight,” said Ruth. “Put out the good china and silver. I’ll roast a nice rib of beef.”
    â€œI could wait on the table for you.” Jane offered a hopeful suggestion.
    That would be the perfect solution. From her years in Beacon Hill, she knew well-trained servants were practically invisible. She wouldn’t be expected to make conversation with this strange man, only fill his plate or fetch him a drink. Afterward, she could eat her own meal in the quiet sanctuary of the kitchen.
    Ruth glanced up from her vigorous scrubbing of a tin pot. “Don’t be silly. You’ll eat with the rest of us, like always. We’ll set all the food on the table beforehand so everybody can help themselves.”
    â€œWhat about sweets?” Jane tried to disguise the pleading tone in her voice. “Tea and coffee?”
    â€œWe can both fetch those from the kitchen when the time comes. Now I don’t want to hear another word about you not eating with the rest of the family. You and Dr. Gray will have plenty to talk about. He’s from back East, too.”
    The tumbler Jane was drying slipped out of her hands and crashed to the floor.
    â€œI’m sorry! What a butterfingers. I should have been paying more attention to what I was doing. I’ll get the broom.”
    â€œDon’t fret about it.” Ruth grabbed the dustpan and held it while Jane swept up the broken glass. “As I was saying, Dr. Gray is from back East. Saint Louis, I think Caleb said.”
    Jane let out a quivering breath. Saint Louis was a long way from Boston. In fact, Mrs. Endicott would have calledit “out West.” Even if this doctor had been from the Atlantic coast, that didn’t mean he’d necessarily be acquainted with her former employer. There must have been a few physicians between Portland, Maine, and Charleston, South Carolina, who Mrs. Endicott hadn’t consulted about her various aches and pains.
    â€œI have a notion to heat some water for a bath,” said Ruth when the last of the dishes were put away without further breakage. “Might as well wash our hair while we’re about it. I brew a rinse of vinegar and herbs that’ll make your hair shine like a mink’s pelt.”
    Jane replied with a halfhearted smile. It was good of Ruth to fuss over her like this, especially since she wouldn’t be staying around much longer. She couldn’t enjoy it, though. The thought of entertaining company tonight left her vaguely bilious. The men would probably take a glass of whiskey before dinner. Perhaps more than one. She remembered all too vividly the effect of strong drink upon men’s manners and tempers.
    Undaunted by Jane’s lack of enthusiasm, Ruth Kincaid nudged her through preparations for the evening, while Zeke kept the baby amused. The two women oiled and buffed the dining table. Ruth seared the roast and put it in the oven, while Jane peeled potatoes and set them to soak. Together they baked plum puffs for dessert. All the while, Ruth sang the praises of Dr. Winslow Gray.
    When all the work had been done to Ruth’s satisfaction, she contrived that Jane should bathe first.
    â€œWhat do you think of this?” Ruth asked when Jane emerged from her bath with hair cleaner and more fragrant than she could ever