Free The Convict and the Cattleman by Allison Merritt Page B

it’s my duty to see she remembers her place.”
    “Bridgit, you’re dismissed. Martha and I need to have a few more words on the subject.” His voice left no room for argument.
    Farjana was right about trouble in the air. She hadn’t reached the stairs yet when she heard Martha protesting.
    “I don’t like her. I don’t like having her in the house. I know she’s thinking of all the things she can steal. Looking over every item, moving them around. Why, have you seen the parlor? Everything is out of place.”
    “You know things have to be moved in order to clean them.” Mr. Andrus used a pacifying tone.
    “If she changes everything, how will we keep track? Mark my words, things will start disappearing. Your sister’s jewelry, the good silverware, your grandfather’s medals. Who knows what she’ll purloin. If you give her liberties, she’ll walk all over you.”
    The old woman sounded outraged. Bridgit wondered if sitting in the kitchen all day with her hands tucked under her would appease the cook. Angry and disgusted, she stomped up the stairs, hoping Martha heard every step. She wished Farjana hadn’t mentioned the slap. It didn’t hurt anymore and hadn’t left a mark. Bringing it up was only going to make things more unpleasant between them.
    Putting up with Martha was not as bad as living at the Factory, but walking on eggshells around the old woman was not what she’d hoped for. It was clear where Mr. Andrus’s loyalties lay. He’d do everything to keep Martha happy. That was fine, just fine. She wasn’t as fussy as the old woman. Let him pat her hand and tell her the miserable excuse for a nursemaid would be gone soon.
    Only when she heard the jingle of harness and the clop of shod hooves on the road signaling the cook’s departure, did Bridgit’s tension lessen. Mr. Andrus sat alone in the dining room with dinner.
    During her self-imposed exile, she’d done some exploring through the closets. Her bold actions were rewarded when she discovered Charlotte’s sewing basket. It contained colorful scraps of cloth and was well stocked with supplies. Yard after yard of muslin, calico, checkered prints, and flower-patterned cloth were neatly folded in brown parcels. Ribbons and a few bits of fine lace were tucked at the bottom. A treasure chest of material. Content and pleased, Bridgit carried it to the parlor where she chose a deep, high-backed chair.
    She imagined the tiny gowns she could make for Olivia and even dress up a bonnet or two with a few ribbons. It had been so long since she’d apprenticed at the hat shop. Her heart pounded with excitement. Sewing gave her the same peace chanting prayers gave monks.
    It didn’t take her long to pick out some matching colors of thread and start embroidering a pink flower with tiny stitches. Involved in her design, she forgot everything else.
    Mr. Andrus cleared his throat. Bridgit looked up. Her hand stilled, the needle pulled halfway through the cloth. She offered him a timid smile. He didn’t return it.
    “I hope you don’t mind. I found these things and I’m a fair hand at sewing.”
    He looked between her and the muslin. “You mentioned something about millinery.”
    “Aye. My hats were popular with the ladies, but Mrs. McMann got the credit for the creations. I’ve wondered what I could do with bird feathers from this country. Some of them are very vibrant. I’m sure they’d be popular back home. For the ladies with the money to buy them, of course.” She knew he wasn’t interested. His expression didn’t change much as she talked. Was he thinking about the night before, too?
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    Bridgit finished pulling the needle through the material. “Would you like to join me? And Olivia, of course.”
    Perhaps it was too presumptuous to offer him a chair in his own house.
    He shifted his weight. “My sister had a liking for the chair you’ve claimed. She often sat there while she darned and embroidered.”
    Bridgit chewed