his foot then, asking, "How does it feel this morning?"
"It's throbbing some," he answered honestly, and she immediately colored and fussed with the nightshirt.
"Yes, well… we'll see if we can't relieve it somewhat. But first I believe we'd best get you out of your suit. It looks as if it could stand a flour bath." The brown wool worsted was indeed wrinkled but Miss Abigail had grave misgivings about how to gracefully get him out of it.
"A flour bath?"
"Yes, a dredging in clean flour to absorb the soil and freshen it. I'll take care of it for you."
Although he moved his arm off his forehead and smiled, he was smitten with discomfort at the thought of undressing before a lady.
"Are you able to sit up, Mr. Melcher?"
"I don't know. I think so." He raised his head but grunted, so she crossed the room quickly and touched his lapel, saying, "Save your energy for now. I shall be right back." She returned shortly, bearing pitcher and bowl, towel and washcloth, and a bar of soap balanced across a glass of bubbling water. When she had set things down, she stood beside him, saying, "Now, let's get your jacket off."
The whole thing was done so slickly that David Melcher later wondered how she'd accomplished it. She managed to remove his jacket, vest, and shirt and wash his upper half with a minimum of embarrassment to either of them. She held the bowl while he rinsed his mouth with the soda water, then she helped him don his nightshirt before removing his trousers from beneath it. All the while she chatted, putting them both at ease. She said she would rub flour into his suit jacket and let it sit for a few hours, and by the time she hung it on the line and beat the flour from it with her rug-beater, it would be as fresh as a daisy. He'd never heard of such a thing! Furthermore, he wasn't used to a woman fussing over him this way. Her voice flowed sweetly while she attended him, easing him through what would otherwise have been a sticky situation had she been less talkative or less efficient.
"It seems you have become something of a local hero, Mr. Melcher," she noted, giving him only the beginnings of a smile.
"I don't feel much like a hero. I feel like a fool, ending up stretched out here with a toe shot off."
"The townspeople have a great interest in our new railroad and wouldn't like to see it jeopardized in any way. You've saved it from its first serious mishap. That's nothing to feel foolish about. It is also something which the town won't forget soon, Me Melcher."
"My name is David." But when he would have caught her eye she averted hers.
"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, though I regret the circumstances, on your behalf. From where do you hail, Mr. Melcher?"
When she used his surname he felt put in his place and colored slightly. "I'm from back East." He watched her precise movements and suddenly asked, "Are you a nurse, Miss Abigail?"
"No, sir, I'm not."
"Well, you should be. You're very efficient and gentle."
At last she beamed. "Why, thank you, Mr. Melcher. I take that as one of the nicest things you could say, under the circumstances. Are you hungry?"
"Yes, I don't remember when I ate last."
"You've been through an ordeal, I'm sure, that you'll be long in forgetting. Perhaps the right food will make your stay here seem shorter and your bad memories disappear the faster."
Her speech was as refined as her manners, he thought, watching her move about the room gathering his discarded clothing, stacking the toilet articles to carry away. He felt secure and cared for as she saw to his needs, and he wondered if this was how it felt to be a husband.
"I'll see to your suit after I prepare your breakfast. Oh! I forgot to comb your hair." She had stopped halfway out the door.
"I can do that myself."
"Have you a comb?"
"Not that I can reach."
"Then take the one from my apron pocket."
She came back and raised her laden arms so he could get at the comb. His hesitation before reaching to take it told her things
"It's throbbing some," he answered honestly, and she immediately colored and fussed with the nightshirt.
"Yes, well… we'll see if we can't relieve it somewhat. But first I believe we'd best get you out of your suit. It looks as if it could stand a flour bath." The brown wool worsted was indeed wrinkled but Miss Abigail had grave misgivings about how to gracefully get him out of it.
"A flour bath?"
"Yes, a dredging in clean flour to absorb the soil and freshen it. I'll take care of it for you."
Although he moved his arm off his forehead and smiled, he was smitten with discomfort at the thought of undressing before a lady.
"Are you able to sit up, Mr. Melcher?"
"I don't know. I think so." He raised his head but grunted, so she crossed the room quickly and touched his lapel, saying, "Save your energy for now. I shall be right back." She returned shortly, bearing pitcher and bowl, towel and washcloth, and a bar of soap balanced across a glass of bubbling water. When she had set things down, she stood beside him, saying, "Now, let's get your jacket off."
The whole thing was done so slickly that David Melcher later wondered how she'd accomplished it. She managed to remove his jacket, vest, and shirt and wash his upper half with a minimum of embarrassment to either of them. She held the bowl while he rinsed his mouth with the soda water, then she helped him don his nightshirt before removing his trousers from beneath it. All the while she chatted, putting them both at ease. She said she would rub flour into his suit jacket and let it sit for a few hours, and by the time she hung it on the line and beat the flour from it with her rug-beater, it would be as fresh as a daisy. He'd never heard of such a thing! Furthermore, he wasn't used to a woman fussing over him this way. Her voice flowed sweetly while she attended him, easing him through what would otherwise have been a sticky situation had she been less talkative or less efficient.
"It seems you have become something of a local hero, Mr. Melcher," she noted, giving him only the beginnings of a smile.
"I don't feel much like a hero. I feel like a fool, ending up stretched out here with a toe shot off."
"The townspeople have a great interest in our new railroad and wouldn't like to see it jeopardized in any way. You've saved it from its first serious mishap. That's nothing to feel foolish about. It is also something which the town won't forget soon, Me Melcher."
"My name is David." But when he would have caught her eye she averted hers.
"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, though I regret the circumstances, on your behalf. From where do you hail, Mr. Melcher?"
When she used his surname he felt put in his place and colored slightly. "I'm from back East." He watched her precise movements and suddenly asked, "Are you a nurse, Miss Abigail?"
"No, sir, I'm not."
"Well, you should be. You're very efficient and gentle."
At last she beamed. "Why, thank you, Mr. Melcher. I take that as one of the nicest things you could say, under the circumstances. Are you hungry?"
"Yes, I don't remember when I ate last."
"You've been through an ordeal, I'm sure, that you'll be long in forgetting. Perhaps the right food will make your stay here seem shorter and your bad memories disappear the faster."
Her speech was as refined as her manners, he thought, watching her move about the room gathering his discarded clothing, stacking the toilet articles to carry away. He felt secure and cared for as she saw to his needs, and he wondered if this was how it felt to be a husband.
"I'll see to your suit after I prepare your breakfast. Oh! I forgot to comb your hair." She had stopped halfway out the door.
"I can do that myself."
"Have you a comb?"
"Not that I can reach."
"Then take the one from my apron pocket."
She came back and raised her laden arms so he could get at the comb. His hesitation before reaching to take it told her things
Similar Books
Punishing for Pleasure
Avery Gale
Adam's Rib
Antonio Manzini
The Tale of Hill Top Farm
Susan Wittig Albert
His Mask of Retribution
Margaret McPhee
House on the Lagoon
Rosario Ferré
Lost at School
Ross W. Greene
A Father's Sacrifice
Mallory Kane
The Hell Screen
I. J. Parker
The Adamantine Palace
Stephen Deas