Working alongside Betsy had proven exhausting, but Claire didn’t mind hard work. What she minded were her sore muscles unused to scrubbing vigorously at a washboard for hours on end. She winced at the muscle pain in her arms as she tacked the curtain into place. The pretty light pink calico pearled in the lamplight. Claire backed off the chair and, when her feet were firmly on the floor again, she admired her work. She loved the delicate pattern of green leaves and pink rosebuds. Mrs. Jance always had the prettiest fabric. And she suspected Betsy had informed the shopkeeper of the miscarriage, since the seamstress had bustled into the back room with more boxes of remnants. Some losses never heal, she thought as she took the chair back to the kitchen table. Certainly her losses remained as palpable as the shadows surrounding her. The rustle of her skirt and the pad of her shoes echoed as she put the kettle to boil for tea water, and those movements clinked and stirred the silence. Maybe she wouldn’t always be alone, but for now it suited her fine.
What do You think about Rocky Mountain Widow (Historical)?
