Once in a Blue Moon (22 page)

All she knew for
certain was she was tired of being upset and feeling inadequate all
the time. She wasn’t a good enough cook. She wasn’t a good enough
wife. She wasn’t a good enough mother. She wasn’t a good enough
anything.

Except she was a
great
designer. Nix great, she was fantastic. But even
back home, did her work make her happy? It could be exciting,
exhilarating, fascinating, but ultimately did it make her happy?
She’d thought so, but now she wasn’t so sure. She turned over with
a jerk and wrenched the blanket from Richard. There was simply too
much time to think. It was too quiet. In her office, focusing on
designs and with the news blaring in the background, she’d never
felt the need for introspection.

She sighed. She wasn’t
in her office. Things were different now whether she wanted them to
be or not.

Perhaps Richard was
right. What if she simply went along with it all and became a ranch
wife for a while? She could give herself some time to think. She
could feed chickens, try to ‘enjoy her children,’ whatever that
meant, and give herself a little vacation from real life.

Not that there wasn’t a
lot of work to be done, but it was all mindless. Besides, someone
had to do it. If they both were off working at jobs all day long,
they’d simply have to come home and work all evening too.

Anyway, in the morning
the women expected her to show up again for another full day of
drudgery. Ironing and gardening or something.

But she could do the
housewife thing if their family could l

live frugally on the
salary Richard made. Of course, it would be boring; no question
about that. But perhaps in a peaceful way? Maybe it would give her
time to consider what would really make her happy?

Melissa thought about
Richard’s challenge to befriend Hannah. An impossible task. Yet,
the attempt might help relieve some of the boredom. And it would
give her something else to occupy her mind.

Maybe she could give
Hannah some beauty-related tips. Surely Hannah could look better if
she tried. It would make Richard happy, and no doubt Hannah would
be incredibly grateful.

Decision made, Melissa
felt more at peace. She smiled, and finally drifted off to sleep,
only to dream of chickens wearing lace collars.

Ironing day.
Yippee.

Balancing the hefty
metal iron in one hand, Melissa carefully made her way down the
three steps of her cabin to the dirt below. She turned and watched
as Jessica latched the cabin door. Richard and Jeremy had already
left for work.

Melissa glanced toward
the main house, saw Hannah enter the front door, and made a quick
decision. She’d go and talk to Hannah right now. Befriend her. If
she was going to do this, she might as well get started. Besides,
it beat ironing. “Jessie, take this iron and go on ahead. I’ll meet
up with you in a little while.”

Jessica took the heavy,
clunky iron, holding it with both hands. “Where are you going?”

“There’s just something
I have to do first.”

“I want to go too,”
said Jessica.

“No.” She didn’t need
any spectators during her first attempt at befriending someone. She
didn’t expect to screw it up, but there was no need for an
audience. “Someone from our family needs to show up for ironing
duty.”

“I want to go with
you.”

“Not this time. I’ll
join you in a little while.”

“Fine. You never want
me with you anyway.” She hoisted the heavy iron and stomped off,
heading toward Sarah’s cabin.

Melissa shook her head
in disbelief. She’d spent the entire day with Jessica yesterday.
She would spend most of it with her today. Talk about ingratitude.
“Look, I’ll catch up with you in a little while,” she called after
her.

“Whatever.”

With a sigh, Melissa
turned and walked in the opposite direction and once she reached
the ranch house, knocked on the door.

The widow answered, an
unwelcome expression on her face and Melissa sighed. Why did the
widow employ a housekeeper only to answer her own door all the
time?

The widow glanced at
Melissa’s dress and something flickered in her eyes. Disgust?
Melissa’s spine stiffened. The widow’s plain, navy dress wasn’t
much to look at, either. Melissa allowed her gaze to roam up and
down the ugly outfit and returned the look of contempt.

“Yes? What do you
want?”

Melissa lifted a brow.
“And a good morning to you too. I’m here to speak with Hannah.”

The widow’s gaze
narrowed, causing the wrinkles around her eyes to stand out.
“Why?”

Melissa lifted a brow,
opened her mouth, then remembering her vow to be nice, shut it
again. ‘None of your business,’ or ‘Are we all slaves to act upon
your whim?’ might be construed as antagonistic.

Melissa cleared her
throat. Nice. Think nice. “Hannah is my friend.” Well, okay, so
that was stretching the truth a bit. “And friends visit each
other.”

The widow stared at her
for a long moment, then swung the door open.

Surprised, since she’d
expected more of a battle, Melissa crossed the threshold. “Thank
you.”

The widow continued to
eye her with suspicion, but Melissa ignored her and glanced around.
The front room was cheery and full of sunlight; fancy lace curtains
decorated the windows, and tablecloths and knickknacks adorned the
dark furniture. Light-colored wallpaper burst with barely-pink
flowers, and a colorful weave rug covered the hardwood floor.

A lace throw and fancy
pillows decorated the couch and an elegant lampshade topped the
lamp on an ornate stand. An array of black-and-white photos in
fancy frames sat on a curve-legged table. A portrait of an old man
and another of a landscape adorned the walls. The room smelled of
fresh roses and beeswax. All in all, it was very tasteful--if you
liked the Victorian sort of thing.

Melissa’s lips
tightened. No doubt the woman had been born with a silver spoon in
her mouth, unlike Melissa. Thinking of her own lackluster hovel,
her chest started to burn. “Your home is beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

She would keep her
mouth shut, she really would. She was only here to talk to Hannah,
and...

The widow’s
contemptuous gaze slid down Melissa’s dress once more and something
inside her snapped. “It’s a shame my husband doesn’t make more
money. Then we might be able to afford a few things too.”

The widow’s lip curled.
“You don’t value what you do have. Why should you be given
more?”

Melissa blinked. What
did she mean by that? “Excuse me?”

“Wait here.” The widow
left the room.

Melissa huffed out a
breath. Witch. She glanced around assessing the value of the
furniture. Even in 1887 some of the pieces must be worth a fortune.
She took a step closer to the photographs.

One was an elderly
couple, another showed children sitting on a wicker bench, and
there was a striking man in military uniform. Her eyes skimmed a
few more photos, stopped, and backtracked. A photo of an incredibly
beautiful young lady in a white dress, a lace scarf pinned to her
throat with a cameo, looked familiar. Very familiar. A feeling not
unlike deja vu swept over Melissa as she tried to place the face.
Melissa picked up the photo and turned it over. Jane Taggert,
Oregon Territory.

“Making yourself at
home?”

Startled by the old
bag’s return, Melissa jumped. “Uh, who is the woman in this
photo?”

“That was me, forty
years ago.”

“Oh,” said Melissa,
feeling foolish. Of course the lady in the picture looked familiar,
she was standing right in front of her. Melissa set the photo
down.

The widow dumped a bolt
of material into Melissa’s arms. “Here.”

Melissa stared at the
pale-green jersey, then at the widow. “You’re giving me
fabric?”

“Consider it
compensation for your husband’s poor wages.”

Melissa didn’t know
what to say. Her mouth opened, then shut again. She hadn’t expected
the widow to give her anything and didn’t believe for a moment that
she felt bad for Richard’s poor wages. “Why?”

“Unlike some people, I
don’t have to have a reason to be nice.”

Melissa snorted before
she could stop herself.

The widow headed for
the front door. “Just make yourself a new dress. That old rag looks
like it’s about to fall off you. Hannah’s in the kitchen.”

Confused, Melissa
looked down. Her dress was ugly, to be sure, but the fabric was
sturdy. She fingered the quality new material as she stared after
the widow.

What had just happened
here?

* * *

Melissa stepped through
the kitchen doorway and glanced around. There were crocks, pots,
kettles, wooden implements, and a spice shelf with a decorative
checkered drape that matched the material of the kitchen curtains.
A pie safe, a china hutch, a couple of tables, chairs and stools,
and of course the ever necessary cast-iron monstrosity complete
with steaming kettle.

The room was much
bigger and nicer than anything Melissa had to work with, but was
still primitive. It smelled good though, like homemade bread,
cookies and something else. Cinnamon, perhaps?

Hannah didn’t notice
Melissa and continued laying items on the scarred worktable in the
middle of the kitchen: flour, sugar, some things Melissa didn’t
recognize. Hannah measured ingredients into a bowl.

She
wore a dull expression and Melissa questioned her decision to
befriend the woman. Melissa reminded herself that it would give her
something to do. She could count it as her good deed for the year,
and it would prove to Richard, once and for all, that she was a
good person. A
happy
person. “Hi.”

Hannah was visibly
startled. “Oh. Hello.” She stopped stirring and wiped her hands on
her apron. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, I’m just here to
visit. We’re friends, right?” She nudged Hannah toward the
conclusion she wanted her to accept.

Hannah lowered her
eyes. Her mouth opened, closed, opened. “Oh.” She didn’t look very
impressed.

Possibly Hannah wasn’t
interested in friendship, but Melissa would soon convince her
otherwise. What they needed was a common bond of some kind. Perhaps
a dislike of the widow? After all, anyone who worked for the woman
must hate her. Melissa could empathize and that ought to get the
ball rolling. “It must be hard to work for the widow. From what I
can tell, she’s not very good-natured.”

Hannah’s eyes turned fierce. “
Her
name is Mrs. MacPherson
and she’s a
wonderful person.”

Melissa stilled. She
was going for camaraderie, not trying to cause offense. “So I keep
hearing, but she doesn’t seem very nice to me,” she said, her tone
softer.

Hannah resumed her
stirring. “What’s that you’re holding in your arms?”

Melissa glanced down.
“The widow...er...Mrs. MacPherson gave me some material so I could
make myself a dress.” Melissa set the bolt down on a nearby
table.

Hannah raised her
eyebrows. “How cruel and inhospitable of her.”

Impatient, Melissa
rolled her eyes. Hannah was missing the point. They were supposed
to be bonding here. “You know what I mean. I bet you could tell me
some hair-raising stories about working for her. She’s obviously a
disturbed individual.”

Hannah’s eyes widened
in outrage. “I refuse to gossip with you about Mrs.
MacPherson.”

Melissa blinked. She
refused to gossip? How strange. How did the widow inspire such
loyalty? Melissa had never inspired allegiance of any kind in an
employee, and yet she’d paid much better than the widow did.
Melissa shrugged. It must be an 1800's thing; a leftover from the
peasant mentality or something.

Hannah glanced toward
the door. “I think you need to leave now.”

Melissa ignored her.
She wouldn’t leave until she was good and ready. She glanced at the
batter Hannah was stirring. Cake? She sat down on a stool across
from Hannah. “So, what are you making?”

Hannah didn’t
answer.

The silent treatment?
Melissa smiled slightly. Part of her was amused and part of her
just wanted to leave and forget the whole thing, but she wasn’t
ready to admit defeat yet. Besides, where would she go? To help
with the ironing?

Hannah poured batter
into a couple of round, floured pans.

“It was a fun laundry
day yesterday, huh?”

Hannah flashed her an
uncertain glance.

Melissa grinned,
willing her to smile back. If she could just get her to smile,
she’d have her. “Ironing day today should be pretty stimulating
too, don’t you think?”

Hannah actually looked
like she was thawing a bit; like she wanted to smile at Melissa’s
little joke.

Yes
.
Come
on, just one little smile.
Perhaps she
just needed a push, something to be grateful to Melissa for.
Melissa studied Hannah’s homely features and the way she had her
hair scraped back into a tight bun. “You know. I’ve been involved
in the fashion industry in the...past. I could help you fix your
hair so it would be more attractive.”

Hannah shot her a look
of incredulity and studied Melissa’s hair. “Your own hair is
unbecoming. Why would I want your help with mine?”

Not a bit insulted,
Melissa grinned, touching her short locks. “You don’t like it? You
should have seen me in college. I once had bright purple
streaks.”

Hannah stared as if
trying to picture it, then glanced away.

“If I give you some
cookies, will you leave?”

Melissa laughed and
reached out to taste the batter left in the bowl.

Hannah slapped her
hand.