She looked at
Nicolas, at the pallor to his skin. “You up to working, or do you need to be
put to bed?”
He shuddered
but straightened and swallowed. “That honestly depends on what type of work you
have in mind.”
She laughed.
“Farm work is very...dirty. “
“It’s also
disgusting.”
“Mmm.” She
shrugged. “Well, come on.” She led the way.
~
Nicolas
followed though he wanted nothing more than to sit down until his stomach quit
rolling. He decided this morning he would never own cows.
He fell in step
beside her and barely caught the handle of the pail she’d tossed at him. He
followed her to another open shed.
She told him,
“This is the storage shed. Open that keg over there and scoop out the salt.
It’s used for curing. The other building is the smokehouse. You’ll see plenty
of it when we do the slaughtering.”
“Wonderful.”
She heard that,
and shook out a sack for him to put the salt in. When she had enough she handed
it to him, her eyes watching as he hefted it. “Take it to the smokehouse.”
He did and said
upon returning, “I don’t think I shall like slaughtering any better than
checking cows.”
“Then you can
hold them while Brody does the dirty work.”
He shot her a
look. “What’s the other building back there?”
“That’s a sweat
lodge. Ask Wolf to explain it.” She put him to counting supplies and mundane
sorting until lunchtime.
When
“Some men
aren’t cut out for farming.”
“I’m one of
them.”
She considered
his frame, admitting that for all he was too pale, he was not soft. He
obviously did something physical in his life. “I’m afraid it’s what you’re
stuck with for awhile.”
He nodded.
“Wolf said that you tutor Brody?’
“When there is
time.”
“I’ve a good
education. I studied in
“That’s all
well and good. But he’s tutored on Sunday. Not every day of the week.”
“Fine. What’s
his curriculum?”
“The basics,
plus reading the usual classics. My father was big on American artists and
writers and philosophers. Wolf mentors him on his understanding of his
“I believe I
can handle the other end.”
“Giving up
already?”
“Not at all.”
He smiled grimly. “I am merely facing the fact that whatever labor I produce
will be inferior.”
She leaned
against the wall and considered his height, his bearing, and the overall
picture. “So, what are you, a duke or something?”
“I am as you
see.”
“You may
be...but you were something in
“And now, I am
in
Josie saw the
shadows in his eyes. “You know, half the people settled here have fled for
political or religious reasons. Some were even convicts. That’s the thing about
“I agree.”
“So, why are
you so mad I asked?” She raised her brow. “You have to know what you look
like.”
“Is there a
point to this?” He smiled coolly polite.
“Not really. I
was just curious since your clothing was expensive, you had servants and you
obviously can’t do much physically.”
He was
insulted. He was downright angry.
Josie pushed
away from the wall and stepped for the doorway saying lastly, “The thing is, we
don’t have much use for pampered men here in the west.”
Nicolas
followed and returned, “Circumstances are the only reason I’m in your debt to
begin with, Miss Sullivan. The fact that I was a...”
She stopped and
turned, arching her brow. “An aristocrat? You can say it. It’s written all over
you.”
He merely went
on, “The fact that I was, is irrelevant.”
“That depends
on how you look at it.” She headed to the picnic table. “You’re four hours into
paying your debt and already looking for an out.” She poured lemonade from a
pitcher and took a drink, then finished, “It’s not going to earn you any
respect around here.”