The Undertaker's Assistant by Amanda Skenandore

Author:Amanda Skenandore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2019-05-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Effie jabbed the iron poker at the flaming logs. The cook fire didn’t need tending, but it gave her an excuse to hide her face from Adeline.

“Brood all you want, but I can tell something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Effie said, setting aside the poker. “I’m tired is all.” She stirred the pot of sand hanging from the crane above the fire, working the wood spoon round and round through the granules, preferring the flame’s heat to Adeline’s interrogation. The image of Samson’s hand about that woman’s leg wouldn’t leave her mind, the way her lips brushed his skin when she whispered in his ear. She pulled a hankie from her pocket and mopped the sweat from her forehead.

For two sleepless nights and two overlong days, she’d thought of nothing else. No, that wasn’t true. The letter too. Unclaimed—Return to Sender.

Wasn’t that the story of her life? She never should have gone to the statehouse with Adeline. Never should have rifled through those boxes. Never should have allowed such hope into her life.

“The sand requires constant stirring? Are you sure this is worth it?” Adeline asked from across the kitchen.

“Yes. No. I mean . . .” She stopped stirring and set down the spoon. After taking a moment to becalm her expression, she turned around. “No, the sand doesn’t require constant stirring. And yes, this will be worth it. Hand me my bag.”

Adeline’s incredulous stare only deepened when Effie unwrapped the round, flat-bottomed flask she’d purchased that morning at the pharmacy.

“What’s this for?” Adeline picked up the flask by its long neck and peered through the glass as if she’d never seen such a container. Perhaps she hadn’t. Most young girls, Effie reminded herself, played with dolls, not beakers and flasks and laboratory tubes.

“Careful, it’s fragile. Now pay attention.”

Adeline leaned in, plopping her elbows down on the kitchen table and cradling her chin in her hands. “And people say you’re not pleasant and charming. I can’t imagine why.”

“You’re the only one who says that.”

“Well, they’re thinking it.”

Effie frowned, but couldn’t argue. She pulled a bottle of olive oil from her bag along with a small pouch of waxy yellow powder. “Six to one, that’s all you have to remember.” She measured out two spoonfuls of powder into the flask followed by twelve of the oil, then swirled it together. After it had sufficiently mixed, she set down the flask and heaved the pot of sand from the fire onto a cast-iron trivet set atop the table.

“Now we add the sand?”

Effie about laughed. It was perfectly obvious the sand—

“I hope you don’t eye your beau that way.”

“What way?”

“With that haven’t-you-a-single-wit? expression. I told you, les hommes like to feel smart, not inferior.”

Heat radiated from the pot. The fire crackled at her back. Effie dabbed her forehead again. Why ever would Adeline have cause to know the uses of a sand bath? “I’m sorry. I’m not myself today.”

“You are yourself. Mais encore pire. Good thing at least one of us is of bonne humeur today.

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