A Beau for Katie by Emma Miller

Author:Emma Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2016-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

“I’ve always liked the way the mill smells,” Freeman said to Katie as he took in the cavernous interior of the mill with a sweeping gesture. “Molasses, grain and water.”

“Me, too,” she agreed. She pushed his wheelchair closer to the now motionless grindstones. She’d worn a new lavender-colored dress today, with a white apron over it, and the simple lines of the plain but neatly-sewn garments gave her a wholesome look that was accented by her crisp white kapp. He couldn’t keep from looking up at her. He’d missed her all weekend. Missed her more than he was comfortable with.

Their voices echoed slightly, taking him back ten years to another beautiful woman who’d stood beside him in this room, bringing bittersweet memories of someone he’d rather forget. Susan had been equally pretty, but in a much more delicate way, dark where Katie was fair, soft-spoken and modest rather than brash. And the contrast didn’t end there. Being alone with him in the vast mill, with massive oak beams, shadowy corners and fluttering pigeons in the rafters had unnerved Susan. She’d been uncomfortable here, even a little frightened, but Katie gave no such impression. Instead, she appeared to be enjoying the experience as much as he was. Encouraged by her eagerness, Freeman pushed thoughts of Susan to the furthest recesses of his mind.

The huge millstones were motionless, the mechanism silent, but in his mind Freeman could almost hear the familiar churn of the waterwheel, the whoosh of tumbling grain down the chute, and the grinding rumble of the granite stones. Along the walls, baskets of corn waited to be ground into meal. A fine dusting of wheat flour coated the wide pine floorboards and every visible surface. There was too much dust to suit Freeman and he frowned. “Shad should have swept this up this morning. Wheat dust is highly explosive under the right conditions. The boy may not have the brains to make a miller.”

“No one’s complained about the quality of your flour while you’ve been laid up,” Katie observed. “Shad’s young yet, and as you say, there’s a lot to learn. Maybe you’re too hard on him.”

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, mostly because he didn’t want to argue with her, and maybe because he knew she was at least half-right.

Katie wandered over to run a palm over the furrowed surface of a millstone that rested against one wall and stared up nearly three stories at the hand-hewn oak rafters barely visible in the semi-darkness. This section of the structure soared from where they stood to the hand-cut cedar shingled roof. Two-thirds of the first floor supported a second story containing the granary.

He pointed to a metal chute that ran from the grain bins to the wooden hopper above the millstones. “If I pull this lever, grain comes down the hopper into this mechanism called the shoe.”

Katie returned to stand beside his wheelchair as he pointed out the control that would open the gate on the sluice box, sending a flow of water over the wheel and bringing the mill to life.

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