Beguiled by Paisley Smith

Author:Paisley Smith [Smith, Paisley]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: LGBT Historical, Lesbian, Historical, Fiction
Amazon: B004ISLQDK
Publisher: Loose Id LLC
Published: 2010-11-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

The next morning, my cousins left before I went to milk the goats. The big house seemed oddly quiet without them. They’d kept Ma company, and she pouted like a toddler when they took off down the long drive.

I watched until the little band of stragglers reached the front gates, and then I breathed a sigh. “I’d better go do the milking, Ma. You stay here in the house.”

Still clad in her nightgown and robe, she ambled into the parlor. I’d help her dress when I returned from tending the herd. I grabbed my straw hat, tied it on my head, and was just about to step out the door when I heard the now familiar thump, thump, thump of Alice’s crutch.

I turned to find her standing at the top of the stairs. My heart slid sideways at the sight of her dressed in Dalton’s shirt, breeches, and boots. I knew what feminine treasures lay underneath those very masculine clothes.

“I want to work,” she announced as she hobbled down the steps.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” I scolded.

“I won’t spend one more minute in that bed knowing you’re working your fingers to the bone to keep food in my mouth.” She grimaced with each difficult step.

I sighed. She wouldn’t be swayed. Thus far, I’d kept the location of the herd a secret from all visitors and even the neighbors. I couldn’t believe I was actually inviting this—for all practical purposes—Yankee soldier into my haven. Partly, I wanted her to know me.

With a smile, I removed Ma’s blue bonnet from the series of pegs on the wall where we kept our hats. Alice arched an eyebrow at me before she snatched Pa’s old slouch hat off the rack. Muttering something indiscernible about bonnets, she clapped Pa’s hat on her head. My smile broadened as I returned the bonnet to its peg.

“It’s a bit of a walk,” I told her. “Do you think you can manage?”

She gave me a terse nod, and we set off toward the woods.

“I’m a city girl,” she confided as we walked.

I looked her up and down, realizing that although she had masculine mannerisms, she hadn’t grown up on a farm as I had. The contrast in her character amused me. “Not even in Ireland?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t remember Ireland.”

“What was Boston like?”

“Dirty. Big. I’m certain there are nice places in the city, but we were poor and rarely ever stepped outside the Irish community,” she said.

“I can’t imagine living in a city. I’ve lived here all my life. I was born here,” I confessed.

“What happened to your ma?”

“The doctor said it was probably a stroke. She was right as rain up until my little brother was born,” I said, gazing dismally over the rotting cotton as we neared the field.

Alice guffawed as the vast fields loomed into view. “That’s a lot of cotton! It looks like it’s going bad.”

“It is,” I said miserably.

“Why don’t you pick it?” she asked.

“There’s no one to pick it.

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