Part 11 (2/2)

Summer saw the pain on Dora's face. ”Would you like something cold to drink? A gla.s.s of iced tea?” she suggested, not knowing what else to do.

Dora eyed her suspiciously. ”Tea. You know where to find everything?”

No sense pretending she didn't. ”Yes, I do,” Summer said. She'd spent enough time at Billy's house when Dora and Emma were at church to know her way around the house. ”Where's Emma?” she asked as she found two fruit jars in the cupboard and headed for the refrigerator.

”Taking a nap.”

That would have sounded odd, except Summer knew Emma was pregnant. She debated whether to say anything, then decided there was no sense pretending about this, either. ”Billy told me Emma's pregnant. How far along is she?”

”Twenty weeks.”

Summer did the math in her head. Five months. She popped some ice cubes out of the tray in the freezer, then poured herself and Dora each a gla.s.s of tea, before returning the half-gallon tea jar to the refrigerator-which she noticed was filled with Tupperware containers that held what she supposed must be leftovers. Her mother gave the leftovers to the servants.

She placed Dora's tea in front of her along with a paper towel, when she couldn't find any napkins, then leaned back against the kitchen counter with her own tea in her hand, rather than joining Dora at the table, since she so obviously wasn't welcome there. She took a sip and asked, ”Why aren't you in bed, too?”

It took so long for Dora to speak that Summer thought the older woman wasn't going to answer her. Dora sighed and said, ”Got tired of lying around hurting. I can hurt just as easy sitting up.”

Summer was surprised at Dora's admission. ”Are you in a lot of pain?”

Dora shrugged. And winced. ”Some.”

”Is there anything I can do?” Summer wasn't sure what Billy's mother might need in the way of nursing care, but she was willing to do anything she could to help.

”You can turn around and go back where you came from.”

”You know I can't do that,” Summer said. ”For Billy's sake.”

”My boy can take care of himself,” Dora insisted.

”It isn't himself he's worried about,” Summer said. ”It's Will.” She hesitated. ”And you.”

Dora took a sip of tea and set it back down. ”What is it you think you can do for me, Mizz Blackthorne?”

”I'm a Coburn now,” Summer said.

”You'll always be a Blackthorne, missy,” Dora shot back.

Frustrated by the older woman's animosity, Summer said, ”I'm only here to help.”

”I'm dying. n.o.body can help that.”

Summer didn't know what to say. She settled for ”I'm sorry.”

”Mom? Who are you talking to?”

At the sound of Emma's voice, Summer braced herself. She'd had little or no contact with Billy's sister, but Emma had been present two years ago when Dora caught Summer kissing Billy on their front porch and called her a Jezebel and a fornicator. If Blackjack's experience with the Creed kids was any guide, Emma would likewise have learned from her parents to hate all Blackthornes.

Summer prepared herself for the animosity she expected by taking a fortifying sip of iced tea.

Emma stopped in the doorway. She was wearing a Western s.h.i.+rt with the tails tucked into a pair of jeans that weren't zipped all the way up, making her pregnancy obvious, because her rounded stomach was at such odds with the rest of her tall, rail-thin body.

Emma's gaze shot from Summer to the two bags by the door and back to Summer again at the same time as she pulled the tails out of her jeans so they overlapped the open zipper. ”What's going on?”

”Billy and I got married this morning,” Summer said. ”I'm here to help out in whatever way I can.”

To Summer's surprise, Emma didn't raise her voice or stomp around the room ranting about the mean and ornery Blackthornes. She simply said, ”I don't see how you're going to be any help around here.”

Summer was stung by Emma's dismissal of her. Of course, she'd realized the same thing herself. But she wanted to help. Surely that counted for something. ”I'm willing to learn whatever I need to know.”

Emma crossed her arms and said, ”Mom, you should be in bed.”

”I'm fine, Emma.”

”I can see you're in pain,” Emma said.

”Lying down isn't going to change that,” Dora said. ”Why don't you get Summer started on the laundry? Will's about out of the cloth diapers Billy brought with him. The disposables are too expensive for everyday.”

Summer opened her mouth to object, saw the challenging look on Dora's face, and shut it again. Billy had said Emma usually took care of the housekeeping, but this was obviously a test to see if Summer had really meant what she'd said. ”Sure,” she said to Emma. ”Let's go.”

”Follow me,” Emma said.

If Summer had thought about it, she would have realized that she hadn't seen a washer or dryer in the house. They turned out to be hooked up in a little wooden room at one end of the back porch. Emma opened the shed door and Summer was a.s.sailed by the strong odor of ammonia.

”We leave the dirty diapers soaking in a pail of water till we're ready to wash them,” Emma said. ”You'll need to wring them out before you put them in the washer.”

Summer stared at the was.h.i.+ng machine. To say it was ancient would be paying it a compliment. She wondered whether she should mention to Emma that she'd never done laundry in her life, and that she had no idea how to operate a washer.

Emma had apparently a.s.sumed the worst, because she quickly explained how to start the machine, then showed Summer where the Tide and borax could be found and how much to use.

”The dryer doesn't work,” Emma said. ”When the machine quits, you'll need to hang the diapers on the line out back. Here's a basket you can use to carry the diapers in. We leave the clothespins on the line.”

A moment later Emma was gone and Summer was alone. She took the lid off the diaper pail and reeled backward. ”Whoa. That's really rank.”

She reminded herself that this was a test-which both women expected her to fail. After all, she was a pampered Blackthorne, who supposedly never dirtied her hands with difficult jobs. Summer grinned. They should have seen her at the last roundup, castrating and branding calves. She'd seen and smelled far worse than what was facing her in that diaper pail.

But she'd done her ranch work wearing gloves. This job required her to reach into the pail with her bare hands, pick up a stinky diaper, and wring it out. Summer grimaced, but reminded herself women had been doing this work for as long as they'd been spinning cloth. She held her breath and reached into the pail.

Once the washer was started, she realized she might as well head back inside until it was done. She didn't knock before she entered the house this time, and she found Emma and Dora sitting at the table in earnest conversation. Emma stopped talking the instant the screen door opened.

”There's nothing for me to do until the washer's done.” Summer felt foolish explaining her reappearance, because it should have been obvious why she was back. She resisted the urge to ask for another ch.o.r.e to keep her busy. Instead, she went to the kitchen sink and washed her hands, then refilled her gla.s.s of iced tea.

She was aware the whole time that the conversation behind her had lapsed. She turned and leaned back against the counter. Emma eyed her, then glanced at her mother.

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