Agnes slammed the bread box shut, her expression still sour.
“It had better have been nothing but bathwater.”
With that, she turned and walked out of the old orchard cottage kitchen, her heels thudding heavily against the wooden floor.
Martha remained beside the kitchen table without speaking.
The moment Agnes had entered, she had checked the bread box, the eggs, the flour, and even the potatoes.
It was obvious what she had suspected.
With most of the family working in the fields, Agnes had apparently thought Martha might take advantage of everyone being away to use extra food from Miller Farm’s shared stores for herself and Elena.
But Martha had been part of the Miller family for years, and she had never secretly taken extra food for herself or her children.
Even when all three children were small and food had been especially tight, she would rather eat less herself than take an extra piece of bread or more flour than their household had been allotted.
Being suspected like this naturally hurt.
Elena stood in the kitchen doorway and watched the last trace of a smile disappear from her mother’s face.
“Mom.”
“I’m fine.”
Martha forced a small smile and began putting back the things Agnes had disturbed.
“Your hair is still damp.
Go back to your room.”
“The sun may be out, but the wind is getting colder.
You’ve only just recovered from a fever.
Don’t make yourself sick again.”
Elena did not leave immediately.
Instead, she helped Martha return the basket of eggs to the shelf and pushed the bread box back against the wall.
Only then did they leave the kitchen together.
The wind outside had picked up.
Autumn sunlight stretched across the old orchard and the packed earth surrounding the cottage.
Farther across Miller Farm, several strings of dried corn hung beneath the eaves of one of the farm sheds, while the barn doors stood partly open in the distance.
A few hens pecked around the wooden fence, occasionally fluttering their wings.
Beyond them lay the Miller fields.
Harvest season had taken almost every able pair of hands into the fields.
Thomas remained unable to work because of his injuries, while Martha had stayed behind to care for him and look after the children.
Elena was about to return to her room when Agnes’s voice came from behind them.
“Martha.”
Martha stopped.
Agnes stood on the path outside the old orchard cottage.
Her injured right hand had already been treated by Dr.
Brown, and a clean bandage covered her palm and wrist.
The treatment had done nothing to improve her mood.
“Come here.”
Martha hesitated before walking over.
“What is it?”
“I wasn’t finished.”
Agnes glanced toward the cottage kitchen.
“Thomas can’t work the fields now, which means the family has already lost one of its main workers.”
“We don’t know how much more his medicine and doctor’s visits are going to cost either.”
“At a time like this, everything we take from the farm stores needs to be used carefully.”
Martha already had a fairly good idea where this was going.
Sure enough, Agnes continued.
“Even if you really were heating bathwater, you didn’t need that much.”
“The firewood we’ve put aside has to last through cooking and winter.
It isn’t there to be wasted.”
Martha’s face paled slightly.
“I didn’t waste it.”
For once, she did not immediately fall silent.
“Elena has been sick for days.
She hasn’t been comfortable at all.”
“The weather was warm today, so I wanted her to have one proper bath.”
“I only used a few pieces of wood.”
“A few pieces are still firewood.”
Agnes frowned.
“When winter comes, are you planning to go into the woods and cut more yourself?”
Martha opened her mouth.
In the past, that probably would have been the end of it.
She would have stopped explaining.
But after Agnes had already searched through the cottage kitchen as though she expected to find stolen food, the hurt Martha had been swallowing finally became too much.
“Elena is part of this family too.”
Her voice was quiet, but for the first time she did not avoid Agnes’s gaze.
“She has just recovered from an illness.
I don’t think heating enough water for her to get clean was wrong.”
Agnes visibly paused.
She clearly had not expected the usually mild-tempered Martha to answer her that way.
“Are you arguing with me now?”
“No.”
Martha instinctively started to retreat.
Then she stopped herself.
“I just don’t think Elena did anything wrong.”
Agnes’s face darkened completely.
“Wonderful.”
“Thomas has barely opened his eyes, and suddenly both you and your daughter have opinions about everything.”
Elena, standing nearby, finally had enough.
“What does Dad waking up have to do with this?”
Agnes turned sharply.
“I’m speaking to your mother.”
“But you’re talking about me.”
Elena walked over and stopped beside Martha.
“And I was the one who used the water.”
“If you think it was wasteful, you should ask me.”
Agnes stared at her.
In the past, one hard look would have been enough to send this granddaughter scurrying behind Martha.
But Elena simply stood there.
She did not look frightened.
She did not even lower her eyes.
“Fine.”
Agnes gave a cold laugh.
“Then I’ll ask you.”
“Do you have any idea how much firewood this family needs to get through an entire winter?”
“No.”
Elena answered immediately.
A look of vindication appeared on Agnes’s face.
But Elena continued before she could say anything.
“I do know I didn’t use an entire winter’s supply to take one bath.”
Martha lowered her head.
Suddenly, she had a very strong urge to laugh.
Agnes’s expression, meanwhile, grew darker by the second.
“You—”
Before she could finish, the sound of wagon wheels rolling over the farm track came from beyond the old orchard.
A farm wagon stopped near the barn.
George climbed down.
He had clearly returned from the fields in a hurry.
His dark trousers were covered with bits of mud and dry grass, while his heavy work boots were so dirty that their original color was difficult to make out.
The sleeves of his old shirt were rolled to his elbows, and a worn work vest covered his back.
“What are all of you standing around for?”
The moment George approached the old orchard cottage, he noticed the strange atmosphere.
Agnes gave him an irritated look.
“Why are you back?”
“We’re short on twine for the wheat sheaves.”
George gestured toward the wagon.
“Harold didn’t load enough this morning.
I came back to get a couple more rolls from the tool shed.”
He started back toward the farm buildings near the barn.
After a few steps, he noticed Agnes had not moved.
“If you’re not busy, come help me look.”
“I am busy.”
“With what?” Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
Agnes pointed at Elena.
“Your precious granddaughter takes one bath and suddenly thinks she’s some fine young lady from town.”
George stopped.
He looked at Elena’s still-damp hair, then at his wife.
“What’s wrong with her taking a bath?”
“She—”
Agnes had been about to complain about the firewood.
Only then did she seem to realize how ridiculous the complaint sounded when said aloud.
But having already started, she refused to let it go.
“They heated a whole pot of water.”
George waited.
“And?”
Agnes stared at him.
“What do you mean, and?”
“That was it?
They heated some water?”
“Firewood costs money!”
George frowned.
“She just recovered from a fever.
How much wood could one hot bath possibly use?”
Agnes became even more annoyed.
“So now all of you think I’m making a fuss over nothing?”
George sighed.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying there’s a wagonload of wheat waiting to be tied and brought in, and I don’t have time to stand here discussing a few pieces of firewood.”
He turned and headed toward the tool shed.
Agnes stared after him, furious at his dismissive attitude.
Then she looked back at Elena and felt her temper rise all over again.
“Didn’t you say the bathwater was still in the tub?”
Elena blinked.
“Yes.”
“Then I want to see how much water you actually used.”
Even Martha stared at her.
“Mother…”
Agnes ignored her and marched into the old orchard cottage toward Elena’s room.
Elena watched her go.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she almost smiled.
She had only mentioned the bathwater earlier to prove that they had not secretly cooked anything.
She had never expected Agnes to actually insist on inspecting it.
Well, then…
Elena followed at an unhurried pace.
Her room was small.
A simple wooden bed stood against one wall, with an old cabinet beside it and a small table beneath the window.
The large wooden bathing tub still sat near the center of the room.
Half a tub of cool, used bathwater remained inside.
Agnes saw it the moment she entered.
“That much?”
Her brows immediately drew together.
Elena followed her inside.
“It isn’t that much.”
“This isn’t much?”
Agnes walked over to the tub.
“When did you ever need this much hot water for a bath before?”
Elena did not answer immediately.
She looked at her grandmother standing beside the tub and suddenly thought of something.
Agnes still believed that, underneath everything, she was the same slow and confused Elena as before.
If that was what she wanted to believe…
Then perhaps Elena could let her see that girl again.
Her expression slowly changed.
The clarity in her eyes faded into uncertainty.
Her shoulders drew inward slightly, and in the space of a few seconds, she once again resembled the girl who never knew what to do when an adult scolded her.
“Grandmother…”
Agnes paused.
She knew that reaction very well.
Of course.
Even if the girl’s mind had cleared somewhat, she was still Elena.
Agnes’s voice immediately regained some of its old authority.
“I’m asking you.
Who told you that you could use all this water?”
Elena lowered her head.
“Mom…”
“I knew it.”
Agnes turned, apparently intending to find Martha.
Elena suddenly caught her sleeve.
“Grandmother.”
“What now?”
Elena pointed toward the tub.
“Bath.”
“I know you had a bath.”
Elena slowly crouched and dipped both hands into the water.
“Grandmother bath too.”
Agnes did not understand.
“What?”
Elena cupped her hands together.
“Grandmother wash.”
Splash!
A double handful of cold water landed directly across the hem of Agnes’s skirt.
Agnes froze.
She looked down at the large wet patch spreading across the fabric.
For two full seconds, she said nothing.
“Elena!”
Elena flinched as though frightened by the sudden shout.
Then she scooped up another handful.
“Grandmother bath.”
Splash!
This time the water struck Agnes’s apron and blouse.
“Stop that!”
Agnes hurried backward.
Unfortunately, there was a wooden chair directly behind her.
Her heel struck one of its legs, and she wobbled dangerously.
She grabbed the edge of the nearby table just in time to keep herself from falling.
Elena remained crouched beside the tub, looking up at her with complete innocence.
“Grandmother doesn’t want a bath?”
“What would I want a bath for?!”
Agnes’s voice had risen almost an octave.
Martha finally heard the commotion and hurried into the room.
“What happened?”
Then she saw Agnes.
Half of her clothes were wet.
Then she saw her daughter crouching beside the tub.
Martha understood immediately.
“Elena!”
She hurried over and pulled her daughter to her feet.
“How could you splash your grandmother with bathwater?”
Elena moved closer to her mother.
“Grandmother said there was too much.”
“So I gave her some.”
For a moment, she genuinely had no idea what to say.
At precisely that moment, George returned from the tool shed.
“What happened now?”
Then he saw his wife.
George fell silent.
Most of Agnes’s skirt and apron were soaked.
Even the cuff of her blouse had been splashed, and several strands of hair clung damply to the side of her face.
She looked thoroughly bedraggled.
“What are you staring at?”
Agnes snapped.
“That girl did this!”
George looked at Elena.
Elena immediately shifted a little farther behind Martha.
“Why did she splash you?”
“How should I know?”
“Grandmother said there was too much water,” Elena added quietly.
“So I gave her some.”
The corner of George’s mouth visibly twitched.
Agnes immediately glared at him.
“Are you laughing?”
“No.”
George turned his face away and cleared his throat.
“Go change your clothes.”
“And that’s it?”
“What else do you want me to do?”
George glanced at the bathing tub.
“Stand here while the two of you throw water at each other?”
Agnes had no answer.
George was already out of time.
“The others are waiting for me in the fields.”
“When you’ve changed, check behind the barn for the last roll of heavy rope.
I’ll need it this afternoon.”
With that, he turned toward the door.
Agnes stood there, breathing hard with anger.
Finally, she shot Elena a fierce look.
“You just wait.”
Elena immediately shrank farther behind Martha.
Agnes turned to leave.
But just as she reached the doorway, she suddenly looked back.
She caught Elena peeking around Martha’s shoulder and sticking out her tongue.
“You!”
Elena disappeared behind her mother at once.
“Mom.”
“Grandmother is glaring at me again.”
Martha nearly laughed despite herself.
“You still have the nerve to say that?”
Agnes’s face went dark with fury.
Only when George called impatiently from outside did she finally leave.
Once her footsteps had faded, Martha turned around.
She looked down at Elena.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
Elena blinked.
“Did what?”
“Don’t pretend.”
Martha lightly tapped her forehead with one finger.
“Your head is perfectly clear now.”
Only then did Elena break into a smile.
“She was the one who insisted on coming in to see how much water I’d used.”
“That doesn’t mean you should splash her.”
“I only did it twice.”
“Only twice?”
Martha did not know whether to laugh or scold her.
Seeing that her mother was no longer upset over Agnes’s earlier accusations, Elena’s own mood improved considerably.
She knew perfectly well that she had done it on purpose.
But at least Agnes probably would not accuse them of secretly eating food again.
After changing into dry clothes, Agnes eventually went to the tool shed behind the barn.
It was a low, sturdy wooden structure built close to the barn itself.
Inside were sickles, pitchforks, shovels, hammers and nails for fence repairs, along with several coils of heavy rope used for securing loads on the wagon.
George was sorting through supplies near the entrance.
The farm wagon had already been readied again.
The old horse stood beside the fence with its head lowered, flicking its tail from time to time.
As Agnes helped search for the rope, she finally could not keep quiet any longer.
“George.”
“Mm?”
“Don’t you think Elena has become strange?”
George did not look up.
“She became clear-headed after the fever.
Of course she’s different.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Agnes frowned.
“I mean her temper.”
“When did she ever dare talk to me like this before?”
George finally looked at her.
Agnes continued.
“In the past, all I had to do was raise my voice and she’d hide behind Martha.
Sometimes she’d start crying.”
“But now?”
“She talks back.
She knows how to defend her mother.
And just now, she deliberately threw water at me.”
George listened without appearing particularly concerned.
“She’s sixteen.”
“Now that she can think like other girls her age, of course she isn’t going to behave like a five- or six-year-old anymore.”
Agnes still frowned.
“But she changed too quickly.”
George tossed the rope he had found onto the wagon.
“Better that than having her remain confused for the rest of her life.”
He brushed the dust from his hands.
“Besides, Thomas is awake now.”
“What matters next is his recovery and what happens to his household afterward.”
Something shifted in Agnes’s expression.
George did not explain further.
He placed the final roll of rope on the wagon.
“When everyone comes back tonight, we need to sit down and talk properly.”
“We can’t keep putting certain things off.”
Agnes stood in the doorway of the tool shed and watched her husband climb back onto the wagon.
She knew exactly what he meant.
Thomas’s legs.
The growing cost of his treatment.
And the fact that Thomas had already made it clear that he would not allow Elena to be hurried into marriage.
Sooner or later, they would have to decide what to do.
George gathered the reins, and the wagon slowly rolled away from the farm buildings.
Its wheels pressed through the damp earth before turning onto the track leading toward the distant wheat fields.
Agnes remained where she was.
After a moment, she looked back across Miller Farm.
Her gaze passed over the main farmhouse, then farther west toward the old orchard cottage.
For reasons she could not quite explain, a strange feeling settled over her.
For years, life on Miller Farm had followed much the same pattern.
The grown sons had established their own living arrangements, but the family still worked the same land and depended on many of the same stores, livestock, and income.
Yet ever since Elena had awakened from that fever, even those long-established arrangements seemed to be shifting.
Little by little.