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Dulcie's Gift. Ruth Langan
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In the kitchen, they found Robert busily wrapping food in a square of linen. He seemed genuinely surprised when Dulcie explained that she and the others intended to work in payment for their keep.
“Just tell us what to do and it will be done,” she said simply.
He thought for several long moments, and it was plain to Dulcie that he was wondering whether he could entrust the care of this fine old house to such inexperienced hands. At length he nodded. “I will show the children what I want them to do. In the meantime, missy, this food must be taken to the men in the fields, along with a heavy jug of water. Can you manage?”
She nodded.
He glanced down at her kid slippers. “Then I would suggest you select a pair of boots from those in the cloakroom. After last night’s rain, the fields will be muddy.”
Dulcie made her way to the back hallway and pulled on a pair of oversize boots. Picking up the food and water, she stepped outside and began walking across the fields.
It was easy to see where the men were working. A horse plodded slowly across a distant field, with a man at the plow behind, churning up the rich black soil. In his wake walked two more men.
Despite the blazing sun overhead, the air was cooled by a fresh breeze off the water. Dulcie found herself savoring the chance to be alone with her thoughts while enjoying the beautiful day.
Oh, how Papa would have loved this! There was a time when the two of them could have stood here like this all day, enjoying the beauty of nature. Just thinking about those wonderful carefree days brought a smile to her lips. Then, remembering her duty, she walked on.
When she drew close to the two men, she saw they were Barc and Dar. They looked up in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” Barc called.
“I’ve brought you your midday meal.”
“And none too soon.” Barc crossed to sit in the shade of a live oak.
Dar dropped down beside him. Both men eagerly drank from the jug, then leaned back on their elbows to watch as Cal followed the horse toward them, etching a straight, perfect furrow as he did.
Dulcie stood there, grateful for the shade. As Cal came closer, she couldn’t tear her gaze from him.
He was…magnificent. It was the first word that came to her mind. He had removed his shirt, and the muscles of his upper arms and shoulders bunched and tightened with every step. Sweat glistened in the dark hair that matted his chest. When he came abreast of them and reined in the horse, he lifted an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“Robert has been replaced.” Barc handed the water jug to his older brother. “And I, for one, am grateful. Miss Trenton is far easier to look upon.”
At Barc’s gentle teasing, Dulcie felt the heat rise to her cheeks.
“So I see.” Cal balanced the heavy jug in one hand. Tilting back his head, he took a long, deep drink before returning the jug to Barc and wiping the back of his hand across his lips.
“Let’s see what Robert sent us.” Barc eagerly unwrapped the linen and helped himself to a chunk of corn bread and a slab of cold pork before passing it on to the others.
Cal sat down, leaning against the trunk of the tree. He stretched out his long legs and lazily crossed one foot over the other. “To what do we owe this pleasure, Miss Trenton?”
Dulcie’s blush deepened. The sarcastic tone of his voice did not make it sound like a pleasure at all.
“Your aunt explained that if we were to remain here for several days, we might wish to earn our keep.”
“And do you wish to earn your keep?” he asked, studying her until she was forced to look away in embarrassment.
“Of course,” she said through gritted teeth. “It is not our intention to be a burden to anyone.”
“If you were a burden, Miss Trenton,” Barc said with a laugh, “you would at least be a most charming one.”
Grateful for his glib tongue, she offered him a smile. “What are you planting, Barc?”
“At one time, all of these fields used to be filled with white gold—” Dulcie was familiar with this term for cotton “—but now, with no market for it, and no way to get food-stuffs from the North, we must grow everything we need. In this field we’re planting sweet potatoes.”
“What other crops do you plant?” Dulcie asked, eager to keep the conversation on less personal subjects.
“Okra, sorghum, corn, beans, grain.” Barc pressed a hand to his back. “And anything else Cal can think of that’ll keep us stooped over a furrow all day. Isn’t that right, Dar?”
Dar only nodded and helped himself to more corn bread.
Cal finished his meal quickly and got to his feet. As he brushed past Dulcie, he muttered, “You may be able to earn your keep, Miss Trenton. But you’ll never earn our trust.”
He strode back to the waiting horse. Leaning into the harness, man and beast resumed the tedious, backbreaking job that seemed, given the vastness of the fields around them, never-ending.
Stung by Cal’s abrupt dismissal, Dulcie gathered up the remains of their meal. Barc touched a hand to her arm. “Don’t take offense, Miss Trenton. Cal…has not been himself since the war.”
“The war affected all of us,” she replied. As she turned to leave, she could feel Cal’s dark, piercing stare burn into her, even from the distance that separated them. Lifting her chin, she returned his look before tossing her head and beginning the long walk back to the house.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. She didn’t care what Cal Jermain said to her or thought of her, just as long as she and the others were allowed to remain here.
She would work. She would endure. But she would never go back.
“No, little missy, not like that.” With a sigh of impatience, Robert took the feather duster from five-year-old Emily’s hand and circled it lightly around the various objects that cluttered a tabletop in the formal parlor. “Like this.”
The child watched for a moment, more interested in the array of glittering crystal animals than in his deft touch. “It’s a bunny!” she cried in delight, lifting one of the pieces.
“You must not touch,” Robert admonished sternly. He took the crystal rabbit from her and replaced it exactly as it had been. “Those things belong to Miss Bessie. They are not to be handled by anyone else.”
She lowered her head. “Yes, sir.”
“I am not a sir. I am just…” Frustrated, he searched for a word. “I am just Robert.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a shake of his head he handed her the duster and crossed the room to where Nathaniel knelt on the hearth scrubbing soot from the blackened fireplace. Though the fieldstone gleamed, the boy was black from head to foot. Even his blond hair was streaked with soot.
“How does it look?” Nathaniel asked with pride.
Robert took his time, examining the work carefully. The quality of the boy’s work was a pleasant surprise.
He pointed to a far corner of the fireplace. “You forgot a spot.”
For a moment Nathaniel seemed discouraged. Then he bent to his work once more, saying, “I’ll get it so clean you’ll be able to see your reflection.”
“Eek!”
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