The Personal History of Rachel DuPree_ A Novel - Ann Weisgarber [95]
Iris washed the dishes, and I dried as the men talked about the homesteads Isaac had staked in our names. “That’s wild country out there,” Zeb said. “It’s going to be hard to make a go of it. Most folks don’t last a winter. DuPree, you sure about this?”
“Hush,” Iris said, glancing at me. “Zeb, these two are worn out, and I’ll be late for work if I don’t hurry up. As for you, Old Lady Chapman is sure to be looking for you with a list of chores a mile long.” Her hands made a shooing motion at Isaac and me. “Now you two go on. Make yourselves at home. Me and Zeb’ll be gone the better part of the day. Be close to suppertime before we get home.”
When Zeb thought I weren’t looking, he winked at Isaac. “That’s right,” he said, grinning. “Won’t be nobody to bother you all day.”
My belly tightened. Alone with Isaac. “I’ll have supper started,” I said to Iris, my voice sounding tinny in my ears, my hands gripping the dish towel.
“I bet you will,” Zeb said. He laughed hard and Iris did too. The coarseness of their meaning made me burn with shame and confusion. My eyes down, I twisted the dish towel even tighter.
“Zeb,” Isaac said, a note of warning in his voice. Zeb and Iris didn’t seem to hear. Still laughing, they made a big show of leaving, slamming the door behind them, calling out good-bye too loud.
When they were gone, Isaac said, “Put down that towel.” I did.
“You all right?” he said.
I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t want to be alone with him in the Butlers’ house. It felt dirty to me; I wanted to scrub the floors, I wanted to wash the bedclothes, I wanted to get back on the train and go home.
“Zeb,” Isaac said. “He—”
I looked up at him. His tone told me that he didn’t like what Zeb had said. The sick feeling in my belly eased. Isaac was a gentleman; he was a better cut than Zeb. He understood my shame; he wasn’t going to push. He was going to give me time. “Yes,” I said, relieved. “I’m all right.”
His eyes darted past the kitchen to the stairs that went up to the bedroom. I took it to mean that he thought I should have a little rest. I smiled my gratitude and began walking that way. Isaac followed and that surprised me. I stopped and looked back at him.
I was wrong. There was expectation in Isaac’s eyes. I was his wife, and I had told him that I was all right.
The house was quiet with the Butlers gone. The wood floors creaked and each stair step groaned as we climbed them. My dress rustled, and I held the skirt to keep from tripping. I went into the narrow bedroom where I’d washed up earlier and stared at the bright red wallpaper roses that swirled and climbed up the walls. Mama would call it trashy. Sunlight flooded in the eastward window, showing dirty streaks. The room was too bright but the window didn’t have a shade. My back to him, I listened as Isaac closed the door behind him, the latch catching with a click.
He put his pocket watch on the dresser beside me. I heard him take off his jacket and work his arms out of his suspenders. I stood frozen, my back to him, my breath held.
“Turn around,” Isaac said.
I couldn’t get my feet to move.
“Damn,” he said. He let out a whistle of air. “You don’t know anything about this. Do you?”
Still not looking at him, I shook my head.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five.” I heard the surprise in his voice. Then he said, “You don’t have to—it isn’t part of our deal.”
For two months I had thought about what it would be like when me and Isaac were alone. It had made me shake with excitement. But in that strange room in a strange town, I was scared. I didn’t really know what to expect past a kiss. But