“Kerf?”
“An opening in the wood so you can get started.”
She tried to follow his instructions, but the blade skipped away from the wood.
He came to her side, placed his hand over hers on the saw, held her other hand in place on the wood and guided her through the motions.
She forced herself to concentrate on the task, to ignore the warmth of his body so close to her, the strength of his hand over her fingers. What would it be like to share life with a strong man? One who allowed her to do something useful?
He stepped back, and she jerked her thoughts from the slippery slope they’d started down. She meant to prove she did not need a man to take care of her.
Focusing on the task, she successfully completed the cut and, filled with pride, stepped back and grinned at him. “I enjoyed that.”
He looked surprised. Did he think she meant his hand on hers? Or sharing the work with him? Who knew what the man thought? It certainly didn’t matter to her, but lest he get the impression it did, she said, “Woodworking is pleasant.”
“I agree.” He turned to examine an uncut board.
“Can I plane this piece I just cut?” she asked, eager to be doing something.
“Go ahead. You seem to have the knack for it.”
The work was soothing and required her concentration, allowing her no time to think.
Then, happy with the job she’d done, she sat back and watched Blue. He noticed her attention on him and reached for the planer and another board. “I’ll work on this.”
She observed for a few minutes as her thoughts drifted back to the prior evening. After the girls had fallen asleep, she had been restless as she sat at the table. Her only reading material was the Bible, but she longed for something more even though she couldn’t say what it might be. Another book? Something to occupy her hands...some sort of needlework maybe? Someone to share a cup of tea with? She thought of returning to the Morton home and seeking Bonnie’s company, but she didn’t care to intrude on the couple’s time together.
“Blue, what do you do to occupy yourself in the evenings?”
“Hmm. Nothing much.”
“Surely you don’t stare into the dark corners of the room with no thought on your mind.”
“Nope. Sometimes I work on the pews. I sharpen the saws or the blade of the planer.”
“You can’t do that every evening.”
He lifted his head from his work. “Last night I wrote a letter to my pa.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Where does he live? Is your mother alive?”
“He lives in Texas, and my mother passed away years ago.”
She looked past him into the distance. “My mother died when I was a baby. My father raised me. Or rather, a succession of nannies did.” She felt his gaze on her and dipped her head to watch his hand moving up and down the piece of wood.
For some reason she didn’t want him to express sorrow over the loss of her mother. “It wasn’t like I missed her. I don’t even remember her.” But she’d often wondered what her mother was like. Did she sit idly while Father decided when she would move? Had she secretly exerted her independence in little ways as Clara had learned to do as Rolland’s wife?
She met Blue’s gaze and saw only acknowledgment of her words. “I did always wonder what my life would have been like if she lived. Would I have been raised differently? I like to think I would have.”
“Different? How?”
She shrugged. She longed to tell him, but was it safe? “I can’t help but think my mother would have seen me as someone of worth.”
“Your father didn’t?” Then understanding flashed through his eyes. “It was him that made you think you were only a pretty little object, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe.” She ducked her head.
“Guess you know better now.”
Her head came up so quickly her neck protested. “Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? You have two girls you take care of, you are traveling on your own, you’re learning woodworking. And I expect you’ve learned a good many other useful things, too.”
She let his words sink in. “You’re the first person who has acknowledged all that.”