Ruby blinked against the morning light as she slowly wakened to strange surroundings. She stretched and absentmindedly noted how nice it was to wake up on a proper mattress and not the uneven boards of a covered wagon—or the jagged ground. Then, her heart sank as everything hit her with such force that it knocked her breath from her as the icy grip of grief coiled around her heart. She curled into a ball under the covers and, with deep breaths, forced herself to keep the tears at bay. She would not—could not—spend another day crying and feeling sorry for herself.
A knock sounded at the bedroom door, followed by a creak as it nudged open. Ruby's eyes flew shut.
"Ruby?" When she didn't answer, the warm voice continued. "I need to go out to a neighbour's today, and I'm going to take August with me. I'll leave Pongo here with you. There's some bacon and coffee warm on the stove, and please help yourself to whatever you find—whatever you need." A pause, and then, "We'll be back before dinner. Good day."
Ruby squeezed her eyes shut and stayed in bed, her limbs heavy. She wanted to wait until the man and the boy were gone before she got up. Even if it was childish, she wasn't ready to face them—not yet.
Truth be told, if it had only been up to her, Ruby would have stayed under the quilts and slept away the rest of her days until she ceased to exist. It wasn't up to her, though—even if she didn't have another soul in this country that cared about her, she had to take care of herself for the baby's sake. Peter's child.
Then again, when food was the last thing on her mind a moment ago, the thought of bacon and coffee suddenly sounded divine, and Ruby rose from the bed and made her way into the main living area of the house. The heady aroma of coffee mixed with meat sent her stomach grumbling, and she all but attacked the food on the stove. Without a thought for manners, she grabbed a slice from the plate and shoved it into her mouth, suddenly ravenous. As she chewed, she grabbed a tin mug and filled it with the dark brown liquid to wash down her mouthful with no notice of the bitter taste that she usually sweetened and lightened with cream.
After another mouthful, Ruby grabbed the extra plate on the table and filled it with bacon, along with a biscuit that was part of the offerings on the stove. She glanced around for an obvious hiding spot for the milk and sugar, but realized she couldn't be bothered as she settled at the table with her breakfast. She could drink some coffee black.
As her stomach began to fill, Ruby's focus began to wander around the room. She hadn't noticed much yesterday as she'd made a beeline for the bedroom, but now she let herself take in the new space.
Opposite the main door was a large fireplace made of stone, topped with an ornately carved mantel, and Ruby could picture how cozy the hearth would be on long winter nights. A little clock stood in the centre as if to guard the home, and though she couldn't tell from her seat, she thought it looked handcrafted with a body of wood. It seemed to be the only decorative item, save for the small bookshelf that stood against the wall on the left, within arm's reach of a rocking chair. The sight of the books stacked neatly along the shelf—an odd sight in the middle of this rustic cabin—made Ruby remember the wagon she'd left behind, and she shook her head clear of the memories before they weighed on her anew.
Instead, she took note of the cast-iron stove, and Ruby thought it was a strange item for a bachelor to have—although she wasn't really one to talk. Peter always teased her about her cooking, but maybe with a proper stove to use instead of an open fire…
The rest of the furnishings were simple. She sat at a solid wood table with individual chairs—not the benches that she would have expected. A washbasin on a stand rested by the bedroom door. Pegs hung in between the bedroom and main doors, draped with rope and other useful things. A wooden counter with a deep sink for washing and drawers underneath stood beside the stove, nestled right under a bright window that would let in the golden sunsets. Ruby could picture herself doing the washing after a big breakfast as she watched the little ones playing while Peter started up with the horses in the field, leading them on as they pulled the plough.
Ruby shook her head at herself as she fought back the familiar sting in her eyes and nose.
This house was well set-up, despite the fact that its inhabitants were both male. It lacked a few womanly touches, to be sure—Ruby noted the bare windows once more, along with the lack of rugs or a display of fine dishes—but it was hard to ignore how much it seemed to embody the dreams that Peter and she had shared, had hoped to work towards.
And now she had to share this home with strangers.
Shoving another bite of bacon into her mouth with her fork, Ruby refused to let such morbid sentiments cloud her thoughts. Instead, she went to work on her plan of attack for the space in which she found herself. It could use a good scrub-down, she decided. And it would help to become acquainted with the contents of the cupboards and drawers, if she was to be of any use. Surely Mr. Hopper wouldn't object to her rearranging some things?
Well, she wouldn't let anyone say that she couldn't hold up her end of the deal, at any rate.
After she tidied up from breakfast and washed the dishes with the wash-water that had long since cooled, Ruby began to pull out everything from the cupboards and drawers. Once it was all piled on the table in the middle of the room, she realized she needed fresh water for her task. She quickly spotted a pail hanging up on the wall and grabbed it on her way out the door, praying there would be a pump or a well close-by.
Pongo was waiting on the other side of the solid door, and he greeted her with his tail wagging. "Hello, puppy," Ruby cooed as she rubbed behinds his ears, and he happily planted his rump on the ground as he basked in her attentions. "You wouldn't be able to tell me where the pump is, would you?"
Sure enough, the dog was silent, but Ruby was able to find the pump halfway between the barn and the house. The lever moved easily enough, though it wasn't without its squeaks, and soon a gush of cool water flowed into her bucket. She put her hand under the spout, delighting in the refreshing stream that played over her fingers, and she splashed some water onto her face as she realized she hadn't done even that much with the proper pitcher and basin inside. The breeze cooled her wet skin even more, and Ruby was amazed at how such a little act could so rejuvenate her warm face and puffy eyes.
Soon she was hauling her bucket back inside, and she couldn't help but be grateful that she didn't have to have to get water from a stream any more. She wondered if she should heat the water first, but decided against it when she realized she'd let the fire die in the little stove. She'd have to re-light it for dinner, but she could worry about that later.
She noticed that Pongo had followed her in and was now curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace. She wondered if she should shoo him outside—she wasn't sure about Mr. Hopper's feelings about animals inside the house—but surely it wouldn't hurt. He was no bother, and, truth be told, Ruby appreciated the company, so she decided to leave him be as she began her task with a determination that would make her grandmother proud.
It took most of the day for Ruby to scrub down only part of the cabin. She focused on the cupboards and drawers, first, and then moved onto the other shelves and pieces of furniture while the cupboards dried. They weren't in a bad state, but the room did benefit from a good scrub-down and airing out. Besides, now Ruby knew where her supplies were as she put everything back just where she wanted, including making sure the coffee beans and coffee-mill were easily accessible. She lined up the brown sugar and salt and flour and cornmeal together and couldn't help but grin to discover that they also had molasses. She'd also found a blue-and-white ceramic pitcher with milk, and so she'd help herself to a glass in the middle of the day as a treat. She savoured the rich, creamy taste after having only had water to drink for so long, and she swallowed the now-familiar lump that rose in her throat with the thought that the nutrition would be good for the baby.
Ruby finished the last bit of milk from the pitcher, and she brushed aside the guilt at the realization. Surely they had a milking cow in that big barn? She'd have to ask Mr. Hopper about that. The thought of fresh milk every day made Ruby smile, and she threw back her head to drain the cup before she continued on with her work.
The end of the day snuck up on Ruby—which shouldn't have been a surprise, considering her late start—and her heart started to race when she realized how long the shadows in the house had grown with the red sunlight that poured in from the window above the sink. As if to chastise her, a little cuckoo bird yelled at her from the clock on the mantel as it announced the hour, and she jumped.
"Jiminy Cricket!" Ruby yelled as she threw down her washcloth. She hadn't even started to think about dinner, never mind her frustrations at how she hadn't tackled half of what she had hoped to do that day.
With more than a few false starts, Ruby finally got the stove lit. She'd have to remember to not let the fire die, in future, because it was a pain in the rear end to coax back to life. She stretched upright after being hunched over and then realized she had no idea what to make. With another glance at the clock, Ruby begrudgingly decided on cornmeal pancakes, since she could make them easily enough, and she knew she had the ingredients.
Soon, the familiar sizzle sounded from the pan as the cakes fried in the bacon fat that she had saved from breakfast. The heady aroma filled the room once more, and Ruby's stomach grumbled as she remembered she hadn't eaten since her late breakfast.
When the last pancake was finished and off the pan—her last job done—Ruby's mind suddenly felt foggy as her limbs weighed her down. For having a short day, all things considered, she'd pushed herself hard, and nothing seemed more inviting than a soft bed. At the sound of wagon wheels coming to a stop outside, she grabbed a cake and hurried to the bedroom, shutting the door behind her as she heard the main door open.
"She's still in bed?" she heard the young boy's voice ask through the door, and she closed her eyes as she leaned against the wood.
"No—at least, not all day," the deeper voice of the father answered. "It looks like she's been busy."
"Not pancakes," the boy grumbled, and Ruby clenched her own portion of supper in her fist.
"Yes, and isn't it nice to come home to a hot supper? Now, please wash up before we eat."
Then, silence, aside from the clangs of dishes and the scrapes of chairs on the floor.
Ruby dragged herself to the bed and nibbled on her smushed pancake. She wasn't hungry anymore, but the small, round morsel was easily finished. She swallowed the last mouthful, all dry and tasteless as the weight that she'd been fighting all day pressed in on her once more.
Ruby could hear voices outside her door as the last rays of daylight filtered into her room. She lay down on the bed despite the early hour, knowing it was cowardly to hide away. She didn't have the energy to face them just yet. Her arms ached and the throbbing in her chest threatened to take hold of her again, and she sighed.
With heavy eyelids, Ruby had blessed little time in between wake and sleep to dwell on anything beyond her present surroundings. She'd already spent over twenty-four hours in this cabin, and she refused to think about how many more hours she still had left to fill.
A man rode wildly on a horse, shouting, "Prince! Prince!" over and over again, his voice more and more frantic each time. The landscape was dark and foggy as an eerie heaviness settled far as the eye could see. Then, a sharp howl of a wolf pierced Ruby's heart as she watched, helpless to intervene.
Faster and faster, the horse ran as the rider—Peter, Ruby realized—rode with expertise, though she could feel his heart racing.
Out of nowhere, a wolf appeared and raced towards the terrified horse. He cut in front of the animal, causing it to buck and throw Peter to the ground. The loud thud made Ruby's stomach sick and she tried to call out to him, but no words came.
The horse vanished, leaving nothing but empty space between the man on the ground and the hungry wolf. Ruby watched, helplessly, as the wolf closed the distance, and Peter's eyes grew wide as he struggled to shift backwards on his elbows. To Ruby's horror, the wolf transformed, and instead of seeing a creature an all fours, she saw her own reflection rise up over the injured man, ready to kill.
"No!" Ruby screamed, jumping up, willing her limbs to move.
She awoke to darkness and sprung up, covered in a cold sweat, sitting in a bed in a little room with a strip of moonlight across the quilt. She panted heavily as she took in her surroundings and remembered where she was.
She heard a whine on the other side of the door and slowly crossed the room to open it. Pongo nuzzled her hand with his wet nose, and she sank down to wrap her arms around the animal, unable to keep the tears from streaming down her face as she tried to control her breathing.
It was a dream. A terrible, horrible nightmare. Peter was gone, but he was not killed by wolves. He was thrown from his horse. A stupid accident.
But it was because of her.
Sobs wracked Ruby as she squeezed the poor animal, her guilt over her own part in her husband's death hitting her with such force that she could no longer ignore it. "I killed him," she mumbled into the dark fur. "I let Prince escape, and it's because of me that Peter is…." She couldn't say the word, and instead she clung to the dog for a few more moments.
Once she finally collected herself, Ruby stood up and held the door open for Pongo. The dog made his way to the side of the bed instead and turned in place a couple of times before plopping down on the floor.
Ruby chuckled as she closed the door, her nerves still wound tight as she took a deep breath and wiped her cheeks. She could use a guardian from her own dreams. His presence alone made the room warmer, somehow—as if he could keep away the eerie blurriness that seeped into the room at night.
Slowly, Ruby slipped under the covers and fought against any cruel images that attacked her. She was still so tired, and a dreamless sleep washed over her almost instantly.
The next day saw the repeat of the events of the one before. As she willfully ignored any memories of her nightmare, Ruby emerged to the remnants of breakfast after Archibald and August left for the day. They returned to a dinner of cornmeal pancakes while Ruby stole away to her room.
The in between hours were slightly different, however. Ruby discovered her trunk of things in the main room, and a quick rummage through her clothes had her deciding that it was a good day for laundry. She changed into one of her cleaner dresses from the trunk as she realized the first thing to clean would be the dress she'd been living in for the last few days.
First things first, she threw some wood into the stove to ensure it would be hot for her water. A quick search around the cabin told her that there was no large kettle for laundry, so Ruby began heating the water in small batches to pour into the big tub. It had her wishing for her grandmother's copper drum kettle, but at least she didn't have to make due with a cold stream.
Ruby scoured the house for anything remotely dirty, though she didn't touch the linens piled neatly in drawers and cupboards. She found some small trousers and overalls and shirts in a heap in the bedroom—presumably August's—and she threw those into the soapy water along with her dresses. For a moment, she considered checking the lean-to for more clothing, but immediately thought better of it. That was Mr. Hopper's space.
She stripped her bed and checked the drawers in the bedroom, though perhaps it more out of curiosity than anything else. Like she'd expected, they were filled with clothes neatly piled—at least, the larger shirts and trousers were neat. August's small items were more haphazardly organized, and Ruby could picture the boy yanking out a shirt with little notice to the mess he left behind.
Would Peter's child do the same? Or would he be neat and careful with his things? Or her…
Ruby shook her head at the thought. There was too much work to be done to be standing over an open drawer and dreaming the day away. Before she could shut the drawer, however, something caught her eye—a hard, shiny surface. Ruby pulled at it to discover a picture frame with glass over the portrait of a beautiful young woman. Her fair hair was fashionably curled and she wore a brooch at her throat—dressed in her Sunday best—and her clear eyes almost smiled at something in the distance, despite her otherwise sombre expression.
Ruby's heart caught in her throat. This must be August's mother—Mr. Hoppers's wife. She couldn't help but study the face for a moment, and her mind flew through a million questions. What was she like? How did she die? How old was August when she passed away? How did she and Mr. Hopper meet?
Then, Ruby remembered herself and shoved the picture under a shirt and pushed the drawer closed. It was none of her business, really, and she had work to do.
Ruby's arms ached as she hung up the last of the washing outside to dry—a reminder of her busy day before—and she knew she would be even more sore the next day. Still, she'd rather keep busy than give her thoughts a chance to wander, and so she decided to wash down the walls in the cabin with the soapy water, now lukewarm, before she'd start on dinner.
It took her longer than she'd thought to make her way around the small room, but by the time Ruby was done, the horizontal logs, with their chinking in between, shone bright and new. Ruby was pleased with her work, and there was something satisfying about the act of dumping out the old water outside—the dirty water evidence of her accomplishments that day, though there wasn't as much left to dump as she'd started with, she was sure. She was almost too tired to care that she could only make pancakes for the men again, but she figured they couldn't really complain, now, could they?
As she hid away in her room that evening while father and son ate, Ruby was partly glad to be able to keep to herself for just a little bit longer—but somehow she was mad at the male presence in the other room. Why should she have to run away when they came in?
Sometimes she was pretty sure she hated him, that tall, red-haired gentleman with glasses who looked like nothing bothered him. Why was she working so hard to clean up a house that wasn't hers?
Still, as Ruby fell asleep that night, she couldn't help but wonder what she'd tackle tomorrow. And even if she had a plan for that day, what about the day after, and the one after that?
Luckily, she had very little time to worry as she was soon fast asleep—too tired for even nightmares to invade her dreams.
As Archie and August pulled up to their home, movement from the side of the house caught Archie's eye. Fabric—garments, mostly, including a red dress—swayed in the gentle breeze, pegged up on the clotheslines strung up between the trees.
She'd been busy.
When they got closer, the shapeless garments came into focus. He could see a few of August's things, and Archie warmed at the thoughtful gesture. At least she must be finding her way around the place easily enough. Then, his eyes widened as he realized that some of the white items hanging up were the lady's petticoats and undergarments. He quickly looked away, a flush creeping over his neck and cheeks, and he glanced at August. Luckily, the boy was preoccupied with greeting Pongo as enthusiastically as the dog was greeting him back.
It was a foolish reaction, and he shook his head at himself. There were some things that he'd have to get used to with a woman around.
The sight was quickly forgotten as Archie got to work with his son to unhitch the horse and get her settled in the barn. Then, they opened the door to the aroma of dinner.
A quick glance at the stove confirmed Archie's suspicions. Pancakes.
He chuckled at that. He also noticed that August stayed quiet about them this time. Then again, the boy had had a busy day helping in the fields and playing with Emma Nolan, and he gobbled up the cakes faster than should have been polite. Archie couldn't chastise him for that. Besides, the cakes were good, and his aching muscles and grumbling stomach made him particularly grateful to have a hot meal already prepared.
After a few rushed bites, Archie savoured the rest of his dinner. August's mouth was too full for them to converse easily, so Archie's gaze wandered around their home. The walls were patchy—slightly dark in spots, evidence of a washing. He gulped, swallowing his mouthful down as he stood up to investigate further.
The chinking, which should have been bright white, was dark and muddy. He poked at it, and it gave way under his finger as some water dripped down the wall and a chunk fell out.
"Pa, what's wrong with the wall?" August asked from his seat.
Archie shook his head with a chuckle. "Nothing. Miss Ruby just cleaned it for us, is all." He turned around and looked around the room. Sure enough, the rest of the chinking was the same colour, and he could see holes starting to form as pieces fell out.
Goodness, she must have been bone tired to have done the laundry and washed the walls—and made them dinner. No wonder she'd made pancakes.
No wonder she was in bed.
Archie's chest tightened once more as he suspected the reasons behind her cleaning streak. It might be easier to focus on such practical tasks, but at this rate, she'd wear herself out before the week was done.
He returned to the table to finish his dinner as he mentally added "chinking" to his list of things to get in town on his Saturday trip.