Chapter 10

Shadow Valley, Texas 1870

Patricia heaved a bulging laundry sack onto the porch, dumping clothes into a barrel. Halona, perched on the steps, watched her stir the clothes with a wooden paddle. With a touch of apprehension, she approached Patricia, her gaze lingering on the laundry bobbing in the barrel.

"I noticed you didn't have any laundry out for me," Patricia remarked, her voice neutral.

"Couldn't ask you to do that," Halona replied. "Would you mind if I use the water after?"

Patricia waved dismissively. "Go get your things."

Upstairs, Halona debated washing her only pair of panties. Gritting her teeth, she peeled them off and tucked them into her blouse. Commando beat walking around in dirty underwear.

By the time she returned to the porch, Patricia was already rinsing a load of clothes, the freshly washed garments billowing on the line. A stifled snicker escaped Halona's lips as she caught sight of a pair of old-fashioned bloomers snapping in the breeze. They were practical, undeniably, but compared to the lingerie Halona was used to, they seemed to belong in another era entirely. Patricia, despite the age difference, sported undergarments that could only be described as 'granny panties' on steroids.

"Go ahead and toss them in," Patricia instructed, gesturing towards the wash basin.

Halona picked up a wooden paddle, eyeing it with uncertainty. "Do I… use it like this?" She asked, mimicking a stirring motion.

Patricia's eyebrow shot up in amusement. "Haven't you ever done laundry before?"

Halona flushed slightly. "Well, not exactly like this," she stammered.

Picking up a washboard, Halona examined it with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. She'd seen them depicted in old movies, these strange ribbed contraptions, but other than props she had no idea how they worked. Shrugging, she dunked her jeans in the soapy water and placed them on the washboard. Following what little intuition she had, she began to scrub the fabric back and forth.

"Pretty girl like you shouldn't be wearing men's trousers," Patricia commented, peering down at the jeans with a frown.

"I've noticed they aren't very fashionable here," Halona said with all the politeness she could muster. She could feel the woman across from her judging her with every word, her tone dripping with condescension. Halona wasn't sure what she'd done to tick her off.

Patricia snorted. "Those ain't no britches I've ever seen before. And what's that metal contraption on the front?" She pointed a gnarled finger at the zipper.

"The zipper?" Halona explained, patiently demonstrating how the two sides interlocked.

Patricia blushed three shades of red when Halona pulled put her lacey bit of fabric and began to run the soap over it. "Good heavens!" Patricia exclaimed, her voice scandalized. "What… what is that?"

"It's a bra," Halona explained, holding it up for inspection.

Patricia's eyes widened further. "Looks like a fancy corset top to me," she mumbled, taking the garment and turning it over in her hands with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval. "Where's the rest of it?"

"The rest of it?" Halona fought back a smile. "It's just to hold my boobs."

Halona finished awkwardly, feeling a pang of self-consciousness under Patricia's scrutiny.

Patricia's gaze lingered on the lacy fabric for a moment longer before she handed the bra back. "Well, I'll be…" she muttered, her cheeks still flushed.

Halona, relieved to move on from the topic, dunked the bra into the soapy water and began to gently massage the fabric.

"So, where exactly do you find these… frilly little things you wear?" Patricia peered at the lacy fabric with suspicion.

"Everywhere." Halona hung up a rinsed shirt and considered her answer. Describing department stores overflowing with lingerie options seemed a world away from this remote place. "Except here apparently."

Halona's eyes wandered to Isaac and Megan, who were engrossed in play with one of the goats. A familiar craving gnawed at her - not for the bland, lifeless black coffee that tasted like an AI's interpretation, but for the rich comfort of a vanilla latte or, better yet, the indulgence of a caramel macchiato. She exhaled deeply, resting her hands on her hips. It struck her that this had to be the only corner of the world untouched by the ubiquitous green mermaid of Starbucks.