Eliza had a plan for creating a little space for her daughter. She would, in essence, create a three-sided, low-walled box without a top. The bed would sit on the floor, making it safer if she rolled out of bed, and making it possible for her to get in and out on her own.
Working as a housekeeper was not precisely a dream come true for Eliza, but after working in a factory, this new position felt like nothing short of a miracle. She and her girl had a fine room to call their own. Aidan had assured her that the wood she wished for would not be missed by the family she now worked for. And that family, Maura insisted, was even more generous than they were well-to-do.Thattook some effort to believe. Eliza once had a very close connection to a very wealthy family, and “generosity” had not been in their vocabulary.
She sat on the floor beside her pile of wood. Life hadn’t been easy and certainly hadn’t been fair, but her prospects were improving.
“Doll.” Still sitting contentedly on the bed, Lydia held up her knotted handkerchief.
“Yes, sweet pea. That’s your doll.”
Someday, the girl would have a real doll. Her clothes wouldn’t be quite so ragged. She’d have shoes on her feet. Those were the grandest dreams Eliza would allow herself to entertain at the moment.
She laid out the wood to create Lydia’s bed. Two sides of the box bed were soon connected. Lydia watched her curiously, a little startled by each thwack of the hammer, but she didn’t seem overly bothered by it. Lydia was quite possibly the most contented not-quite two-year-old who’d ever lived, a far cry from the sobbing, fussing, often miserable baby she’d once been.
Building a makeshift bed was a tall ask for one person. Somehow Eliza would manage; she always did. Her hammering mingled with the occasional moderate words of frustration.
After ten minutes attempting to nail the third side of the three-sided bed box in place, she set the hammer down and breathed through her discouragement.
“Are you needing help?” When Patrick O’Connor had come to be in the doorway, she couldn’t say, but there he was, as gruff and unkempt as ever.
Why was it she always smiled when she saw him? The shabby grump of a man piqued her curiosity in the most intriguing ways.
“I’ve built any number of things in my time,” Eliza said. It was a bit of an exaggeration, but she didn’t want him to think she was entirely helpless. “I’m certain to sort this out.”
Patrick nodded but stepped inside rather than leaving. He stopped beside her and bent down, eyeing her haphazard creation. “What is it?”
“A bed for Lydia.”
He scratched his neck. “A bed?”
“A . . .uniquebed.” She allowed her amusement to show. She felt certain he was looking at her again.
“Unique in what way?”
Eliza explained her vision for the odd piece of furniture and her need for it. He listened intently, not interrupting. She finished and watched him, unsure what his evaluation would be.
“Are you wanting help?” He’d changed his wording a little. Perhaps she’d convinced him that she wasn’t entirely inept.
“I won’t say no.”
He took up the hammer, holding it quite naturally. He spun it a little in his hand. “What’s best for me to be getting on with?”
“If I hold the wood in place, you could hammer.”
“Aye.” He took up a nail in his hand and waited. That was to be the entirety of the planning, apparently. She didn’t mind his prolonged silences. They were part of what made him so intriguing.
“Have you lived away from your family long?” she asked.
“Aye.”
“Were you far away?”
“Aye.”
He worked as he spoke, though “spoke” was a generous description. “Where were you?”
“Canada.” Thatwasfar away.
“Do they have razors and soap in Canada?”
