“Clara.”
“No.”
Clara untied the work apron around her waist.
“I am taking Samuel to Mrs. Alvarez’s.”
Martha stared.
“You are working.”
“Then dock me.”
“You already dock me for things I didn't do.”
Martha’s mouth opened.
Clara continued.
“And if his fever rises because grown women needed clean sheets more than a sick child needed warmth, I will not forgive myself.”
The entire yard heard.
Martha flushed.
Clara looked toward Nathaniel.
“Take your wagon around to the east side of Mrs. Alvarez's house.”
“Her back entrance is wider.”
Nathaniel nodded.
“You know where?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He climbed toward the driver's seat.
Clara turned toward the wash tub.
Martha grabbed her arm.
Not hard.
Enough.
“You walk away from this work and don't expect to come back tomorrow.”
Clara froze.
Nathaniel saw.
So did the Reverend.
Clara looked down at Martha’s hand.
Martha released her.
Clara’s chest tightened.
There it was.
Security.
Rent.
Work.
Debt.
The small room over the feed shed.
Everything fragile.
Nathaniel did not speak.
She was grateful.
He understood somehow that an offer made while another person was trapped was not much of an offer.
Clara looked at Martha.
“I will finish the sheets tonight.”
Martha smiled.
Victory.
Then Clara continued:
“After I know the boy can breathe.”
The smile disappeared.
Clara walked away.