Page 18 of Homestead

“Do you wanna take a bath?” he blurts out before I can figure out anything else to say.

My eyes get very big.

“I mean, not that you’re dirty or anythin’. Just wondered if you’d want to. I do got a tub I use for baths. Gotta pump out all the water to fill it, so I only do it once a week or so and just use the basin otherwise. It’s easier in the summer since we can do it outside.”

It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but I’d swear his cheeks are red. I start to respond, but he’s on a roll and doesn’t let me.

“So we could have baths tonight if you want. I need one for sure, specially if we’re sharin’ a bed. Wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

I manage to break into his rambles. “Okay. That sounds like a good idea.”

I don’t say it, but I haven’t had a real bath since my grandpa and I left our home in the forest. Even without modern conveniences, any sort of bath sounds like a dream.

Jimmy looks relieved that we’ve finally stumbled on a plan for the evening. He drags a big tub inside that’s more than large enough for one person to sit down in. He positions it in the kitchen directly over a drain in the floor. He explains the process—filling a big pot with water and then putting it on the stove to heat up and then pumping out enough cold water to fill the tub about two-thirds of the way up.

It’s not easy, and it takes a while, but we eventually get enough water into the tub. Then Jimmy pours the hot water into the cold and stirs it around with his hand.

“See?” he says, looking pleased when he retrieves his hand. “Not exactly a hot tub, but it’s warm enough now.”

I feel the water, which is indeed warmish. “That will be just fine.”

“Oh wait, this might help.” He turns around and strides into the small room again and emerges with a couple of towels and a little bucket in which are a number of bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and bath soap, clearly scavenged from the old world. “Some of it is basic, and some of it is flowery. You can use whatever you feel like.”

For some reason, his blunt comment makes me want to snicker. “So you use the flowery stuff sometimes?”

He makes a huffing sound that’s evidently amusement. “Only when I’m really tryin’ to impress.”

It takes a couple of seconds to realize he made a joke. An actual joke. I giggle.

“So you go ahead first, but don’t let out the stopper at the bottom to drain it. I’ll use the same water since it’s such a pain to fill it up.”

“Oh, you should go first then.”

“No. No way.” He frowns at me with a mild disapproval I’ve seen on his face before. “You don’t wanna get into my dirty bathwater.”

“But you’ll have to?—”

“Stop all that arguin’. I’m telling you, girlie, you stink way less than me.”

I giggle again, half nerves and half amusement. He hasn’t called me girlie since the very first day he rescued me, and for some reason it makes me feel good. Safe. “Okay. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“No hurry. I’ll be outside. Just call out when you’re done.”

“Okay. I will. Thank you.”

He disappears out the back door—the one that leads to the outhouse. I feel weird and vulnerable as I start taking off my clothes, but it would be stupid to delay. The water will get cool.

Before I get in, I do think of something else and pump out enough water to fill the big pot and put it back on the stove. That way Jimmy can have warmish water too.

Fortunately, I’m not on my period right now. That would definitely make things awkward with sharing the water. I get naked all the way and take a high step to put one leg into the tub. I pull the other one over the side and then sit down.

It’s not big enough to submerge in or stretch out my legs, but it doesn’t matter. I quickly squirt out pear-scented bath soap, lather up, and use a washcloth to clean myself up. Washing my hair is a major process, and I like to do it on sunny afternoons so it dries quicker, so I don’t bother submerging my head and instead clean my face and neck and shoulders with the washcloth.

I’m able to get myself a lot cleaner than I’ve been able to do with a quick washup with the basin in the evenings, and I feel a lot better as I stand up, letting the excess water drip off me before I carefully step out and dry off.

I pull the pink nightgown on over my head. It fits good through the chest and shoulders, but I suspect it’s supposed to come to the midthighs. Instead, it falls down to my knees.

It doesn’t matter. It’s better than anything else I have, and looking at myself in the mirror over the dresser in the bedroom reveals I actually look really nice in it. It shows off my breasts, making me look almost sensual. And the color is flattering against my hair and skin.

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