Page 35 of The Formation of Us
Dazed and too weak-kneed to move, Faith leaned against the table. There was a fine line between arrogance and self-confidence, and this strong, proud man walked dead center of that line.
He hooked his thumbs beneath the linen that was thankfully anchored around his waist, and paused with a roguish smile on his face. “I’m about to shuck this towel. Don’t suppose you’d like to stay and help me dress?”
With a gasp, Faith fled the room, at war with the rash, reckless part of her that would like nothing better.
Chapter 10
Faith’s stomach was full for the first time in weeks. A man from the Taylor Hotel had delivered a large roast beef with bowls of potatoes, vegetables, and two apple pies, along with a note from the sheriff thanking her for generously opening her business for him.
“That meal had to cost the sheriff a fortune,” Dahlia said, stacking clean plates back in the wooden crate the hotel had shipped them in.
Faith had expected to trade her services for lumber, but after eating like paupers for the last month, this unexpected meal was a blessing. Cora and Adam had eaten with such unabashed joy it had moved her to tears. They were so full from their meal, they flopped on their pallets at the far end of the building and hadn’t moved since. Adam was engrossed in a book, but Cora was lying on her back thumping her heels against the wall, waiting for Faith to finish washing dishes and come read her a story.
Yet, Faith desperately needed to talk to Aster, the most levelheaded of her aunts, and to Iris, who could negotiate her way around any situation. She rinsed a bowl and handed it to Tansy.
“I need a few minutes alone with Iris and Aster,” she said. “Would you and Dahlia tell Cora a story, and keep Adam settled with his book until I finish here?”
Tansy put the bowl in the crate of dishes that Adam would return to the Taylor Hotel tomorrow. “Of course, dahlin’. The way my back aches, you won’t have to ask twice.” She dropped her towel on their makeshift counter, then nudged Dahlia. “Let these gals finish the dishes while we concoct a story for Cora.”
“It’ll be a trial to relax for a while, but I’ll manage,” Dahlia agreed. She tossed her towel over the edge of the crate, and followed Tansy to their cluster of straw pallets at the back of the building.
Their little family had set up a makeshift kitchen in one corner of the building, using planks atop flour barrels for counters, and large tin pans for dish tubs. The only furniture they’d brought with them was Faith’s mother’s mahogany kitchen table, which had been the center of their family gatherings for as long as Faith could remember. They’d left the chairs in favor of flats of herbs that would better serve their new business; flour barrels and solid planks worked suitably well for table seating.
“What’s wrong?” Aster asked, her face pinched with worry.
Faith dried her hands on her apron. “Have you ever been married?”
Aster’s white eyebrows whisked upward. The ebony arches above Iris’s eyes lifted, too, but neither woman spoke.
“Mama said stormy weather drove each of you to her door, but she never said what kind of storm it was.”
“Does it matter?” Aster asked.
“Yes.” Faith sighed. “I need to know who you were before you met Mama.”
“Honey, I’m not even sure I can remember,” Aster said.
“What was your name? Before you became one of Mama’s flowers.”
Aster braced her hand on the counter, a towel bunched beneath her fingers. “Marian. And I was no different than any other hardworking farm girl, but I hated that life and my father’s heavy fists and my mother’s pathetic mewling. By my sixteenth birthday, I couldn’t stomach one more day of their endless drama, so I left and began my own. Four years later I found your mother and my first real family.”
“So, you never married?”
“No. I lost that opportunity decades ago. And I haven’t been particularly fond of the men I’ve known, so the point is moot.”
“How about you, Aunt Iris? Have you ever been married?”
“My mixed blood didn’t allow me to fit into any man’s world. I was too Japanese.”
“Were you born in Japan?”
“Right here in America,” she said. “My father was a commodore in the U.S. Navy, and a son of a wealthy banker from New York City. He was already married thirty years when he sailed his ship into Tokyo and met my mother. He smuggled her onto his ship and brought her to New York and made her his mistress. She conceived me on the ship during the crossing.”
Faith pressed her hand to her chest. “How dreadful. Forgive me for asking something so personal.”
Iris waved away the apology. “He cared deeply for my mother and provided very well for her until he died. But his estate went to his wife and children. My mother was forced to find herself another provider. Unfortunately, that man preferred her daughter Akiko.”
“Oh, Iris . . .” Faith’s eyes misted and she wanted to kick herself. “How unkind I’ve been to ask such intimate questions of you and Aster.”
