Janie was just about to speak to the man about his manners when Nicole took the offered hand in both of hers and turned it over. Janie grimaced, for to her the palm of the man’s hand was mutilated, with gray lumps all over it.
Nicole ran her hands over the man’s, then smiled brilliantly at him. “You’re hired,” she said.
His eyes twinkled. “And you know what you’re doin’. You’ll run your mill just fine.”
When he was gone, Nicole explained. The man was a millstone dresser. He used a chisel and sharpened the grooves in the millstones. To do this, he’d cover his right hand with leather and leave his left one bare. Over the years, his left hand would become embedded with bits of stone. The men showed their left hands with pride. It was a symbol of their experience. There was a saying, “to show one’s mettle.” Mettle was an old English word for crushed stone.
Janie went back to work, muttering about gloves being made for left hands, too.
When the trough to the river was cleared of debris and the water flowed over the top of the water wheel and made it turn, there was a shout that could be heard for miles.
Nicole wasn’t surprised less than a day later, when their first customer arrived on a little barge loaded with grain to be ground. She knew Clay had sent a man upriver and another down with word of the reopening of the mill.
It had been nearly two weeks since she’d seen him, yet there wasn’t a moment that she didn’t think of him. Twice she’d caught a glimpse of him riding through his fields, but each time she’d turned away.
One morning after the mill had been running for three days, she woke very early. It wasn’t light yet, and she heard Janie’s deep breathing of sleep from across the room. She hurriedly dressed in the half-light, leaving her hair hanging freely down her back.
Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to see Clay standing in front of the water wheel. He wore trousers of light tan and high boots with a top cuff turned down. His back was to her, his hands clasped behind him. His shirt was especially white in the dim light, as was the broad-brimmed hat he wore.
“You’ve done a good job,” he said without turning. “I wish I could get half as much work out of the servants as you do.”
“I guess it comes of necessity.”
He turned and looked at her, his eyes intense. “No, not necessity. You could come back to my house at any time.”
“No,” she breathed. “It’s better this way.”
“The twins keep asking for you. They want to see you.”
She smiled. “I’ve missed them. Maybe you’d let them come across.”
“I thought you could come to them. We could have dinner tonight. A ship docked yesterday and brought some things from France. There’s brie, burgundy, and champagne. They’re being brought downriver today.”
“It sounds tempting, but—”
He stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. “You can’t mean to avoid me forever. What do you want from me? Do you want me to tell you how much I miss you? I think everyone on the plantation is angry at me for making you leave. Maggie serves my food either burned or raw, nothing in between. The twins cried last night because I didn’t know some damned French fairy tale about a lady falling in love with a monster.”
“ ‘Beauty and the Beast.’ ” Nicole smiled. “So you want me to come back so you’ll get a decent meal.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Don’t twist my words. I never wanted you to leave. Will you come to supper?”
“Yes,” she said.
He grabbed her and gave her a swift, hard kiss, then released her and left.
“I thought things weren’t workin’ out,” Janie said from behind Nicole.
Nicole had no answer for her. She walked back to the house to start the day’s work.
During the long day, Nicole could hardly contain her nervousness about having dinner with Clay. When Vernon weighed the bags of grain and called out the numbers to Nicole, she had to ask him to repeat the figures so she could record them correctly. However, she did remember to send Maggie a recipe for Dindon à la Daube, a boned turkey that was stuffed and served in a casserole. Maggie loved good food so much, and Nicole knew she’d probably make two of the turkeys, one for the main house and one for her and her staff.
At six o’clock, Clay’s rowboat came to the shore with his estate manager, Anders. He was a tall blond man. He lived with his wife and two children in a house just south of Clay’s office. His children often played with the twins. Nicole asked after his family.
“Everyone’s fine except that we all miss you. Karen made some peach preserves yesterday, and she wants to send you some. Is the mill working? You seem to have quite a few customers.”
“Mr. Armstrong has spread the word, and more and more people are bringing their grain.”
He gave her an odd look. “Clay is a respected man.”