Yes, Leah thought, she is perfectly correct. I do have a lot to be proud of. She turned toward the fabric. “I like this,” she said, touching a rust-colored velvet.
“Good! And what else?”
“This and this and…this one.”
Madame Gisele stood back for a moment, looked up at Leah, then gave a short laugh. “You may look frightened but you’re afraid of no one. True, no?”
Leah considered the question seriously. “Nicole and Regan are so sure of themselves. Everything they do is perfect.”
“They were born to wealth but people like you and me…we have to learn. I will help you, that is, if you aren’t afraid of hard work.”
Leah smiled at that, remembering the feel of the plow harness about her shoulders. “People who live in houses like this don’t even know what work is.”
“You will do,” Madame Gisele said, laughing. “You will do.”
What followed for Leah were days of measurements, pinnings, and being bullied by Madame.
“Lingerie!” the little woman said repeatedly. “You may have to forego silk for everyday wear on that nasty farm you’re going to, but underneath you’ll be a lady.”
At first Leah was shocked by the semitransparent garments of Indian cotton, but she soon grew to like them. Madame and her workers created a stunning wardrobe for Leah with many plain, everyday dresses of printed muslin and several silk and velvet creations for whatever society existed in the new state of Kentucky.
And always, Madame helped build Leah’s confidence. “You are a Stanford now and entitled to the privileges that go with the name.”
Unconsciously, Leah began to stand straighter, and within another month, she acted as if she’d always eaten her meals at a table and worn satin dresses.
When the fall harvest was in and Clay could relax, he began to spend time with Leah. Each morning they went out together and he taught her to ride.
“I like her,” Clay told Nicole one night. “She’s very serious, always wanting to please, trying to learn everything at once.”
“It’s for Wesley,” Nicole said softly, looking up from the needlework in her lap. “Even after the way he’s treated her, leaving her after their one night together and again leaving her after their marriage, she still believes the sun rises and sets on that man. I just hope…”
“You hope what?” Clay asked.
“Wesley is so much like Travis and when either one of them gets something in his head it’s not easy to change.”
“And what do you want to change?”
“Kimberly,” Nicole answered.
Clay gave a snort of disgust. “Wes was saved when he didn’t marry that bitch. Kimberly believes the world should be laid at her feet, and, unfortunately, it generally is.”
“And most often it’s put there by Wesley. I don’t think he’s going to easily forget Kimberly.”
“He will,” Clay said with a chuckle. “Wes isn’t stupid, and after he spends a few weeks alone with a beauty like Leah, he’ll never even remember that Kimberly exists.”
Nicole had her own ideas of the stupidity of men when it came to pretty women, but she said nothing as she turned back to her sewing.
It was that winter, as work on the plantation began to slow down, that Leah discovered weaving. When Nicole showed Leah the loom house, Leah was reluctant to leave. The beautiful cloth, the coverlets taking shape under the women’s hands, shuttles flying, treadles working smoothly, fascinated Leah.
“Would you like to try your hand on a loom?” asked a big blonde woman who Nicole introduced as Janie Langston.
“I’m not sure I could do that,” Leah said hesitantly. There seemed to be thousands of threads on the loom going in and out of
looped strings, with a metal comb tied to a wooden bar.
“Would you like to try?” Janie urged as Leah reverently touched a piece of woven cloth.
“Very much,” Leah said positively.