They came to a table holding an enormous pot with a spigot. Jeremy tipped the
bucket to pour its contents into the pot and then opened the spigot to complete
his demonstration of the system.
“This is where I do my washing up.” He held his hands under the stream of
water. “My shaving, too.”
“I want one of those!” She was already planning how she would have her
second pulley right over the water barrel.
“No problem to fix one up. All you need is enough rope and two pulleys.
Those are for washing up the rest of you.” He gestured toward the two large leather pouches that lay on the ground a few yards away. “Filled them this
morning so they’ve been in the sun all day, heating up. Water should be nice and
warm.”
Jeremy picked up a piece of rope that hung over a tree branch, with a hook tied to its end. He attached the hook to a metal ring sewn to one of the pouches.
“Watch this,” he said and whistled for Ernest. The horse clomped over, took
the other end of the rope in its mouth, and walked away from the tree. It seemed
as if Ernest actually looked back over his shoulder to make sure the bag of water
was high enough.
“There, stay there, Boy,” Jeremy said and Ernest obeyed.
Then Jeremy removed a plug from the bottom of the skin and stood back to
hold his hand under the stream of water that spurted out. “It is nice and warm,”
he said, getting splashed as he returned the plug to close off the flow.
Olivia stared up, again in awe. It was so simple. Why didn’t everyone do this?
There was a mirror nailed to the tree and nails for hanging up clothes. A block of
soap rested on a tiny shelf. There was even a ramp of wooden slats on the ground, to protect bare feet from the mud. He had thought of everything.
“What’s that?” She pointed at a small container.
“Special soap the Indians use. They make it from yucca root. Say it’s good for
your hair.”
She wanted one of those too and flushed as she imagined standing naked in
the open air under a stream of water, her clean skin tingling. It would probably
be easy for Mourning to rig one up, once he saw the idea, she thought. But
would I dare use it? Why not? It doesn’t have to be out in a clearing like this.
Mourning can put ours behind the barn.
I have to stop being so timid. So conventional. That’s why Jeremy hasn’t come
calling. He knows life with me would be prison. I’m Francie Everman in trousers
and I don’t even know how to bake a pie.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Did you think up this wonderful invention up all by yourself?” Olivia asked
Jeremy.
“No, saw something like it in a book. There have always been people like me,
figuring ways to wash under running water. An Indian helped me fix it up. Those
‘savages’ use a similar system and laugh at the ‘civilized’ white men who sit in a
