Egad! Trevor is smitten and not with his wealthy fiance.
Chapter Two gives Catherine a chance to talk to you, to describe her situation, get a word in, so to speak. She hides in the swamp as a deaf mute kitchen maid in a hunting resort found in the Carolinas of 1908.
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The dripping sweat tickled the tender skin between her breasts, but her hands were too busy to rub the sensation away. They were wrapped in worn towels to protect her skin from the heavy scorching metal handles. Catherine heaved His Meanness, as she had named the Garret’s heaviest pot, from the swinging handled spit, pushing it away from the heat of the open wood burning stoves.
“Watch the flames, honey,” Joann Garret took the other side of His Meanness and together they lifted it onto the long wooden table. An early morning rain tapped against the canvas roof above them. “Fetch the floor and salt. We’ve got to hurry. Those gents are leaving early this morning. Ross said they wanted fresh bread at their picnic.”
“Day-old isn’t good enough?” Catherine grunted her redundant question, but not loud enough to be heard above the busyness of the part-time kitchen help scurrying around her.
“Hush, if you want to keep that secret of yours,” admonished Joann. “I love you, child, but you’ve too many burdens. Keeping yourself bottled up just isn’t right for your constitution.”
Catherine leaned over the table and passed the floor and measuring cup. “Constitution? Yesterday you were worried about my soul,” she laughingly whispered.
Joann waved away the offered cups. “Measuring cup? Girl, I’ve no need of that!” She quickly and efficiently dumped in the copious amounts of floor into His Meanness and dashed in the salt. Floor and salt sprinkled on her brown skin like rare Carolina snowflakes. “Now,” as she began to stir, “your constitution is the way your body feels in the morning and your soul is how you feel when you say your evening prayers.”
Enough! more soon, hopefully
Eleanor Tatum 
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