She didn’t answer, other than to kick her boot into a drift of snow.
“He’s a good worker. That you can admire, can’t you?” I’d seen the young man tossing bales of hay as if they were matchsticks. “Being a good one yourself, that is.”
“I haven’t noticed.”
We sipped our cider, quiet for a moment. I glanced over at the firepit. Viktor was watching us with an expression on his face that I recognized immediately. Jealousy. I might need to hang a sign around her neck with the number sixteen written on it. Translation: too young for all of you.
“Don’t look, but he’s been glancing over here. I think he might be jealous that you’re talking to me.”
She growled like a disgruntled puppy. “I don’t think so. He sees me as a kid.”
I doubted that, but I’d keep it to myself for now.
“I had to sneak out of the house this morning,” Cymbeline said, abruptly changing the subject. “Before Papa saw what I was wearing. He’s very old-fashioned.”
“I’ve never seen a girl wear overalls before,” I said.
She squinted at me as if I’d said something so outlandish that she thought she’d heard me wrong. “Dresses get in the way of real work. Men have liked to have us wear them as a way to keep us down. And corsets? How ridiculous that we be squeezed into something made of bones, which are supposed to be on the inside of your body, not outside. They were made to make sure we couldn’t breathe, lest we think too much.”
I smiled to myself.
She continued her diatribe. “Did you know women in Colorado have the right to vote? We have since 1893. The second state in the Union to do so. After Wyoming. Are you against women voting?”
“Absolutely not. There were a lot of women overseas, helping the war effort. Nurses. Ambulance drivers. They were very brave. It seems to me women can do pretty much whatever a man can do.”
She gave me a nod of approval. “I couldn’t agree more. If I’d been old enough, I would have gone to the front lines in a second. I’d like to drive an ambulance.” Her eyes flashed with ambition as she flattened her empty hand and pushed it through the air in a mimic of an ambulance. “I would have driven right into the fighting to rescue injured soldiers.”
“Let’s hope we never have another war, so you won’t have to.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But if I have to marry some man and keep house instead of doing something exciting, I’d rather die young.”
“Don’t say such things. No one should ever have to die young.”
She flushed. “I’m sorry. That probably sounds awful of me. Did you lose a lot of friends in the war?”
“Yes, sadly.” I’d leave it at that. Let her keep her romantic ideals of war. Her brothers had come home. She hadn’t had to suffer the grief so many families experienced.
“Did you know Walter well?” she asked.
“Pretty well.”
“Was he a heel?”
“Why do you ask?”
She shrugged as she pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I didn’t like him.”
“Did you meet him?” I asked, surprised.
“No, but I read some of his letters. The few that he wrote.”
“And?”
“I’m Josephine’s sister. I understand things about her that others don’t.” She straightened her legs and pushed the toes of both her boots into the snow. “He wasn’t right for her. Fiona and I both thought so. And now we find out he didn’t even read the books she sent.”
I nodded. “Read by me and some of the other fellas,” I said. “Not a wasted effort.”
“Fine, but that’s not the point. How could Josephine marry a man who doesn’t love reading? She’s a librarian. That’s heresy.”