“That isn’t true,” Daisy said hotly, her face turning red. Then her chin came up and her mouth turned down. “But I’m not going to take a bath!”
“If Daisy doesn’t have to take a bath, then I don’t either,” Lucy said, measuring Angie with a challenging gaze.
She might have guessed that it wouldn’t be as easy as Sam instructing them to mind her and them doing it. All along she had suspected they would defy her at some point, if for no other reason than to see what would happen.
“You don’t want to go to church tomorrow wearing a week’s worth of dust and grime,” she said in a pleasant tone, letting her gaze touch meaningfully on their evening-wild hair.
“We have to go to church?”
Lucy’s tone suggested that church was not a regular occurrence. A while had elapsed since Angie had last attended church herself. But she wasn’t five or seven years old and in need of spiritual and moral guidance. In her opinion, anyone who wanted to grow up and become Miss Lily required some serious pew-time.
“If I’m too dirty to go to church then I’ll stay home,” Daisy stated, staring down at her plate. “I’m not going to take a bath.”
Angie didn’t spot any compromise. Either they obeyed and got into the bathtub, or they learned that their will was stronger than hers.
“Where is the laundry tub?” Angie asked Lucy.
Daisy’s small fingers curled into fists. “I won’t do it.”
“It’s outside, under the kitchen stoop.”
“Would you fetch it, please?”
“You can’t make me!” Daisy whispered.
Usually Daisy looked to Lucy for guidance and loyally agreed with whatever Lucy proposed. That her refusal came with no reference to Lucy told Angie this was a serious situation. Daisy’s defiance went beyond a test of wills.
“Would it make you feel better if I promise not to look at your foot?” she asked while Lucy was outside.
A tear quivered on Daisy’s eyelash, then spilled down her cheek. “Please don’t make me.”
Although Daisy managed very well, there were signs of self-consciousness. Walking on the side of her foot, on her ankle, had the effect of making her shorter on the right side by about two inches. Daisy placed her weight on the short side when she stood still so her hem would drop and cover the special shoe she wore. Although Lucy pattered about in bare feet after supper, Daisy never did. Twice she had come home from school with reddened eyes as if she’d been crying, and Angie had wondered if other children teased or tormented her. But Daisy had refused to explain.
On the other hand, Daisy didn’t let her awkward lurching gait slow her down. She ran after Lucy without hesitation. She didn’t appear to avoid people. And there was no sense that Daisy expected special treatment or consideration.
Huffing and puffing, Lucy rolled the laundry tub into the kitchen. And then both of the girls stared at Angie with blanked expressions, waiting to see what she would do. Angie was curious about that, too.
“You both need a bath,” she said slowly, desperately hoping for sudden inspiration. “And you’re too young to shampoo your own hair.” She had to be here.
Daisy stared up at her with large pleading eyes, as if she wanted Angie to find a solution but didn’t believe there was one. This could end badly.
“All right. Here’s what we’ll do.” She drew a breath and wondered how a real mother would solve the problem. Probably not the way she was about to. “Tonight—this time only—we will each leave on one article of clothing. It can be whatever you chose. I’m going to leave on my shimmy.” The idea was appealing, actually. She wasn’t overjoyed at the thought of appearing naked in front of them either. Especially since she would have to sit in the tub with her knees upraised and that meant her top would be exposed.
When neither of the girls spoke, Angie summoned a bright voice and smiled at Daisy. “I suppose you’ll leave on your stockings.” She turned the smile on Lucy. “What will you leave on?”
“I think I’ll leave on my petticoat,” Lucy said finally.
“Excellent choice.” Going to the stove, she tested the water. Not too hot, not too cool. “I have some bath salts on the dresser in the bedroom. Daisy, will you fetch the bottle, please?”
“We get bath salts?” Lucy brightened at once. “Mrs. Molly says bath salts are too expensive to waste on little girls, so she never lets us have any.”
Angie wiped out the laundry tub, then filled it halfway with warm water. “Occasionally a small extravagance makes a woman feel better. I suspect we can all use a little feeling better tonight. As soon as you’re undressed down to your stockings and your petticoat, you can stir the bath salts into the water.”