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involuntary step back when she met Jacob Butler’s stare. His eyes were dark and glittering and when he spoke the tone made Olive flinch.
    “Mark is fine.”
    Olive swallowed, knowing she had tread on some sacred subject. “I have wash water on the stove. Leave his diaper off and I’ll bathe him.” She reached down to touch an angry looking rash on the child’s legs and privates. “Do you have any cornstarch?”
    “I don’t know. Look in the panty,” Mr. Butler said.
    “Mary would you begin to fry the bacon? Luke, John, come here and rinse your face and hands in this water. Good morning, Peg,” Olive said and returned from the pantry with a small cloth bag, marked, cornstarch.
    Olive had no idea why she had volunteered to bathe the infant. She had never done it before, never seen it done and was still flushed from seeing her first miniature view of a male’s privates. The keening wail, though, had touched Olive’s heart. Peg stood beside her at the crib, tousled and rubbing the night from her eyes.
    “Would you like to help?” Olive asked and looked down at the girl.
    Peg nodded and yawned and held the dry cloth, while Olive washed Mark with a warm rag. The infant’s head tossed back and forth and he seemed to be calming. Olive heard the sizzle of bacon hit the black, iron skillet. She made a paste of cornstarch and water as she had seen Theda do for her mother. The woman wore diapers that Theda and Olive had sewn but Theda confided that her mother had a constant rash. The babies cries subsided completely as Olive smeared the paste on the boy. He began to gurgle and drool and Peg looked up at her.
    “He’s happy now,” the little girl said.
    “How do you know?” Olive asked.
    Peg’s head tilted and her palms came up at her sides as her shoulders lifted in a shrug. Olive found a set of miniature one piece drawers and struggled to get the baby’s legs in the hole before an arm popped out of it’s spot. Peg giggled and Olive’s hair began to inch it’s way out of the pins.
    “Miss Wilkins?” the girl said.
    “Just a moment, Peg. Mark is making this a bit difficult,” Olive said.
    “Miss Wilkins?” she asked again.
    “One moment, Peg.”
    Olive was barely hanging on to her patience with Peg’s interruptions and Mark’s squirming, but as she held up the infant in triumph with the last button hooked, she turned to Peg. “Yes, dear?”
    “You forgetted his nappie.”
    Olive’s head snapped back to the dangling child as his union suit slowly became wet.
    Mary did a fine job with eggs and bacon, which Olive was thankful for since she had to begin again with Mark’s clothes. She instructed Luke and John to wipe the table and found six reasonably clean dishes. Jacob Butler tied Mark in the high chair and his children looked up at him expectantly.
    “Bless this food we are about to receive. Amen.”
    Olive raised her head and found Mary already eating and John picking up his egg with his hands. “Please wait until the blessing is complete to begin eating, Mary. John, use your fork, please.”
    Mary scowled at her and Olive watched Jacob Butler feed the infant the soft yoke of his egg. There was no bacon on his plate and as their eyes met, he challenged her with his stare. When he spoke Olive was not sure if he addressed her or the children.
    “I’m going to the Baxter’s farm to finish the plowing. I won’t be home until sunset. Will you watch Mark? He gets fussy out that long in the sun,” Mr. Butler asked.
    “Certainly,” Olive replied.
    “Get your shoes, Luke, Peg,” he commanded.
    “You’re taking them with you?” Olive asked.
    “Always did. Had to. I won’t ask you to watch my children,” he replied. 
    “I had hoped they could stay here and help me with chores.”
    Olive could only imagine how difficult plowing was, let alone with Luke and Peg to watch. She had no intention of revealing her plan to make some new clothes for his family to this proud man. The children’s eyes