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mention the ironing board was still in the pantry, and it was nearly ten o’clock. Manda should have been half-done with Tuesday’s task by now. Maybe she should have a talk with the young woman, but she hated to say anything. It wasn’t like Manda didn’t work hard when she worked. She just seemed to have her head in the clouds lately.
    Copper drew the back of her hand across her forehead. Goodness, she was tired. There was so much to do. If she didn’t keep on top of things, her household would fall apart. While in the pantry fetching the sassafras root, she got the ironing board from behind the door and brought it out too. After the kettle boiled, she would put the iron to heat.
    Copper warmed the inside of a teapot with hot water, then emptied it into the slop bucket. The sassafras shavings made the prettiest light red tea when it steeped, and the aroma was heavenly—best treatment for the ague she knew of. She added a skein of yarn and two knitting needles to Adie’s tray.
    â€œI see you got too many irons in the fire as usual,” Remy said as she came into the kitchen with a wad of linen clutched to her chest.
    Copper laughed. “I was going to press a couple of things while the tea steeped.”
    â€œWaste of time if you ask me,” Remy said. “Why iron things that are just going to wrinkle again as soon as you sit down? Besides, ain’t that Manda’s job?”
    â€œI learned ironing from my mam. It’s soothing to stand in one place for a while.”
    Remy hefted the tea tray. “I’ll take this and a cup for Tillie. I’m going out anyway—got to leave these sheets in the washhouse. I took the opportunity to strip the sickroom bed whilst Tillie gets some air.” She looked aggrieved. “Somebody forgot them yesterday, the same somebody who forgot the ironing today.”
    Copper upended the sadiron and spit on the bottom. The spit sizzled and popped. “Don’t you want a cup of tea first?” she asked as she pressed the collar of John’s Sunday shirt.
    â€œMaybe when I get back.” Remy elbowed her way out the door. “I still got to mop the floor in there and wipe down the woodwork.”
    Copper kept her mug on the end of the ironing board. The flowery aroma of the sassafras mingled with the starchy smell released from the laundry by the hot iron. Copper inhaled deeply, smelling work and reward at the same time. She suppressed the urge to give aid as Remy backed out the screen door with the tea tray on one hip and the bundle of wash on the other.
    Remy was allergic to help, and it was a pure blessing when she could move about without the aid of her crutch. Warm weather greased her arthritic hip, giving her freedom from the usual pain. Remy never complained about her troubles, though she surely had reason. Years ago, before she was saved, Remy used to raid henhouses and cellars for sustenance. One day she picked the wrong henhouse, and an old lady came at her with a shotgun. Remy lost a lot that day and came within a hair’s breadth of dying, but the shooting brought her back into Copper’s life and into the arms of the Lord. “‘All things work together for good,’” Copper said.
    â€œAre you talking to me?” Tillie called from the porch.
    Copper laughed as she positioned a shirtsleeve for ironing. “I’m just citing Scripture.” Taking the opportunity she had been praying for, Copper put the iron back on the burner and stepped outside with her Bible and a mug of tea. “Do you know that verse?”
    â€œCan’t say that I do,” Tillie murmured.
    Copper pulled a chair alongside the young mother and opened her Bible to Romans 8:28 and read, “‘All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.’ Isn’t that a wonderful promise?”
    â€œDo you reckon that means me too? I don’t go to