Edith hurried back to rip the cloth that so angered her husband. Sometimes she cursed that they were alone; she had no person but herself to stand in a corner with her and his reaction still chilled her. Carefully, Edith slid Lucille's dress back where it belonged along with the others and locked the door. Perhaps it was best to just forget her, never mention the memory to Thomas unless he brought her up first. She had no siblings, no parents, no family.
Except Thomas, she reminded herself. He was her family.
She slipped into one of her dresses, a plain gown with fitted sleeves and gold thread woven into the fabric. Cautiously, she made her way back to the kitchen to pay her penance. It had been a mistake and surely she could curse that she had intruded so.
Silently, without looking for Thomas, she began the job of properly storing the supplies he had so bravely garnered for them.