“I thought pancakes for breakfast?”
He nodded. “Soon I’ll be tapping trees.” He set a jug of milk on the counter.
“Tapping trees?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.
“To make maple syrup.”
She sent him an approving glance. “You are an enterprising man, Asa Brant.”
He grunted in reply and walked over to warm his hands by the fire.
She was curious about this man. Now they could get to know each other better. “Did your father teach you how to tap trees?”
“Noah Whitmore taught me.”
“Noah?” She mixed in some of the milk he’d brought.
“Man who married us.”
“Oh.” The scene yesterday in the schoolhouse where they’d exchanged vows flooded her. She shook it off. “I’ve never cooked over an open fire before,” she admitted. “I take it I pour the batter into the skillet and then hold it over the fire?”
He moved to her side. “Right. Always warm the skillet over the fire first, melting the fat.” He opened a crock that obviously had fresh rendered tallow in it. “Here are a couple of trivets so you don’t have to hold the heavy pan and try to flip at the same time.” He pointed to the trivets stacked under the counter. Both wrought iron, one with shorter legs and one with longer.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll become accustomed.”
“Should have got you a wood stove. It might have been more practical than a sewing machine—”
Judith halted in midstep. “Asa, you chose the perfect wedding gift. I love to sew, and I’ve wanted a sewing machine...forever.” Their gazes locked. The air between them seemed to thicken, and she felt herself blush.
“Glad you like it,” he said finally.
“I do.” She looked down, and her stomach growled embarrassingly. “I better get these pancakes done.”
He stepped back.
She moved toward the fire and the trivet he’d positioned for her.
He suddenly gripped her arm. “Be mindful of your skirt near the fire. A woman was burned just this winter from not being careful.”
She halted with a gasp. “I’ll be careful.” She looked down to her skirt and where the fire was on the hearth. She set the cast iron skillet on the trivet, poured in batter and reached for the spatula. “I’ll be careful,” she repeated.
Asa grasped the coffeepot bubbling on a hook over the fire, moving to sit at the table. “Coffee?”
“Thank you, Asa.” She concentrated on the batter bubbling in the pan, then on flipping the first pancake and keeping her skirt back from the fire. Soon she carried a platter of pancakes to the table, where Asa had poured cups of coffee and set out a cruet of maple syrup and a jug of cream.
She bowed her head, waiting for Asa to offer grace. So far the morning was going well. Her husband was not talkative, but after all, they were strangers. And he had showed concern for her safety. That loosed the tightness within her.
* * *
She wanted him to pray? After a hesitation, Asa said simply the prayer his father had always prayed, “Thanks for the food and for the hands that prepared it. Amen.”
She looked up, shyly smiling.
Asa nodded and helped himself to the top two large golden pancakes. His mouth watered.
Judith waited for his first bite before she forked one onto her plate.
“Mmm-mmm.” He could not stop the sound of pleasure. “Made a nice big stack, too.”
“I guess I’m used to cooking for more than two,” she admitted. “My brother brought home a wife from Kentucky, but I still did the majority of the cooking.” She looked to him. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Some of each.” Asa took another bite and chewed. A personal question—just what he wanted to avoid.
Judith was staring at him. The silence between them grew.
He couldn’t think of a safe subject, nothing too personal, to talk about. He’d forgotten how to make conversation.
Finally she broke the silence. “What kind of man is Mason Chandler?”
“Honest. Hardworking. I’m taking care of his cow and we hope a new calf soon,” he continued in between bites, “till he gets back.”
Another silence hung over them. He would have been happy just to eat with someone else at the table. But he could tell she wanted to find out more about him. How could he steer the conversation away from personal questions? He combed his mind for a topic.
“We have a cow, and I think I heard chickens outside?” she asked finally.
“Two cows of our own and about a dozen chickens.” He took another bite of pancake dripping with butter and syrup. They were so tasty and light, he felt like...doing something to thank this woman. She was watching him, so he continued the conversation as best he could. “I plan on buying a couple of shoats this spring to fatten through the summer. Make pork sausage this fall and cure some bacon.”
She nodded and continued eating. In between bites—and to his relief—she chattered about her home farm and family.
He got the distinct feeling that she didn’t like her sister-in-law. Soon breakfast ended and he rose from the table. And before he knew it, he said, “Fine meal, ma’am.” These were the words his father had said at the end of each meal. Asa hadn’t seen his family since he moved here and barely wrote. Having this woman here was stirring him up, making him remember what family was.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “What are you up to today?”
“Have some work in the barn, and I’ll bring more wood in, too.” He motioned toward the nearly empty wood box near the door.
“I’ll wash up,” she said, “and then I need to get more acquainted with my kitchen.”
“Make a list of supplies, whatever you need.” And then, pulling on his jacket, he shut the door behind himself.
* * *
Taken aback by his abrupt departure, Judith stood and carried the dishes to the counter, where a dishpan sat. Well, dirty dishes constituted a common and inevitable part of her life. She wondered for a moment if Mabel Joy, her brother’s Kentucky wife, was enjoying being on her own without help from Emma and her. Mabel Joy had wanted them gone, and they were.
Her husband’s use of the married title, ma’am, had startled her. She’d been a miss for so long, thought she’d always be. Mabel Joy had taunted her, telling her it was too bad she was plain and no man would ever marry her. Well, someone had married her. I am married.
Judith tried not to let the newness, the strangeness of this cabin, of having a husband she never expected to have, unsettle her. “I’ll become accustomed soon and then this will feel like home.” Tears rushed into her eyes. Was this mere homesickness? Or regret? Or fear? But of what? Everything had gone well.
Except that Asa’s reply to her one personal question had gone unanswered. Why hadn’t he just told her how many brothers and sisters he had? It had been a commonplace question. Had he been teasing her? He hadn’t sounded so. A feeling of unease flickered inside her. She shook herself and began cleaning up breakfast. The large midday meal would come soon enough. I’m being foolish to fret. My husband is just not a talker by nature, that’s all. He will come to know me and then he will speak more.
* * *
On the wagon bench two mornings after their wedding day, Asa