Dorothy Garlock by Homeplace

into the oven. After she had set the table, she brought out a jar of applebutter from the pie safe.
    Owen had lifted the infant to his shoulder and was barely tapping the child on the back.
    “Pat him a little harder than that or the air bubble will never come up.”
    “I’m afraid I’ll hurt his back.”
    “No, you won’t.” Ana moved over to stand beside him and thumped the baby on the back. Immediately the puff of air came from the tiny lips. “Now he can have more milk.”
    “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Owen said to his son in a soft, whispering tone as he carefully shifted him back into the crook of his arm. When he put the nipple to the baby’s mouth Harry grasped it eagerly.
    Ana stood beside Owen for several seconds looking down on thick, dark hair that curled at the nape of his neck, and on top sprang rebelliously toward his forehead. A sprinkling of silver threads gleamed in the lamp light. He was big and solid as an oak, hard and stubborn and proud. Yet she had caught glimpses of a softer man inside. There were so many things about this man that were puzzling. He seemed to be genuinely fond of his son, and yet she was sure he had not loved Harriet as Harriet had loved him.
    “How do you like your eggs?” She spoke so impatiently that his head jerked up and he stared at her for a moment.
    “I can eat them any way.”
    “Raw?”
    “Except raw. I prefer them scrambled.”
    Ana went back to the stove. The long braid of hair that hung down her back to her waist swished back and forth across her shoulders. She could feel Owen’s eyes on her and was stirred by feelings she couldn’t control. The warm kitchen had wrapped them in privacy, giving Ana a glimpse of how it would be to have the companionship of a man and a child for them to share. She worked nervously under his watchful eyes, searching about in her mind for something to say to end the gripping awareness that had suddenly sprang up between them.
    “Are we invited for breakfast?”
    Soren came into the kitchen followed by his father. The men hung their hats on the peg beside the door.
    “Morning,” Ana said cheerfully.
    “Morning.” Both men answered in unison.
    “Sit down,” Ana invited, forgetting that it wasn’t her place to issue the invitation. “I’m about to scramble eggs.”
    “Hear that, Pa? Scrambled eggs! We were thinking we’d have to eat cold potato salad and cabbage slaw. How’s the son and heir, Owen?”
    “Sleeping if you don’t wake him up,” he growled. “Shall I take the boy back to the cradle?”
    Ana turned to look at him. “It may not be warm enough in there.”
    “It is by now. I added a stick or two to the stove when I went to fetch him.”
    “Cover him well, but keep the cover away from his face.”
    Ana broke a dozen eggs in the bowl, feeling terribly extravagant. She whipped them into a froth, added milk and poured them into the skillet where she had cooked the ham. Moving swiftly, she took the buttered bread from the oven and put in another batch. When the eggs were ready she scraped them into a bowl and set them on the table alongside the platter of ham. Soren had poured coffee for himself and his father. Now he poured some for Ana and Owen.
    Owen returned and stood beside the table waiting for Ana to sit down. It suddenly occurred to her that she was still in her wrapper, her hair hanging down her back. She looked down at herself and shrugged. She was as fully covered as she would be in a washdress. She sat down and passed the eggs to Owen.
    It was a pleasant meal. Soren complimented the cook, his blue eyes warm and friendly. Uncle Gus was quiet as usual, but on several occasions Ana caught him looking at her. Their eyes would meet for only a second before he looked shyly away. Ana decided that Soren and his father were the only members of the family she had found likeable.
    “We’ll plant corn as soon as the field is ready,” Owen said. “The time is right. The leaves on the oak trees are