Ten Thousand Charms by Allison Pittman Page A

head, apparentlytrying to focus on pouring the coffee. This morning it was a fairly successful accomplishment; only a few drops sloshed over the edge of the cup and onto the biscuits at her feet. John William, deciding it was worth the risk, held out his cup.
    “Ill take some more of that.”
    “Certainly," Gloria said, her voice filled with exaggerated courtesy. She angled the pot over the cup and filled it just to the top.
    “Very good, Miss Gloria,” John William said, carefully bringing the cup to his lips. “You've made quite an improvement. Do you feel up to fryin’ a few eggs?”
    “Listen, MacGregan. The deal was that I feed your daughter, not that I feed you.”
    Gloria settled onto one of the campstools and wrapped both her hands around her cup.
    “Right, then,” John William said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Do you think you can bring yourself to clean off the biscuits you dropped?”
    “I think I'm up to that.” Gloria picked them up one by one, swiped them across her skirt, and deposited them on the plate they had fallen from.
    “Better?”
    John William took a biscuit from the plate, dunked it into his coffee, and popped it, whole, into his mouth. They passed several minutes in comfortable silence, sipping coffee and listening to the sizzling of salt pork in the frying pan. When it was cooked through, John William drained most of the fat into the drippings jar, leaving some in the pan to fry the eggs. He broke them one at a time, careful not to let the whites run together.
    “I'll fry them hard,” he said. “Don't want to waste the yolks.”
    Gloria made a contented-sounding noise through a sip of coffee.
    “Plates?”
    Gloria rose dutifully to get the plates from their drying rack at the back of the wagon. She handed one to John William, and on it he placed a slice of salt pork, two eggs, and two biscuits.
    “Eat up,” he said. “We're in for a long day.”
    Gloria took the plate from him and returned to her seat. She dug in with her fork and didn't look up until John William was settled across from her. He bowed his head over his plate and sensed that Gloria stopped chewing mid-bite.
    “Dear God," he prayed, “we thank You for this food You have provided for us. We thank You for the strength it will provide for us as we journey this day. Bless our journey Keep me on the path You would have me follow. Give us the strength to overcome’ our obstacles. Watch over me and Gloria and little Danny and Kate. Amen.”
    He opened his eyes and looked at Gloria and waited for her to echo his “amen.” She didn't. She never had. Instead she swallowed the bit of food sheltered in her mouth during the blessing and gestured toward his plate with her fork.
    “You don't want the other egg?” she asked.
    “No, no. You eat it.”
    “What about our long day?”
    “It'll be longer listenin’ to you complain all day about being hungry.”
    “You know," she said, dunking a biscuit into her coffee, “if you ate more you might not need to pray for strength.”
    “I could eat an ox a day and still need to rely on my Lord,” John William said with such an air of finality that Gloria returned to her breakfast, eating with a little less relish.
    When they'd finished, John William harnessed the horses while Gloria went to wash the dishes in the stream. When she returned, John William was struck by the difference in her appearance. Her pale face was tinged with pink, he guessed from a cleansing splash of the cold water. Her hair was damp, smoothed away from her face. The loose braid was now a tight plait, twisted and secured to the back of her head. She wore a pale blue blouse, tucked into her gray skirt. A wide leather belt emphasized her slim waist. She looked proper, almost severe, like a woman who would promptly throw away a biscuit that landed on the ground.
    He watched her approach, the sun now full up and strong. When he saw her raise her hand, he lifted his to return the