The Endearment by Lavyrle Spencer

Watermelons!"
    Karl laughed and continued watching as James explored the garden. "It does not take much to gain that one's interest, does it?"
    "I guess not. He seems as happy as you are to be here." But she made no mention of her own feelings as she started to pick up wood chips and place them in the basket. The fragrance of freshly chopped wood seemed to hang around Karl Lindstrom all the time. She recalled the way he had spoken of the trees on their ride home, and the woodsmell seemed right.
    Inside the cabin, Karl knelt with his back to her, a small hatchet in his hands. He shaved curls of wood off one of the pieces he'd brought in. They were much the same color as the hair at the back of his neck, which she studied. He finished, then reached up to her for the basket. Again, his eyes lingered on her in a way that made her mind stray to bedtime. He took a small scoop and cleaned the ashes from the fireplace into a pail. He found a large chunk of charcoal at the bottom of the ashes and carefully placed it aside as if it were quite precious.
    Anna watched all this from behind, observing the play of muscles as he reached up for the scoop, leaned forward to use it, swiveled at the hips toward the pail, pivoted on the balls of his feet to take the charcoal up, straightened, then knelt again with a cracking of knees. He turned abruptly to look up at her, and she wondered if he knew she'd been wondering what the muscles beneath his shirt looked like.
    "Hand me the candle," he said.
    She reached to put it in his outstretched hand. Their fingers carefully avoided touching.
    He pivoted again toward the fireplace, readjusting the fleecy mound of wood curls. It kindled and flamed under Karl's watchful eye. He added chips. He squatted before the growing fire, unmoving, lost in thought, elbows braced upon knees. The blaze before him brightened and turned his hair to the color of flame.
    Anna stared fixedly at the spot where his shirt disappeared into the back of his pants.
    "You can put your things in the trunk," he said, not turning around.
    "I don't have much."
    "What you have you can put there. There is room for them, and the trunk will keep them from getting damp. You can put the boy's things in it, too."
    He heard her move, heard the lid of the trunk squeak open. He arose, the fire now burning satisfactorily. He turned to find her laying her clothing into the trunk, Partially hidden by the door.
    "Would you like me to show you the spring?" he asked. "I have a wonderful spring, and there is watercress growing near it." Such a foolish thing to say, Karl told himself. Why do you not say what it is you want to say about the spring? But if I mention washing, she might think I am criticizing her--or worse--she might think I want her clean for bedtime and this is the only reason I bring up the spring.
    "I've never tasted watercress before. What's it like?" The clothes were all in the trunk and she had to stand up fully now and act as though her mind were on what she was saying.
    "It tastes like ... like watercress," he ended, then laughed nervously. "A little like collard, a little like dandelion, but mostly like watercress. Sweeter than other greens." Karl picked up the chunk of charcoal and took it with him outside, saying, "Come, you have to see my spring."
    "Hey, Karl," James hollered, "where's all this water come from?" He was already studying the bubbling flow that came from beneath the walls of the springhouse.
    "It comes from deep in the earth. It runs all year long, no matter how cold the weather gets. We are lucky. Never will we have to chop holes in the ice of the pond for water, or melt down snow or ice, which takes much time."
    "You mean all we have to do is come right here and have a cold drink, any time?"
    "Ya, that is so, boy," Karl said proudly, hoping Anna, too, would be impressed with this spot he had chosen for their home. "This is a springhouse. Open the door and look inside."
    It was built of wood, with a latched door