stoneware like an old lady with tremors.
“I know this has to be hard,” he said near her ear, his breath drifting along her jaw. “I’ll do what I can to make it easier, but…”
Unable to resist, she faced him, took in his expression now shadowed with worry, darkened by uncertainty. Evidence he held the same doubts as her. A comfort Elizabeth hadn’t expected, but held close to her heart.
“But you’re as new at this mail-order-bride thing as I am,” she said, then grinned. “Sally’s not the only one with cold feet.”
He laughed—a deep, hearty sound, dissolving her concern faster than the cookstove melted butter. “Anna will put the fire to our toes, that’s for sure,” he whispered, then asked her to put only vegetables in Henry’s bowl, the moment over.
Ted struck up a conversation with his children about nothing, really, but enough for Elizabeth to feel like an outsider peering in the window of a family home. She clutched her bowl. Well, she lived here, too, and soon—
Soon she would feel like she belonged.
A part of her whispered belonging meant joining. Belonging meant being part of a family in all ways, not just cooking for them. Belonging meant opening her heart.
Her stomach dipped. She knew how much it could hurt if…if things didn’t work out. Time and time again, she’d learned by watching her parents that what a spouse gave could easily be withdrawn. Better to keep her distance than try to join an already complete circle.
While she served the soup, Ted scooted the high chair closer to the corner of the table then took the seat at the head with the children on either side of him. As she had at breakfast, Elizabeth sat to his right, close to the stove.
Anna pointed an accusing finger. “She’s sitting in Mama’s chair. She’s not s’posed to.”
Ted nodded slowly. “I know, pumpkin, but women sit where they can keep an eye on the food.”
Mama’s chair.
Elizabeth’s mind rocketed back, far from this simple kitchen to the elaborate dining room, to the ornate, massive chair where her delicate mother had always sat. Now empty. Her eyes stung, remembering a hundred meals spent with her guilt-ridden, grieving father filling his place at the other end of the table while she and Robby avoided looking at that chair. Or tried to.
No other woman had claimed her mother’s place. In that chair. Or in Elizabeth’s heart.
A wave of sympathy crashed through Elizabeth. How would she have felt if someone had taken her mother’s place at the table? Probably much like Anna. Anna wanted Rose, not a stranger. Not just in this chair, but here, in this house.
Elizabeth searched for the right thing to say. The words Robby must’ve craved at Anna’s age. None came. But there was something she could do. She picked up her bowl. “Would you like to trade seats, Anna? You should sit in your mother’s chair.”
Tears welled in the little girl’s eyes. She nodded and then, carrying her bowl, took Rose’s seat at the table. Now Anna would fill it. No one would look at that empty chair. A good solution or so Elizabeth hoped as she took Anna’s place.
If Elizabeth had expected gratitude she didn’t get it. Well, one small step at a time might bring peace. Eventually.
Sending her a nod of thanks, his eyes misty, Ted clasped his hands together. “Let’s bow our heads.”
Both children folded their hands. Elizabeth glanced at Henry. From behind his fist, the toddler peeked at her, sporting a drooly grin and guileless, sparkling eyes.
The small flame of Henry’s friendly face melted a tiny portion of Elizabeth’s frozen heart. She grinned back.
After the prayer, Ted cut up one half of a cheese sandwichfor Henry, then gave the other half to Anna. He dumped the cooled vegetables on Henry’s tray and chopped them into manageable pieces. The little boy dug right in, picking up a piece of corn with amazing agility and popping it in his mouth.
Anna slurped the soup from her spoon. “This
“I know this has to be hard,” he said near her ear, his breath drifting along her jaw. “I’ll do what I can to make it easier, but…”
Unable to resist, she faced him, took in his expression now shadowed with worry, darkened by uncertainty. Evidence he held the same doubts as her. A comfort Elizabeth hadn’t expected, but held close to her heart.
“But you’re as new at this mail-order-bride thing as I am,” she said, then grinned. “Sally’s not the only one with cold feet.”
He laughed—a deep, hearty sound, dissolving her concern faster than the cookstove melted butter. “Anna will put the fire to our toes, that’s for sure,” he whispered, then asked her to put only vegetables in Henry’s bowl, the moment over.
Ted struck up a conversation with his children about nothing, really, but enough for Elizabeth to feel like an outsider peering in the window of a family home. She clutched her bowl. Well, she lived here, too, and soon—
Soon she would feel like she belonged.
A part of her whispered belonging meant joining. Belonging meant being part of a family in all ways, not just cooking for them. Belonging meant opening her heart.
Her stomach dipped. She knew how much it could hurt if…if things didn’t work out. Time and time again, she’d learned by watching her parents that what a spouse gave could easily be withdrawn. Better to keep her distance than try to join an already complete circle.
While she served the soup, Ted scooted the high chair closer to the corner of the table then took the seat at the head with the children on either side of him. As she had at breakfast, Elizabeth sat to his right, close to the stove.
Anna pointed an accusing finger. “She’s sitting in Mama’s chair. She’s not s’posed to.”
Ted nodded slowly. “I know, pumpkin, but women sit where they can keep an eye on the food.”
Mama’s chair.
Elizabeth’s mind rocketed back, far from this simple kitchen to the elaborate dining room, to the ornate, massive chair where her delicate mother had always sat. Now empty. Her eyes stung, remembering a hundred meals spent with her guilt-ridden, grieving father filling his place at the other end of the table while she and Robby avoided looking at that chair. Or tried to.
No other woman had claimed her mother’s place. In that chair. Or in Elizabeth’s heart.
A wave of sympathy crashed through Elizabeth. How would she have felt if someone had taken her mother’s place at the table? Probably much like Anna. Anna wanted Rose, not a stranger. Not just in this chair, but here, in this house.
Elizabeth searched for the right thing to say. The words Robby must’ve craved at Anna’s age. None came. But there was something she could do. She picked up her bowl. “Would you like to trade seats, Anna? You should sit in your mother’s chair.”
Tears welled in the little girl’s eyes. She nodded and then, carrying her bowl, took Rose’s seat at the table. Now Anna would fill it. No one would look at that empty chair. A good solution or so Elizabeth hoped as she took Anna’s place.
If Elizabeth had expected gratitude she didn’t get it. Well, one small step at a time might bring peace. Eventually.
Sending her a nod of thanks, his eyes misty, Ted clasped his hands together. “Let’s bow our heads.”
Both children folded their hands. Elizabeth glanced at Henry. From behind his fist, the toddler peeked at her, sporting a drooly grin and guileless, sparkling eyes.
The small flame of Henry’s friendly face melted a tiny portion of Elizabeth’s frozen heart. She grinned back.
After the prayer, Ted cut up one half of a cheese sandwichfor Henry, then gave the other half to Anna. He dumped the cooled vegetables on Henry’s tray and chopped them into manageable pieces. The little boy dug right in, picking up a piece of corn with amazing agility and popping it in his mouth.
Anna slurped the soup from her spoon. “This
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