“Sorry.”
“No.”
She wiped one cheek.
“Don’t apologize.”
He nodded.
Then left.
Evelyn closed the door.
She sat on the bed.
For the first time since Caleb walked away, she was alone somewhere safe.
That frightened her almost as much as the platform.
Safety created room for grief.
She cried until sleep took her.
The next morning, she woke before sunrise.
Habit.
The baby had kicked repeatedly during the night.
Evelyn moved slowly through the quiet house.
The kitchen looked exactly as Nathaniel warned.
Functional.
Barely.
Flour.
Beans.
Coffee.
Salt pork.
Three onions.
Six potatoes.
A jar of preserves.
Butter.
Eggs.
She opened one cupboard.
A saucepan sat beside horseshoe nails.
Evelyn closed it.
“Lord.”
She began.
By seven, bread dough rested near the stove.
Potatoes fried in bacon fat.
Eggs cooked.
Coffee simmered.
Nathaniel entered through the back door and stopped.
Evelyn looked over.
His hair was damp.
Shirt partially unbuttoned at the throat.
He had been working already.
His eyes moved from her to the table.
“What happened?”
Evelyn frowned.
“To what?”
“My kitchen.”
She smiled.
“It became one.”
Nathaniel removed his hat.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
He looked at the bread dough.
Then her.
“Thank you.”
Evelyn gestured toward a chair.
“Sit.”
Nathaniel sat.
She placed food before him.
He ate one bite.
Then stopped.
Evelyn became nervous.
“What?”
Nathaniel looked up.
“This is unfair.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to become impossible to feed anywhere else.”
She stared.
Then laughed.
A full laugh.
The first in months.
Nathaniel smiled.
That was the moment something began.
Not love.
Not yet.
Routine.
Routine was more dangerous.
Within one week, Evelyn knew when Nathaniel returned from morning pasture checks.
He learned she preferred tea after supper instead of coffee.
She discovered he hated turnips.
He discovered she hated being called “ma’am” inside the house.
She repaired three shirts.
He rebuilt the loose step outside her room.
She reorganized the pantry.
He bought additional flour without being asked.
She noticed.
“You bought twenty pounds.”
Nathaniel shrugged.
“You said we were low.”
“I said eventually.”
“I was in town.”
Evelyn smiled.
The next week he bought forty.
She accused him of panic.
He claimed preparedness.
The garden revived slowly.
Evelyn could not bend easily because of her pregnancy, so Nathaniel built a raised planting bed using old lumber.
She watched from the porch.
“You’re doing too much.”
Nathaniel hammered another nail.
“You say that often.”
“Because you do.”
“You’re carrying another human being.”
“I think that puts us even.”
She laughed.
Her body changed rapidly.
By seven and a half months, everything became effort.
Standing.