She hated the dark. There was something about not being able to see what was waiting for you that terrified her, and even though the lamp lit most of the space, there were still dark shadows lingering in the corners that made her wary.
“What’cha doing?”
Rebecca squealed as Amanda jumped down beside her, bypassing the three steps and jumping them instead. Holding a hand to her heart, she scowled at the girl. “You gave me a fright. Don’t do that!”
Amanda grinned, her blonde curls dangling around her shoulders. “Sorry. Pa doesn’t scare easily, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get him to jump even a little bit. I didn’t think you would either.”
Rebecca’s heart stopped pounding after a few deep inhaled breaths. “It’s fine,” she lied, as she set the lamp on a nearby table against the earthen wall. “I don’t like dark spaces so I was already jumpy.”
“My Ma didn’t like the dark either. Or that’s what my Pa said.”
Rebecca eyed the girl as Amanda grabbed the edge of the table and jumped up to sit on it, her legs swinging back and forth. “What happened to your mother?”
“She got sick and died when I was little. I don’t remember much about her other than her hair was blonde like mine.”
“Oh, well, that’s too bad. I don’t remember my mother either.” Rebecca stilled, wondering if Diana had mentioned her parents when conversing with Caleb. She hoped not, or she’d just made a major mistake.
Clearing her throat, she changed the subject. “So, what do you want for supper?”
Amanda shrugged her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter to me. As long as I don’t have to cook it, I’ll eat anything.”
Couldn’t we all?
The many shelves were lined with jars filled with vegetables. Long strings of braided onions hung from nails that stuck out from the wooden shelving, and several baskets held potatoes, dried meats, and fresh slabs of salted pork. Everything she needed was here and the abundance of food made her feel gluttonous. Now all she needed to do was pick something and heat it up, right?
“Pa likes chicken pie,” Amanda said. “But it's too late to kill a chicken and get ‘em plucked and cooked."
Kill a chicken? As much as she liked to complain about the orphanage, she was grateful the nuns never made the kids do all the work there. Now that she thought about it, she had it easy growing up. Well, aside from the fact she had no family, and no one wanted her.
She shook away the melancholy thought. “Well, I don’t know how to make a pie so it wouldn’t matter if I had the time or not.”
“Oh, suppose not.” Amanda swung her feet again while studying the food lining the shelves. “There are a lot of eggs. Those are easy enough to make.”
She nodded. How hard could it be to cook an egg? “Um, how should we fix them?” At Amanda’s raised eyebrow she hurried and said, “I mean, how does your Pa like them? How exactly should I make them?”
“Doesn’t matter how. Long as they’re cooked, he’ll not care.” Amanda tilted her head, her brows drawing down. “You do know how to cook, don’t ya?”
She laughed and said, “Of course, I do,” so fast, she knew it sounded as insincere to Amanda as it did to her. Amanda stared at her with a raised eyebrow. Rebecca sighed, her shoulders drooping. “Don’t tell your Pa, okay? I’m sure he’ll be madder than a hornet if he finds out.”
“Probably. If there was one thing Pa hated to do around here, it was all the cooking. I helped when I could but he didn’t like me near the stove when it was hot. Getting someone to do all the cooking was one of the reasons he ordered a wife from that periodical.” Amanda jumped down from the table and headed to the corner. “I’ll keep your secret though.” She grinned and reached into a basket of potatoes. “I’ll not let Pa send you away for not knowing how to cook. We’ll just fake it until you figure it out. If I can do it, you can too.”
Relief rushed through her so fast, the tightness in her shoulders eased. “Maybe you can show me what you know how to fix.”
“I can do that.” Amanda grabbed an onion from the braided string they hung on and tore one loose. “Grab those potatoes. We’ll get something hot on the table for Pa. He won’t care what it is.”
Following the girl back up the steps, Rebecca hoped she was right.
Standing before the front door, Caleb knew there was a hot meal waiting on him inside. He could smell cooked onions and bacon and if that’s all there was, he’d eat it with a smile on his face.
He opened the door and let himself in. His mother sat in her usual spot near the window, her head cocked to the side as she took one of the many naps she told him she didn’t need.
Hanging his coat, he stepped into the kitchen doorway. Amanda was setting the table, Diana by the stove stirring whatever was in the pot in front of her. Seeing her there made something in his chest clench tight.
He’d been half afraid all day that he’d come home to find his soon-to-be wife, gone. Dreading her arrival for so long, then happily welcoming her gave way to fear that she’d hate it here. Fear she’d dislike him was a worry, too. He was a simple man. He didn’t own much. The house was still being paid for and other than an old horse down at the livery stable and what one saw here in the house, this was all he owned. He would never be rich and he'd used up the last of his savings to pay for Diana’s trip all the way out here. He wasn’t a “catch” by any stretch of the imagination. He was a thirty-two-year-old man with an ailing mother and a young daughter who barely made enough money to pay the bills and keep food on their table so finding a woman who would be content here had been one of his concerns when contacting the agency he’d used to find him a bride. Diana’s letter said nothing about expectations and her seeing how little he owned had been a worry. Seeing her still here lessened some of that fear. She hadn’t run off the first chance she got, and the knowledge eased his mind a bit.
Amanda was the first to see him. She grinned and said, “Hey, Pa!”
He tore his gaze from Diana to focus on Amanda’s smiling face. “You two look busy.”
“We’re almost done,” Amanda said. “You go wash up and wake up grandma and it’ll be on the table by the time you get back.”
Diana was watching him when he glanced her way, her cheeks turning pink when their eyes met. The corner of his mouth ticked up into a smile and her blush deepened. “Don’t get into any rush. I’ll be back in a few.”
He hurried to his room—Diana’s now—and shut the door. The familiar scent that usually lingered in the room had been washed away by hers. Some sweet-smelling fragrance filled the air now, and he inhaled deeply to take it all in.
It had been so long since a woman had been in his room. He’d mourned Ruth’s passing for far longer than he should have, reluctant to let her go. But once he did, and removed her things from his room, the delicate scent she’d carried vanished.
Now a new scent filled the air.
Diana’s trunk stood open, clothes spilling out of it to lie on the floor. He bypassed it all and pulled clean clothes from the dresser, stripped out of his work clothes, and washed in what cold water remained in the pitcher. A small bar of soap sat on the table. He lifted it, inhaling the scent that lingered on it. That’s what the smelled in the air. Perfumed soap.