was an idiot. “She’s a whore for Christ’s sake, Jesse. Surely, you don’t think I should treat her like she has feelings?”
Feelings? The woman definitely had feelings, and Jesse had trampled all over them that morning. Pain, anger, conviction, and determination had swum within the amber pool of her eyes, but pain had been by far the greatest of what she’d been feeling. He wondered why he hadn’t just taken a knife and stabbed it through her heart, or better yet, stabbed it through his own. He’d never been so disgusted with himself in his entire life. He’d treated known murderers and desperadoes with more respect than he’d treated her, had shown them more mercy than he’d shown her.
Yet she’d kept silent. The fact that he was standing there with only the bruise on his chin that he’d received the night before was proof of that.
He slammed his fist into the beam, wishing he could pound it into his brother’s face. Damn! He thought the woman knew! He was certain she’d married Charles for any inheritance she’d receive upon his death. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to erase the memory of the happiness reflected in her face yesterday afternoon when Charles had brought the children into the kitchen.
He cursed the heavens, then cursed his brother. The woman didn’t know the happiness was fleeting, and it wasn’t his place to tell her.
After his confrontation with her that morning, he’d stayed out of her sight for the remainder of the day, but still he’d managed to watch her from afar. In the cool morning hours, she’d sat on the back steps and churned butter while the girls played at her feet.
Late in the morning, she’d hauled hot water to the wooden tub outside, scrubbed the clothes, and hung them on the line to dry. It had been over two weeks since he’d been able to find time to wash clothes. The shirt clinging to his body could sit in a saddle without assistance. He knew that she had to have noticed his larger clothes mixed in with the others she was washing. Yet she’d scrubbed them to death and slung them over the line anyway.
He didn’t think the sponge cake had been a peace offering. He couldn’t remember ever seeing so much pride reflected in Hannah’s angelic face. He never thought to let the girls help him cook. Cooking was a chore, and the sooner he got it done, the sooner they could eat. He couldn’t fathom the amount of patience it would take to let those two little girls help bake a cake. He could only imagine the mess they would have created. It had to have taken them twice as long. Yet Hannah had thoroughly enjoyed whatever her role had been, the joy clearly reflected in her eyes.
The rain increased and fell in torrents. Jesse watched the puddles quickly take shape. The rain was good. It would help the flowers Aaron had transplanted take root in their new home. Aaron had come into the barn, pulling that wagon, contentment evident in his face. Why hadn’t he or Charles realized what it would mean to Aaron to plant flowers beside his mother’s grave?
The lightning illuminated the house. Even in darkness, the house was inviting. Charles had laid out the conditions under which Jesse would again be welcomed into his home. He hadn’t expected to willingly call a truce so soon, but there was nothing to be gained with his misplaced anger, and he was beginning to realize there was much to be lost.
He turned up the collar on his shirt and clashed through the rain toward the house. He leapt up the steps, grabbed the plate being protected by the eaves of the porch, and rushed into the kitchen. It smelled like cinnamon. A lamp was burning dimly on the table as though someone was hoping to quietly welcome him home.
Beads of moisture dribbled down his face as he sat and lifted the warm layers of cloth away from the plate. The spicy aroma of chicken and dumplings wafted up, tempting him. He studied the food for some time, knowing he shouldn’t eat her offering until he’d
Feelings? The woman definitely had feelings, and Jesse had trampled all over them that morning. Pain, anger, conviction, and determination had swum within the amber pool of her eyes, but pain had been by far the greatest of what she’d been feeling. He wondered why he hadn’t just taken a knife and stabbed it through her heart, or better yet, stabbed it through his own. He’d never been so disgusted with himself in his entire life. He’d treated known murderers and desperadoes with more respect than he’d treated her, had shown them more mercy than he’d shown her.
Yet she’d kept silent. The fact that he was standing there with only the bruise on his chin that he’d received the night before was proof of that.
He slammed his fist into the beam, wishing he could pound it into his brother’s face. Damn! He thought the woman knew! He was certain she’d married Charles for any inheritance she’d receive upon his death. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to erase the memory of the happiness reflected in her face yesterday afternoon when Charles had brought the children into the kitchen.
He cursed the heavens, then cursed his brother. The woman didn’t know the happiness was fleeting, and it wasn’t his place to tell her.
After his confrontation with her that morning, he’d stayed out of her sight for the remainder of the day, but still he’d managed to watch her from afar. In the cool morning hours, she’d sat on the back steps and churned butter while the girls played at her feet.
Late in the morning, she’d hauled hot water to the wooden tub outside, scrubbed the clothes, and hung them on the line to dry. It had been over two weeks since he’d been able to find time to wash clothes. The shirt clinging to his body could sit in a saddle without assistance. He knew that she had to have noticed his larger clothes mixed in with the others she was washing. Yet she’d scrubbed them to death and slung them over the line anyway.
He didn’t think the sponge cake had been a peace offering. He couldn’t remember ever seeing so much pride reflected in Hannah’s angelic face. He never thought to let the girls help him cook. Cooking was a chore, and the sooner he got it done, the sooner they could eat. He couldn’t fathom the amount of patience it would take to let those two little girls help bake a cake. He could only imagine the mess they would have created. It had to have taken them twice as long. Yet Hannah had thoroughly enjoyed whatever her role had been, the joy clearly reflected in her eyes.
The rain increased and fell in torrents. Jesse watched the puddles quickly take shape. The rain was good. It would help the flowers Aaron had transplanted take root in their new home. Aaron had come into the barn, pulling that wagon, contentment evident in his face. Why hadn’t he or Charles realized what it would mean to Aaron to plant flowers beside his mother’s grave?
The lightning illuminated the house. Even in darkness, the house was inviting. Charles had laid out the conditions under which Jesse would again be welcomed into his home. He hadn’t expected to willingly call a truce so soon, but there was nothing to be gained with his misplaced anger, and he was beginning to realize there was much to be lost.
He turned up the collar on his shirt and clashed through the rain toward the house. He leapt up the steps, grabbed the plate being protected by the eaves of the porch, and rushed into the kitchen. It smelled like cinnamon. A lamp was burning dimly on the table as though someone was hoping to quietly welcome him home.
Beads of moisture dribbled down his face as he sat and lifted the warm layers of cloth away from the plate. The spicy aroma of chicken and dumplings wafted up, tempting him. He studied the food for some time, knowing he shouldn’t eat her offering until he’d
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