Emma's Wish

Nathan eyed her suspiciously. "Really?"

"Really."

"What about me?" Joseph asked, coming up to stand beside Nathan.

"You too. I'd never force you to eat something you didn't like."

A glance Emma couldn't read passed between the boys but they remained silent.

Emma picked up the tray of biscuits and slid it into the oven. "Why don't you go and wash up for supper. Where's your father?"

"Outside. He's fixing the wheel on the wagon. It was coming loose."

Emma turned to Joseph. "Please go and tell him supper will be ready in a few minutes."

The boys ran out, letting the door slam shut behind them.

Emma looked out the window and smiled contentedly as they raced across the yard and disappeared behind the barn. A stiff breeze flapped at the curtains, and the sun disappeared behind a bank of smoke-colored clouds.

A few minutes later, Emma heard the sound of Sam's footsteps on the porch.

He came into the house and hung his coat on the coat tree behind the front door.

A few moments later, he entered the kitchen. Emma was standing with her back to the stove, a grin on her face as if she had a secret she couldn't wait to share.

He began to return her smile at the same time he caught the changes Emma had made in the kitchen. He stopped short in the doorway, feeling the smile on his face freeze as he looked first at the window, then the table, then slid his gaze around the room.

Catherine's dishes were gone, the ones she'd just had to have, even though they'd cost more than a month's supply of feed. In their place, white china with a border of yellow and orange flowers sat on the table. On a yellow tablecloth, not Catherine's red and white checkered one. Catherine's curtains, the ones she'd been ecstatic to get from Sears, were gone. Instead, bright yellow curtains wafted in the breeze coming through the window.

How could Emma have done this? She'd stripped away every sign of Catherine. As if she'd never existed.

"What the hell did you do to Catherine's kitchen?"

Emma's smile faded, and her eyes widened at the tone of Sam's voice. Her face reddened. "I ... cleaned it."

"You did a lot more than clean it. Where are Catherine's things?"

"I put them away."

"Why? There was no reason to move them."

Emma picked up a potholder. "I thought it would be nice to spruce up the kitchen a little."

"You could have spruced it up without touching Catherine's things."

"I wanted to use my china, and my own pots and pans." She opened the oven door and took out the roasting pan.

Sam's gaze slid to the hutch against the opposite wall. There, neatly lining two of the shelves, was the rest of Emma's china. A soup tureen and a serving platter sat on the bottom shelf.

"You had no business moving things."

"Excuse me?" Emma gazed at him as if he'd just sprouted three heads. "I had no business?"

"That's right," Sam said, crossing the kitchen. He was standing so close he could see the dark irises of her blue eyes. She had to crane her neck to look up at him. He glared down at her. "This is my house. Mine and Catherine's. You had no right to change anything without asking."

Sam regretted his words almost as soon as they left his mouth. The blood seemed to drain from Emma's face, and tears filled her eyes.

Damn! He hadn't meant to make her cry. Or maybe he had. His insides were twisted into a knot, and yes, he wanted her to hurt as much as he did. And he'd done just that. He'd hurt her. Hurt her deeply.