“I don’t care for biscuits anyway.”
She spun and dotted her eyes, but couldn’t mask the red that rimmed them. His heart tipped. She was crying. Strands of black hair frayed from underneath her cap and more flour dotted her nose and forehead. Turning away, she rose to her feet, and went to the table brushing her apron across her face to clean away the white.
“Forgive me.” She looked behind her. “I have yet to familiarize myself with this fire.”
How was this fire different from any other?
The color in her face deepened to an even darker crimson and she avoided his gaze. “But I did boil you a bit of salt pork.”
Boiled the salt pork? He looked at her then to the pot he’d failed to notice at the back corner of the fireplace. Salt pork must be soaked of course, but boiled? He ignored the thought and neared, hoping his smile would massage the worry from her features. “Aye, of course. Thank you.”
She released a quiet sigh and motioned to the table. A charger was set out, a mug and a fork. He sent her a quick glance. Anna’s gentle face beamed, her eyes crowned with hope as if she were a child waiting for praise. His heart turned to mush. How desperately she wanted to please him. Why? The reason didn’t matter, only that she did. And the mere thought nourished a seed of joy he hadn’t known was planted.
He glanced down at the watery mass of grayish-pink already on the plate and kept the words flowing to avoid thinking what knocked at his mind. He took the fork in hand. “I shall be in the garden most of the day.”
Taking his fork to the meat, he stripped off a piece and put it in his mouth. Instantly his reflexes gagged, forcing him to spit it back onto the plate. He reached for the mug and cleaned his palate of the writhing intensity.
“Is something wrong?” Anna’s woeful tone forced William to look up. Straightway he regretted what he’d done. Her dainty eyebrows pinched up in the middle as tears gathered in her eyes.
“Nay.” William braced himself for what he must do. How could he not when her pleading expression slayed every need but to bring a smile to her face. “I should have allowed another moment for it to cool.”
“Oh,” she breathed, a portion of concern easing away from her eyes—eyes that would not move from him.
With such an audience, William summoned what pitiful theatrics he could and took another fork-full, putting it to his tongue. Her gaze didn’t waver, but grew more intense when he closed his lips around the fork. The same gag lurched, but he kept his teeth moving, offering a hum of pleasure as he chewed the salty mass. Anna’s shoulder’s relaxed as if she’d been holding her breath, and a look of relief consumed her sweet face.
“I’m so pleased you like it.”
After chewing only as much as necessary, William nodded his answer and reached for his mug once more, flooding his throat with liquid.
He set the mug down and met his wife’s gentle gaze, praying the truth of his words would wipe the te
ars from her eyes. “I appreciate your efforts more than I can say, Anna.”
She sighed. “I wish there was more for you, but I’ll have something prepared for mid-day. I promise.”
“The more you become familiar with this house the easier it will be. The same could be said for myself as well.” He pushed up from the table. “We have much with which to grow accustomed.” He scoffed inwardly at the irony of such a statement. A soldier posing as a farmer? He knew nothing of sowing or harvesting. God help them.
Anna motioned to his plate, her expression nipped with worry. “But you’ve hardly eaten. One bite will not sustain you.”
He reached for his hat and placed it on his head as he started for the door. “Not to worry.” Offering her a kind smile and bob of the head, he winked. “I’ll be fine.”
The lines of concern around her eyes didn’t ease as he’d hoped, but her lips bowed at the ends. She didn’t speak but nodded quickly before spinning away.
He stood in the open doorway, one foot in and one out. Should he say something? Had there been more tears in her eyes or had he imagined it? He shook his head and went out, closing the door behind him. They were both overwhelmed, struggling to find normality in a life so new and foreign.
After two steps toward the garden he halted, his advance arrested by the mounds of dirt and rows of plants. Tangles of vines and vegetation in various shades and colors taunted him as if they knew he was as unskilled in a garden as Anna apparently was in the kitchen. He looked behind him, allowing that chuckle to finally break free. Kind woman. She’d looked devastated that he hadn’t eaten more, but he couldn’t have forced another bite no matter how hungry he was.
He looked back at the garden and his own faults washed over him anew. He lowered his head, rubbing his finger and thumb against his eyes. What had he done? Marriage? Had that really been the wisest choice?
It had seemed so at the time. Without bidding, Anna’s coaxing smile, her courage and determination, rallied what remained of his own. They’d shared a bed. Not for the first time of course, but for the first time alone. The memory of last night consumed him as the rest of the bright world dimmed. Her petite body, so warm and perfectly curved had rested only inches from his. He hadn’t wished for her, not like that—at least not quite like that. Did she expect it perhaps? Was that not what a husband should do?
He finished the short distance to the garden and lowered to his haunches, fingering the green stalks in his hands to determine what vegetable lurked beneath the soil. Ah. Carrots. Exactly which was a vegetable and which was a weed quickly became apparent, and he went to work, his mind laboring as much as his body.
If she could marry a stranger, accept life in a new land with no thought of ever going back, then certainly he could do the same. William leaned back against his heels and trailed his gaze over the land. It would not be the same as soldiering. His chest ached at the thought. He was made for firing a musket, for taking orders and issuing them, for determining and executing plans of action. He was made for battle.
An audible sigh, deep and cleansing, pressed out of his chest and he stared once again at the weeds. He could only hope he’d find farming more simple than he believed, for if breakfast was any indication, he might need to take up cooking as well. Poor, sweet Anna. Anna. Her name became easier to speak with every hour it seemed.
A grin pulled his mouth upward. If eating plain meals was the darkest of his worries where she was concerned, then he was a lucky man indeed.