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She emptied the first water bucket and started on the second. Oddly enough, she thought of Mrs. Sorensen. The strained face of that unhappy woman had lodged in her mind since yesterday.
Could she, like Elvira Sorensen, survive without the nourishment of love? If Thad did not care for her, what then?
Leah dipped and poured, dipped and poured, her throat aching. Finally she let the tears come, but even then, she kept on watering. At the end of a row of turnips she sat back on her heels and let her hands fall idle.
I could leave, she thought miserably. Leave Smoke River, and Thad, and go…where? There was no place for her in China now, and she knew San Francisco was too dangerous for a lone female. And how would she live?
What about Portland? She could take the train east and do…what? Teach school?
She swiped her forearm across her wet cheeks. No, she could not. She could not abandon Teddy, as his mother had when she died. Leah could not abandon Thad, either, not after the kindness he had shown by marrying her.
And, she realized with a sigh, she could not do that to herself. She loved Teddy. And, heaven help her, she loved Thad.
Idly she ran her hand over the bean leaves, noting the soft, scratchy feel of the undersides. Even if her husband did not care for her as she cared for him, perhaps she could learn to survive with half a life, learn to make her own happiness.
But she had to let Thad know the cost. She knotted her fingers together so tightly they began to tingle.
Thad dismounted at the pump in the yard to wash up before supper, but a few strokes of the handle brought up only a scant half cup of water. He removed his hat and bent to splash the water over his face and hands; he hated to be near Leah smelling of horse and sweat.
After the afternoon with Wash Halliday, trying to hash out what to do about his wheat, and about Leah, he’d ridden home thinking over what his friend had said. Two things stuck in his brain: first, Thad could borrow the plow horse. And second, he was a damn fool.
Jeanne had been even more blunt. “You are a good man, Thad, but you do not see the big goose that flies right in front of your nose.”
He hung the dipper back on the hook and stood up. The early evening light spread a shimmery golden haze over the pasture, and when he gazed at it, his breath caught. At times his land was so beautiful it made his throat hurt.
In the barn he unsaddled the gelding, fed him some grain and brushed his dark hide until it shone. He spent as long as he could with the animal. He’d built this barn, and with its familiar plank walls and earthy smells, he felt safe here.
But dammit, he had to face up to other things that didn’t feel so safe. He squared his shoulders and tramped over to the porch.
Leah sat in a tree-shaded rocking chair. He started up the steps, but her voice stopped him. “I watered my garden with wash water this morning,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “The well is going dry.”
“Yeah, I know,” he murmured. He settled into the empty chair beside her and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Where’s Teddy?”
“He came home about an hour ago. He ate his supper and now he’s up in the loft, reading Last of the Mohicans.”
With relief, Thad latched on to the neutral topic. “Good book. You ever read it?”
“Oh, yes. Father had me read all kinds of books, even the poems of Wordsworth.” She blushed prettily and studied her toes. “Are you hungry?”
Thad grunted, afraid to speak for fear his voice would sound unsteady.
“I will bring our dinner plates.” She disappeared through the screen door. Before he could stop himself, he found himself beside her in the stifling kitchen.
“Leah, I—”
“I made coffee,” she said quickly. She unhooked two mugs from the shelf and handed them to him.
A queer little stab of joy danced through him. He liked this, being in the kitchen with her. He liked it a lot. Maybe too much, but at this moment he felt so worn down he didn’t want to analyze it. He just knew he liked it.
“Thanks for making coffee. Guess you’d rather have—”
“I am learning to like coffee,” she said quietly. From the pantry she brought two already loaded plates, and snagged a couple of forks from the cutlery drawer. Thad poured coffee into both mugs.
They ate on the porch without talking, listening to the night sounds. A breeze shushed through the two maple trees shading the house. An owl’s cry echoed from the barn. In the darkness, the scent of earth and growing things cleansed the air. Thad shut his eyes. The sounds and smells were clean and strong with life.
He snatched up his fork and shoved a huge mouthful of potato salad past his lips. “Tastes different tonight. Better.”
