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Amazingly, it wasn't as hard as he'd thought. He'd reached out just a little, and his hand hadn't been smacked as he'd feared. Instead, it had been grabbed, held firmly. And he hadn't failed her. He thought about how it had felt in the barn, swirling on the straw-strewn floor with his daughter in his arms. About how she'd looked, her face all flushed with happiness, her eyes glittering with tears. / love you, too, Daddy.
They were words he'd remember all his life. Smiling, Jack headed for his wife's?no, he reminded himself, their?bedroom. He found her sleeping, curled up beneath the heavy coverlet. Her deep, even breaths filled the darkened chamber.
Jack quickly peeled down to his long Johns and climbed
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into bed beside her. The tired old bed planks creaked beneath his weight. He thought briefly about waking her, loving her, but decided it was too late. Tomorrow was a big day that started early, and they'd have plenty of time for lovemaking tomorrow night.
He smiled and drew her into his arms. Holding her tight, breathing the unique wildflower and lavender scent of her, he went to sleep.
Sunlight streamed through the open kitchen window, bringing with it the smell of new roses and the singsongy chatter of nesting birds. Tess opened the stove door and bent down, peering into the oven. Hot, dry heat hit her in the face, bringing with it the cinnamon-spicy scent of baking apple cake. Certain that it was browning nicely, she closed the heavy metal door and straightened slowly.
Pushing a sweaty lock of hair from her eyes, she glanced around. The kitchen table was heaped with bags of flour and sugar. Beside the huge crockery bowl of batter lay a dozen or so cored apples and a pile of precious walnuts. Five cakes were cooling along the edge of the table, and a big pan of chicken pieces was frying on the back burner. Minerva Hannah was standing at the kitchen table, elbow deep in cake fixings.
"Thanks for coming over, Minerva," Tess said, feeling a rush of affection for the woman who'd shown up at ten o'clock with her sleeves rolled up and a wagonload of baking supplies. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
Minerva waved a floury hand. "I was glad to come. Nothing makes a big job seem small like a friend's help."
Smiling, Tess poured two cups of coffee and went to the table.
"Just put mine down," Minerva said. "I'm almost done." Before the words were even out of her mouth, she
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thwacked a big glob of lard into the blackened cast-iron pan and started smearing the goo around.
Tess looked the other way. Lard was one of those foods a twentieth-century woman had trouble with. Sitting down across from Minerva, Tess curled her fingers around the warm tin. "So, how many of these cakes do we need to make?"
Minerva expertly poured the last of the batter into the greased pan and carefully smoothed it out with a wooden spoon. "Three per family is usual. When we get to the dance, we layer the cakes with applesauce and whipped crea
m and have plenty for everyone. And no two cakes taste the same."
Tess smiled at the quaint custom. "I'm really looking
forward to the dance." Minerva pushed the pan aside and sat down. With a
tired sigh, she took a sip of coffee. "Hey, this is better than
the last batch. You're catching on." "Thank God. I was about ready to chew the beans." Minerva laughed easily. "Don't forget: Tonight you'll
want to pack enough meat and fixin's for your own family.
At the hall, they'll have a big table set out for food. You
just put yours in with everybody else's and eat whatever
you want. It's a real treat." "Not for the poor soul who picks my cooking." Minerva clucked her tongue in disapproval. "Now,
Lissa, that recipe I gave you is so simple, a child could
make it."
"It's a good thing," Tess laughed, " 'cause I'm going to give it to Savannah."
Minerva laughed with her. Deftly moving a bag of flour from the table in front of her, she plopped her elbows on the table and stared at Tess. "You've really changed, you know that?"
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