“I’ll bake some bread later,” she said as she slid slices of ham onto plates and poured cornmeal mush into bowls. “I apologize for the ham. I’d hoped to let it cure longer, but . . .”
It didn’t matter. It was the simplest meal, and yet Jack had never tasted anything so good. Perhaps it was the long walk out here, or perhaps the Nebraska air was going to his head, but he’d never welcomed a meal so much as he welcomed this one.
He scraped the last bits of mush from the bowl. “Thank you. That was quite good.”
She beamed. “I’ll get to work in here. Would you like me to show you what might need doing outside?”
Panic zipped through Jack. He wanted to say yes, and then promptly hire someone else to take care of it. But of course, there were no funds for such things, and if he was going to own a farm, he supposed he ought to get used to working it. Besides, a good dose of pride prevented him from simply saying yes. “Why don’t you tell me, and I’ll get to work?”
“Are you certain?” She looked skeptical as she stacked their plates and bowls.
“I can figure it out.” Or so he hoped.
“All right.” Celia held the plates against her stomach as she rattled off a list so long he’d forgotten half of what she said. “Do you know how to do that?” Her teeth went to her lip again.
“Please don’t worry,” Jack said. He wanted to take her hand, reassure her that all would be well. But honestly, he didn’t know that it would. What if he proved to be inept at farming? Or, even if he took to it, what if it still wasn’t enough? “It can’t be too difficult to figure out. Surely, I can fix a fence and feed the animals.”
Her lips curved into a small smile. “All right then. Let me know if you need me.”
And with a deep breath, Jack set out to face the unknown.
Chapter Eight
It was still the dead of night when Celia’s eyes flew open. Her ears strained in the darkness to locate the source of what must have woken her, but when silence prevailed, she knew it hadn’t been any sound at all.
It was fear.
She sat up in bed, hugging the beautifully pieced and sewn quilt that Altar Pennington had given to her when Celia first arrived in town with her sister and the Thornton brothers last year. It was especially warm, perfect to ward away the chill that snuck in as the fire died during the night.
Celia had stayed with Faith for so long, she’d forgotten the long, terrifying nights alone here after the first blizzard. Ned had gone hunting before, leaving her at the farm alone at night, but something about that blizzard had made it impossible for her to sleep through the night. Celia couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t as if Ned had ever been particularly affectionate, and as awful as it had made her feel, it wasn’t him she’d missed at all. Perhaps it was the safety of his presence, and once that was gone for good, her comfort in being out here, so far from town, had vanished with it. Whatever it was, it had driven her to do more than just visit Faith—it had prompted her to move in to her sister’s flooded home for weeks. And it had worked out, considering Faith needed Celia, perhaps even more than Celia had needed her. They’d worked together to clean up the mess from the flooding, and Celia had served as a shoulder for her sister’s tears.
But her inability to sleep made no sense now—she wasn’t alone here.
Celia huddled back against the wall, Altar’s quilt wrapped around her, and tried to imagine Jack sleeping on the floor in the parlor. He had to be freezing. Even the blankets she had given him likely couldn’t ward off the chill that crept under the front door. But still, he was out there, so why couldn’t she sleep?
She’d lain awake for far too long when she’d first come to bed, wondering what in the world she’d just done. She hadn’t let herself dwell on the fears earlier—the ones she ought to have considered more thoroughly before agreeing to marry a stranger. What if his kind and sociable demeanor was a farce, something that belied his true nature? What if he stole the meager amount she had and vanished? What if he took advantage of her in the middle of the night? What if he was outrunning something terrible he’d done in New York? What if everything he’d told her was a lie?
She hadn’t known how long it had taken her to fall asleep, but now here she was, awake again and far too early.
After shivering under the quilt for several minutes, she finally crawled from bed and dressed with icy fingers. If she was awake, she might as well accomplish something, and that something was better done in the kitchen where she would need a fire started anyway.
In less than twenty minutes, Celia sat before a small blaze in the woodstove. Warm mornings were certainly one thing she missed about Mississippi. Warm mornings, her father’s hugs, and her mother’s fluffy biscuits. Celia smiled at the flames, holding her hands out to warm them. Try as she might, she could never get her biscuits to be as light and flaky as Mama’s.
She had a small amount of flour, purchased while she’d been in town. Perhaps she’d use some of it and make biscuits this morning. She stood, and after first peering through the door at Jack’s sleeping form on the floor, set about starting coffee and pulling together the ingredients for biscuits. She’d serve
