Angel Moore - Husband By Arrangement

He hung his jacket by the hat. “No arrangement with the neighbors. I sold my cow to the Hendersons after Ann left. There wasn’t a need to keep her for one person. I do most of my eatin’ in town.”

She poured the eggs into the frying pan where the bacon drippings she’d found in a jar on a shelf above the stove sizzled. “I’ll need milk for cooking.” She cleared her throat, hating to ask for something else on a day when he’d done so much. “And for me to drink.”

He nodded. “For the baby?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll buy a cow tomorrow.”

Rena scooped the eggs onto plates and set them on the table. “It’s ready. I’m sorry there isn’t more to it.”

Scott joined her at the table. “Don’t apologize. It’s more than I’d have made for myself tonight.”

He sat opposite her and reached out a hand for prayer. Her father had always insisted that they hold hands while he blessed the food—even during the years she’d refused to attend services with him. This was different. Scott was a man of faith who practiced his beliefs in his home, but he was also her husband. Only in name, but still her husband.

Why then did she not want to reach across the table? She wouldn’t explore the possibility that it was a matter of trust. Her father had been her protector. Could she grow to trust Scott in time?

Scott wasn’t unfamiliar. He was often in her father’s home. But they didn’t interact more than the necessary pleasantries. She’d cooked the meals, and he’d sat across from her. The wide table had prevented them from holding hands while offering thanks for their food as he’d sat next to her father. The table here in his home was smaller. It was expected. And he waited.

She took a deep breath and dropped her hand into his. His grip was gentle, and his words sincere, as he offered thanks for their meal and for her efforts to prepare it. The next words stung her heart.

“And, Lord, please help us to make the best of this marriage. I know neither one of us saw it coming, but You take care of Your children. I’m asking You to take care of us. Amen.”

He released her hand and reached for the platter of ham.

She slid her hand to her lap. Heat spilled into her cheeks. No one had ever prayed for her except Momma and Papa.

Scott passed the ham to her. “I guess we need to talk about how we’re going to do this.”

Rena nodded and took the platter from him.

“You saw Ann’s room?” He pointed to the door in the front corner of the main room.

“I did. I took a few minutes to look around while you were in the barn.” She spooned eggs onto her plate. Her appetite hadn’t been much for the last few weeks. The baby needed her to eat, so she’d try again.

“I think it will serve you well. There’s enough space for a cradle.” He speared a bite of ham. “I hope you don’t think me too familiar to speak of such things.”

“No. There are things that must be done.” She pushed the eggs around on her plate. “Though the need for a cradle will be months away from now.”

“Can you tell me how long?” His lowered voice, and the fact that he kept his eyes on his plate let her know that he was possibly as uncomfortable with this topic as she was.

“The baby should arrive near the beginning of August.”

He looked up then. “I’ll get started on the cradle this month. I want to finish it before spring. There’ll be planting and such to do then.”

“I could see if Papa will buy one. It doesn’t seem right for you to have to build it.” It was her turn to look away. “I’m certain he’d be willing to buy the cow, too.”

“I won’t be needing any help taking care of you or the baby.” Scott set his fork down. “I know we made this decision quickly today, but be assured I considered everything I could think of before we were married. A man doesn’t let another man provide for his family.”

She’d hurt his feelings. His pride. “I meant no disrespect.”

He folded his napkin and slid his chair back. “None taken.” He took his dishes to the cabinet against the side wall of the cabin. He poured the water she had heated on the stove into the basin and slid in his dishes.

Rena jumped to her feet when she saw his intent. “I’ll do the dishes, Sheriff.” She tried to elbow him from in front of the basin.

He looked down at her, and she realized how close they were. Standing here, side by side, in their home was too familiar. She backed away and ran her palms down the front of the apron she’d found on a peg near the stove.

“Please let me do the washing up.” She wasn’t one to beg. It went against her nature. Nor was she one to accept charity. If she didn’t work, she’d feel like his actions toward her were borne of pity.

“Okay.” Scott dropped the cloth into the sudsy water and stepped back from the cabinet. “Do you think you could call me Scott? If we’re going to make this marriage appear real to the people in town, we’re gonna have to practice being nice to one another.”

“I’ll try.” She picked up the cloth and wiped the first dish. “There’s an awful lot of new things to adjust to.”

“We can do it. It’ll take time, but we’ll work it out.” He went to the back door. “I’ll bring in more wood while you do that. Then we can sit in front of the fire and finish our conversation.”

He was out the door in a swift motion. She could hear him splitting logs while she cleaned the kitchen. It seemed they had one trait in common. They busied themselves with work when they were uncomfortable.

The circumstances of the day would have them both busy for weeks to come. She was sure of it.

* * *

Scott lifted the latch and pushed the door, using one foot to open it wide enough to enter with the double armload of wood. Rena was drying the last plate when he entered the cabin.

“I’m afraid we’re in for a cold snap. The clouds gathering this evening look like they’re full of rain.” He leaned over the hearth and let the wood fall out of his arms. He added two logs to the fire and stacked the rest.

“I wish I’d thought to bring my quilts.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle.

He moved the rocking chair close to the fire. “Sit here and warm up. I’ll find something for you to use tonight. We can go back to your father’s house tomorrow and gather the rest of your things.” He sat on the hearth and picked up a length of wood that he’d been whittling on for days. “Do you mind if I work while we talk?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll be bringing my sewing with me. It’ll help to fill the evenings.”

“Ann and I would sit and work after supper most nights.” He held the wood up to the light of the fire and twisted it one way and another, deciding where to make his next cuts. “I miss her.”

“You must. Being your only family and all.” Rena set the rocker in motion. The hem of her dress puddled on the rug she’d beaten clean earlier. The toe of her shoe peeked out from beneath the fabric that swayed as she rocked.

“Martin Fleming is a good man. I knew when he and Ann met that I’d lose her to him.” He cut away a stubborn knot from the wood and tossed it into the fire.

“They seemed very happy.”

He agreed with a nod.

Silence fell in the room. She rocked, and he carved for several minutes. Then he saw her rub her arms again.

“I’ll be right back.” He put his wood on the hearth and his knife on the mantel. In his room, he opened the wardrobe and lifted the last sweater his mother had knitted for him. Underneath, he found the quilt she’d made when he was a boy. He tugged it out, returned the sweater to its place and closed the wardrobe.

Back in the main room, he laid the quilt on the hearth, careful to keep it away from sparks and ash. “I’ll warm this, and you can use it tonight.”