A small stab of worry touched her, but before it could grow, she heard his voice downstairs.
“Careful, Clara. That pan is hot.”
“I know.”
“You said that yesterday and dropped the spoon.”
“I did not drop it. It fell.”
“That is a very important distinction.”
Ruth smiled despite herself.
She rose, washed, and dressed in a simple morning gown of blue wool. She pinned her hair loosely at the back of her head and went downstairs.
The kitchen smelled of coffee, woodsmoke, and something sweet. Jonah stood at the stove, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, while Clara sat at the table with flour on her cheek.
A plate of biscuits rested between them.
Ruth paused in the doorway.
Jonah turned at the sound of her footsteps. His face brightened, then became unexpectedly shy.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
Clara scrambled from her chair.
“Ruth! We made biscuits.”
“I see that.”
“Papa says they are edible.”
Jonah gave his daughter a look.
“I said they were promising.”
“They are edible,” Clara insisted.
Ruth approached the table and examined the biscuits. They were irregular, some too dark on the bottom and others split open at the sides.
“They look wonderful.”
Clara beamed.
“Can you eat one?”
“I would be delighted.”
Jonah placed a biscuit on a plate and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed. The contact was brief, but he did not pull away as though it were dangerous.
Ruth took a bite.
The biscuit was slightly burned and very dense.
She chewed thoughtfully.
Clara watched her with anxious eyes.
“Well?” Jonah asked.
Ruth swallowed.
“I believe they will improve with practice.”
Clara’s face fell.
“Are they bad?”
“They are biscuits made with love,” Ruth said. “That is a fine beginning.”
Jonah smiled, and the expression transformed him. He looked younger, less guarded.
Clara climbed back into her chair, satisfied.
Breakfast was simple and warm. They ate biscuits with butter and preserves, drank coffee and milk, and talked about the day’s work. Jonah planned to ride to the lower pasture and inspect the cattle. Ruth asked whether there was a garden she might tend when the weather softened. Clara wanted to know whether she could have a rabbit.
“Not until spring,” Jonah said.
“Why?”
“Because a rabbit needs a proper hutch.”