Jonah’s mouth tightened.
“I don’t know how to love again.”
Ruth’s heart beat painfully against her ribs.
“You might have told me that before we married.”
“I thought I could.”
“And now?”
He looked at her, his expression filled with a helpless honesty that frightened her more than any lie could have.
“Now I find myself wanting things I have no right to want.”
Ruth’s breath grew shallow.
“What things?”
Jonah’s gaze dropped to her lips again, then moved away so quickly that she might have doubted what she had seen if her own heart had not leapt in answer.
“Things that would make this marriage harder for you.”
She felt heat rise into her cheeks.
“Jonah, I am not a child.”
“I know.”
“Then stop deciding what I can bear.”
He took a slow breath. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? From being wanted by my own husband?”
The words hung in the air.
Jonah’s eyes darkened, and for one suspended moment Ruth thought he might cross the room. His shoulders shifted as if his body had already begun the movement. Then he stopped himself.
That small restraint hurt more than his refusal to speak.
Ruth had imagined their wedding night so often that she had almost come to believe the imagination was a promise. But she had not expected Jonah to sweep her into his arms or murmur poetry. She had wanted only a sign that he was glad she had come, that he saw her not as a replacement for Anne or an obligation accepted for Clara’s sake, but as a woman he had chosen.
Now he stood in the doorway, wanting something he would not name.
“Go, then,” Ruth said.
Jonah’s face tightened.
“Ruth—”
“Go check the horses. Go mend the fence. Go stand in the barn until you can bear to come back into this room.”
He took one step toward her.
“I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“Then don’t.”
He stopped.
She lifted her chin, though her eyes had begun to sting.
“But if you do, do not tell yourself you are doing it for my sake. You are doing it because you are afraid.”
Jonah looked as though she had struck him.
For a moment, she thought he might answer. Instead, he placed his hat back on his head, turned toward the stairs, and descended without another word.
Ruth remained motionless until she heard the front door open and close.
Then the silence rushed in.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, careful not to crush the delicate lace of her skirt. Her hands trembled. She looked at the suitcase, at the framed photograph, at the oil lamp burning steadily beside the bed.
The room was beautiful in the modest way of a home that had been cared for. The bedspread was clean and carefully tucked. A small vase held dried wildflowers. The lace curtains had been washed and mended. On the dresser sat a comb, a hair ribbon, and a little wooden horse that belonged, she suspected, to Clara.
Everything in the room spoke of a life that had existed before Ruth arrived.
She wondered whether there would ever be room for her in it.
Jonah walked to the barn without taking his horse.
The evening air was cool against his face. He crossed the yard with his hat pulled low, passing the corral and the well, then stopped beside the stable door. He could see the upstairs window glowing behind him.