There is stew on the stove. Clara is asleep upstairs. I will not ask you to come to bed. I only ask that you do not leave me wondering whether you intend to stay in this marriage.
Jonah read the note twice.
Then he sat at the kitchen table and lowered his head into his hands.
He had expected anger. He had expected tears, perhaps, and accusations. He had not expected Ruth to give him the choice so plainly.
Stay in this marriage.
The words should have been simple. He had already made the promise before the preacher and the small gathering of neighbors. He had signed the register, exchanged rings, and kissed her once beneath the church’s evergreen garland.
But a promise spoken before witnesses could still be evaded in private.
Jonah had been doing exactly that.
He ate the stew because Ruth had made it, though he barely tasted it. Then he washed the bowl, dried it, and set it beside the others. He stood in the kitchen for several minutes, looking toward the staircase.
The house was quiet.
He could go upstairs.
He could tell her that he was frightened. He could admit that his longing for her had become so powerful that he feared it would consume the careful distance he had built around his grief.
He could ask whether she still wanted him.
But he had no right to ask her to comfort him after he had hurt her.
At last he climbed the stairs.
The bedroom door stood partly open. Warm lamplight spilled into the hallway. Jonah paused at the threshold and looked inside.
Ruth sat in the chair beside the window, wearing a simple pale nightdress and a dark shawl. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. The wedding gown had been draped carefully over a screen, its long train folded in a graceful curve. The suitcase stood beside the dresser, still closed.
She was awake.
Jonah removed his hat.
“Ruth.”
She looked at him without smiling.
“Jonah.”
He remained in the doorway.
“May I come in?”
“It is your room.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
She studied him for a moment.
“Yes. You may come in.”
He stepped inside and closed the door, leaving it unlatched. The small click seemed louder than it should have.
“I read your note,” he said.
“I thought you might.”
“I’m sorry.”
Ruth looked down at her hands.
“You have said that several times today.”
“I know.”
“And you mean it.”
“Yes.”
“But you keep doing the thing you are sorry for.”
Jonah absorbed the words without protest.
“You’re right.”
She seemed surprised by his agreement.
He moved a few steps farther into the room, then stopped beside the small table. The photograph of Anne stood there, turned toward the wall again.
“Clara told me she came up here,” he said.