"Rose."
I didn't look up.
"No."
"You don't know what I was going to ask."
"Yes, I do."
He leaned against the counter.
"Suppose a hardworking husband was starving."
"Suppose his wife told him dinner wasn't ready."
He smiled.
"Suppose he was willing to risk his life for one small taste."
I turned.
"Then his widow would enjoy the entire pot herself."
William burst out laughing.
He wrapped his arms around me from behind.
I leaned back against him.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered, "I love you."
I smiled.
"I love you too."
It was such an ordinary moment.
So warm.
So peaceful.
I would remember it for the rest of my life.
Because only a few hours later, I would discover that someone had been listening to us from inside the walls.
By early afternoon, the chicken was tender.
I removed it carefully.
Placed it in a wide wooden bowl.
Then began separating the meat from the bones.
William sat nearby watching.
"Need help?"
"You can shred that side."
He grinned.
"A responsibility at last."
"Try not to eat half of it."
"I make no promises."
I laughed.
We worked together.
He was surprisingly careful with the meat, using his enormous hands to separate it into small pieces.
When we finished, I returned the shredded chicken to the broth.
Then began adding the dumplings.
Small portions of dough disappeared beneath the surface.
The broth thickened.
Steam gathered against the window.
William reached for the lid.
I tapped his wrist.
"Leave it."
He raised both hands.
"Yes, ma'am."
I smiled.
"Good husband."
He leaned closer.
"Reward?"
I kissed him.
He grinned.
"Best Sunday ever."
The dumplings cooked slowly.
When they were ready, I filled two large bowls.
We sat at the wooden table beside the fire.
William took one bite.
Then closed his eyes.
I watched him.
"Well?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He took another bite.
Then another.
Finally he looked at me.
"Rose."
I smiled.
"Yes?"
"If heaven has a kitchen, I reckon you're the one they ask to run it."
I laughed.
"That's a mighty high compliment."
"I mean every word."
He reached across the table.
Took my hand.
And kissed my fingers.
I looked down at my bowl.
For years, I had lived with the fear that affection would disappear the moment someone saw me clearly.
With William, it had only grown.
We ate slowly.
Talked about spring planting.
Discussed repairing the barn roof.
And argued playfully about whether he should build another shelf in the kitchen.
He claimed there was no room.