“Constantly.”
“For supper?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
He kissed her.
Years passed.
Not quickly while lived.
Only quickly in memory.
Samuel grew tall.
At fourteen he ate enough to make Eliza joke that Augustus would have locked the entire ranch.
Then immediately regret saying it.
Samuel looked at her.
“Was it really that bad?”
Eliza had never told him everything.
Only pieces.
She considered lying.
Then decided against it.
“Yes.”
Samuel stared at his plate.
Three biscuits.
Beans.
Beef.
Apple preserves.
He pushed one biscuit toward her.
Eliza laughed.
“I have food.”
“Still.”
She took it.
Not because she needed it.
Because he was offering.
Grant watched from across the table.
The third chair had become Eliza's chair.
Not literally.
Everyone moved around.
But somehow that was how Samuel remembered it.
Eliza's place.
The ranch grew.
Slowly.
Two hundred more acres leased.
Cattle numbers improved.
Eliza's accounting prevented them from overextending during a good year when Grant wanted to purchase land at an absurd price.
They argued for two days.
Grant sulked.
Eliza waited.
The price dropped four months later.
Grant came into the kitchen holding the newspaper.
“You were right.”
Eliza looked up.
“I'm sorry, I couldn't hear that.”
He glared.
She smiled.
“Say again.”
“You were correct.”
“Better.”
Grant put the paper down.
“You are unbearable.”
“And solvent.”
He kissed her.
Their first child arrived in the fourth year.
A girl.
Eleanor Samuel Mercer became simply Nora because even Eliza admitted the full name was excessive.
Pregnancy brought old fears back.
Hunger.
Body.
Control.
Eliza became ravenous during the fifth month.
The first time she ate three biscuits, she started crying.
Grant found her in the pantry.
Again.
Years after the midnight biscuit.
Different woman.
Same fear.
“What happened?”
She wiped her face.
“Nothing.”
Grant looked at the empty plate.
Then understood.
“Eliza.”
“I ate too much.”
“No.”
“Three biscuits.”
“So?”
“I wasn't hungry enough for three.”
“How hungry is three-biscuit hunger?”
She stared.
Grant continued.
“Is there a measurement?”
“Stop joking.”
“I’m not.”
He stepped closer.
“You are growing a person.”
Her eyes filled.
“My dresses don't fit.”
“Then we'll get bigger dresses.”
She flinched.
Grant saw.
“Wrong wording.”
Eliza laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
“New dresses.”
“Better.”
He touched her cheek.
“Do you want another biscuit?”
She thought.
“Yes.”
He handed one over.