Stone-and-timber main house.
Everything straight.
Maintained.
Useful.
Sarah looked toward Thomas.
“It looks like you.”
He frowned.
“That was not necessarily a compliment.”
“It wasn't necessarily an insult.”
Thomas considered that.
Sarah saw the almost-smile again.
Mrs. Margaret Aldridge met them on the porch.
She was sixty if a day, five feet three, with white hair pinned so tightly Sarah suspected it could survive gunfire.
Her first look at Sarah contained approximately seventeen judgments.
Sarah endured all seventeen.
“Mrs. Blackwood.”
The new name landed strangely.
“Mrs. Aldridge.”
“You're thinner than I expected.”
Sarah blinked.
Margaret continued.
“Mr. Blackwood said nothing about you, so I expected someone larger.”
Thomas closed his eyes briefly.
Sarah smiled.
“I'll endeavor to disappoint you in more interesting ways.”
Margaret stared.
Then turned toward the house.
“Your room is prepared.”
Thomas looked at Sarah.
Sarah looked at Thomas.
Neither said anything.
But something in his face suggested Margaret had just passed a test Sarah had not known existed.
Her room was at the end of the second-floor hall.
Her room.
Not theirs.
Sarah stood in the doorway.
A proper bed.
Writing desk.
Wardrobe.
Iron stove already burning.
Clean quilt.
A vase containing late asters.
She turned.
Thomas stood behind Margaret.
Sarah looked at him.
“You arranged this?”
“The room?”
“The fire.”
“Margaret did.”
Margaret said, “He reminded me twice.”
Thomas frowned.
“Once.”
“Twice.”
Sarah looked at the stove.
Something inside her chest moved unhelpfully.
She had spent weeks cold.
Not merely physically.
Cold in the specific way insecurity penetrated the body.
A room heated in expectation of her arrival seemed absurdly intimate.
“Thank you.”
Thomas nodded.
Margaret departed.
Thomas remained at the door.
Sarah looked at him.
“My questions.”
“Dinner.”
“Fine.”
“Seven.”
“Fine.”
He started away.
“Thomas.”
He stopped.
Using his first name felt strange.
His gaze returned to her.
Sarah said, “Why separate rooms?”
He thought before answering.
“Because you signed a marriage contract.”
“I noticed.”
“You did not sign away the right to decide anything else.”
Sarah stood very still.
Thomas continued.
“If that ever changes, it changes because you want it changed.”
Then he walked away.
Sarah closed the door.
She leaned against it.
“Oh,” she whispered.
That was inconvenient.
Dinner was pot roast, potatoes, carrots, fresh bread, and silence.
Margaret served, observed them both with the expression of a military commander evaluating poorly coordinated troops, then withdrew.
Thomas poured coffee.
Sarah set down her fork.
“Debt.”
He almost sighed.
“Twenty-one thousand.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“A substantial number.”
“Yes.”
“Secured against?”
“Land.”
“All of it?”
“Most.”
“Interest rate?”
He told her.
Sarah calculated mentally.
“That is unpleasant.”
“Yes.”
“Manageable?”
“Yes.”
“You hesitated.”
Thomas looked at her.
Sarah smiled faintly.
“I remember pauses too.”
For the first time, he smiled.