“She would've said the stew needed more salt.”
Elizabeth laughed softly.
“Does it?”
“Probably.”
She tasted it later.
It did.
Neither mentioned the missing seasoning.
After supper, Elizabeth rose and began gathering the dishes.
Daniel looked surprised.
“You don't have to do that.”
She stopped.
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“I thought you might be tired.”
Elizabeth stared toward the plates.
Then smiled faintly.
“I don't know how to do very much here.”
Daniel looked toward her.
She continued.
“But I can carry dishes.”
He smiled.
“Yes, you can.”
She gathered them.
Then looked toward the wash basin.
After a moment, she asked, “Would you show me?”
Daniel didn't laugh.
He didn't make her feel foolish.
He simply demonstrated how to use the heated water and cleaning cloth, then left her to finish.
Elizabeth worked slowly.
At Hawthorne Hall, the servants handled the dishes.
She had never considered how much time an ordinary supper required from beginning to end.
By the time she finished, her sleeves were damp.
Her hands smelled faintly of soap.
And she felt strangely proud.
Daniel examined the clean dishes.
Then smiled.
“Excellent work.”
She laughed.
“You're teasing me.”
“A little.”
She narrowed her eyes.
He raised his hands.
“But the dishes are clean.”
Elizabeth tried not to smile.
Failed.
And laughed again.
That night, Daniel climbed into the loft after placing another log on the fire.
Elizabeth stood beside the bedroom door.
For a moment, she watched him.
His shoulders nearly filled the ladder's narrow opening.
He'd removed his borrowed wedding coat and now wore a plain linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
He looked tired.
Not unhappy.
Simply tired.
She wondered how many hours he'd spent working before their wedding.
Then she asked, “Daniel?”
He stopped halfway up the ladder.
“Yes?”
“Do you regret it?”
He looked down.
She swallowed.
“Marrying me.”
For several seconds, he remained silent.
Then he answered.
“I regret the way it happened.”