“Would you like to hold her?”
Lena took the child.
Tiny.
Warm.
Rose opened one eye.
Lena whispered:
“You have a lot of women watching over you.”
Emma heard.
She squeezed Lena’s shoulder.
Time changed bodies.
Reid’s hair gray.
Lena’s red faded toward copper-white.
Her knees worsened.
Walking became harder.
She eventually used a reinforced rolling chair inside the bakery and a sturdy wheeled carriage outdoors.
People expected her to hate it.
She did not.
Mobility was freedom.
Pride did not need to mean pain.
The wide chair Reid built for her remained at the family table.
Years wore its edges smooth.
One leg required repair twice.
Reid refused to replace it.
“It’s historical.”
“It’s a chair.”
“It’s the chair.”
Lena rolled her eyes.
When Reid turned sixty-four, he suffered chest pain while repairing a gate.
This time he listened.
Mostly because Lena threatened him.
Doctor ordered rest.
Reid complained.
Lena enjoyed every second.
One evening they sat together on the porch.
Emma and her family had gone home.
Sunset spread over the pasture.
Reid looked toward Lena.
“Remember the first loaf?”
“Yes.”
“You chased me into the street over thirteen cents.”
“You were trying to overpay.”
“I was trying to support a new bakery.”
“Pity.”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Maybe a little?”
“None.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
He considered.
“I did think your price was foolish.”
“That remains true.”
He reached for her hand.
“I bought the first loaf because I was hungry.”
“I know.”
“The next ones because Emma ate.”
“I know.”
“Then because I wanted to see you.”
“I know.”
Lena looked toward the sunset.
“Funny.”
“What?”
“I thought everything kind you did had to be pity.”
Reid rubbed his thumb across her hand.
“You had reasons.”
“Still wasted a lot of time.”
“We had time.”
She looked at him.
“Not enough.”
“No.”
“Never enough.”
They sat quietly.
Then Reid said:
“You know what Emma told me the morning before your first supper?”
“What?”
“She asked if you’d say no.”
Lena smiled.
“What did you tell her?”
“That you probably would.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
“What else?”
“She asked why.”
Reid looked at the old chair visible through the open doorway.
“I told her sometimes people get used to standing outside a door so long they stop believing they’re allowed inside.”
Lena’s eyes filled.
“That’s surprisingly intelligent.”
“I had a good morning.”
“What did Emma say?”
Reid smiled.
“She said, ‘Then make her a chair.’”
Lena closed her eyes.
Of course.
All those years she had thought the chair was Reid’s idea.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That child.”
“She designed half your life.”
“She certainly believes she did.”