“Wait.”
He turned.
Adelaide wiped flour from hands.
“Let me.”
Gideon’s face tightened.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
That question mattered.
Adelaide opened the door.
Amos climbed porch.
His red beard was packed with frost.
“Cole alive?”
Adelaide stood in doorway.
“Unfortunately.”
A voice from behind:
“I heard that.”
Amos looked past her.
Relief appeared.
“Damn, Cole.”
“I heard tree got you.”
“Almost.”
Amos removed hat.
Then looked at Adelaide.
The confidence he had shown last time disappeared slightly.
“Mrs. Cole.”
“Mr. Pike.”
“I…”
He cleared throat.
“I came to see if you needed anything.”
Adelaide waited.
Amos looked toward Gideon.
Gideon said nothing.
Good.
Amos returned gaze to Adelaide.
“I also owe you something.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“An apology.”
“Yes.”
The man looked as though he had expected her to make this easier.
She did not.
He shifted.
“What I said…”
“Say it.”
Amos frowned.
“What?”
“If you are apologizing, name what you did.”
Gideon almost smiled behind her.
Amos glared toward him.
Adelaide snapped:
“Do not look at him.”
Amos looked back.
“I called you…”
He struggled.
“A pig.”
“Yes.”
“And laughed.”
“Yes.”
“And I spoke about you like you were some kind of joke.”
“Yes.”
“I was wrong.”
Adelaide studied him.
“Why?”
Amos blinked.
“Why was I wrong?”
“Yes.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Because you saved Gideon.”
“No.”
That answer surprised both men.
Adelaide continued.
“If I had never saved him, would it have been acceptable?”
“No.”
“Then try again.”
Amos looked toward floorboards.
“Because your body isn't my business.”
Adelaide waited.
“And?”
“And you're a person.”
“Yes.”
Amos exhaled.
“I'm sorry.”
Adelaide nodded.
“Accepted.”
Not forgiven.
Not erased.
Accepted.
She stepped aside.
“You can have coffee.”
Amos blinked.
“Really?”
“It is cold.”
He entered.
Gideon looked at Adelaide as she returned to dough.
She whispered:
“One word and I throw both of you outside.”
He nodded obediently.
Amos never insulted her again.
He did not become a transformed saint.
He still spoke too loudly.
Drank too much.