Then he said, "I'd have liked to know about the trouble before today."
Her smile faded.
He continued.
"But I didn't marry you because your life was easy."
Eleanor swallowed.
Silas looked at her steadily.
"I married you because I thought you were telling me what kind of woman you wanted to become."
She nodded.
"I was."
"Then start by telling me the things you were afraid to put in your letters."
For a moment, she couldn't answer.
Then she nodded again.
"I will."
Silas turned toward the stairs.
Eleanor stood beside her trunk.
And for the first time since fleeing Boston, she felt the strange possibility that honesty might cost her comfort without costing her freedom.
Supper was a disaster.
Silas had planned to prepare beef stew and warm the bread he'd purchased in town.
But he became distracted while trying to answer Eleanor's questions about the ranch.
The stew thickened.
The bread scorched.
And when he finally carried the pot toward the table, he discovered that he'd forgotten to add the potatoes.
Eleanor stared at the darkened bread.
Then looked toward him.
Silas sighed.
"Well."
She pressed her lips together.
He studied the loaf.
"Suppose I could use that to repair the roof."
Eleanor burst into laughter.
For a moment, Silas looked surprised.
Then the corner of his mouth lifted.
"You think that's funny?"
She nodded.
"Terribly."
He set the bread down.
"Good. Because tomorrow you're cooking."
Eleanor stopped laughing.
Silas noticed.
His eyes narrowed.
"What?"
She looked toward the stove.
Then back at him.
"I should tell you something."
He folded his arms.
"Go on."
Her face warmed.
"I've never cooked a complete supper."
For several seconds, he stared.
Then he looked toward the ruined bread.
Back at her.
And began laughing.
Not cruelly.
Not mockingly.
With the helpless amusement of a man who had demanded a wife capable of managing a ranch and discovered she had never been allowed to manage her own kitchen.
Eleanor crossed her arms.
"You don't have to enjoy this quite so much."
Silas laughed harder.
She tried to glare.
But eventually she laughed too.
For a few minutes, the house filled with a sound it hadn't heard in years.
Then they ate the stew without potatoes.