His eyes were warm.
She smiled back.
For a moment, she felt that Christmas had arrived not with abundance, but with something quieter and perhaps more precious.
Enough.
Enough food for the evening.
Enough wood for the stoves.
Enough people willing to help one another.
And enough hope to face another cold morning.
After supper, the families began singing.
The church windows glowed yellow against the snowy street.
A few men played instruments.
Miss Whitfield sang with the children.
Martha Bell sat near the stove, smiling as she watched the younger people dance.
Clara remained in the kitchen longer than necessary.
She was wiping a table that was already clean when Caleb appeared in the doorway.
"Miss Bennett."
She turned.
"Mr. Morgan."
He smiled.
"You're hiding."
"I'm working."
He examined the spotless table.
"Clearly."
Clara laughed.
He stepped closer.
"Would you care to dance?"
Her smile vanished.
For a moment, she thought she had misheard.
"What?"
Caleb held out his hand.
"Dance."
She glanced toward the church.
People were moving in pairs between the benches.
Her cheeks burned.
"Caleb."
He waited.
"I'm not much of a dancer."
"Neither am I."
"You're very tall."
"So I've been told."
She looked down at her broad figure.
"And I'm not exactly light on my feet."
He smiled gently.
"Then we'll take it slowly."
Clara stared at his hand.
She remembered being a young woman at community dances, watching other girls being asked onto the floor while she remained beside the refreshments.
Once, a boy had asked her to dance as part of a joke.
His friends laughed when she stood.
She never forgot the humiliation.
Now Caleb Morgan stood before her with his enormous hand extended.
No audience waiting to laugh.
No cruel smile.
Only a question.
She looked into his face.
"Do you truly want to dance with me?"
His expression softened.
"Very much."
For a moment, Clara could not speak.
Then she placed her hand in his.
"All right."
He smiled.
Together, they entered the church.
Several people turned.
Clara felt their eyes.
Her stomach tightened.
But Caleb did not hesitate.
He led her gently into an open space near the stove.
One hand rested respectfully at her back.
The other held hers.
The music was slow.
A fiddle played a familiar tune.
Clara stepped carefully.
Caleb followed.
At first, their movements were awkward.
He was much taller.