Clara looked up.
"Again?"
He smiled.
"Again."
She opened the book.
The pages had yellowed.
Some were stained with butter and flour.
The handwriting had become uneven in later years.
But the original recipe remained near the beginning.
Clara read the ingredients.
Beef ribs.
Salt.
Pepper.
Garlic.
Onions.
Butter.
Molasses.
Cider vinegar.
Crushed tomatoes.
Rosemary.
Samuel closed his eyes.
"I can almost smell it."
Clara smiled.
"That's because Annie is making it for supper."
His eyes opened.
"She is?"
"Yes."
"Using your recipe?"
"Exactly."
Samuel looked delighted.
"Well, I hope she knows not to rush it."
Clara laughed.
"She's been cooking it for six hours."
He nodded approvingly.
"Good."
Then his expression changed.
"Clara?"
"Yes?"
"Do you remember that night?"
She looked at him.
"The first ribs?"
He nodded.
She smiled.
"How could I forget?"
Samuel chuckled.
"I thought I'd lost my mind."
"You nearly dropped the lantern."
"And you nearly fainted when you saw that blue thread."
Clara shook her head.
"I was frightened."
"So was I."
She looked at him.
He continued quietly.
"But do you know what I remember most clearly?"
"The meat?"
He shook his head.
"The moment before."
Clara waited.
"When you were brushing the sauce over the ribs."
A soft smile appeared on his face.
"I remember standing behind you."
She smiled.
"You were trying to steal a taste."
"I was."
"And I slapped your hand with the spoon."
He laughed.
"Deserved it too."
He reached for her fingers.
"But I remember thinking that if I never had another day in my life, I'd still been given more happiness than I ever expected."
Clara's eyes filled.
Samuel looked at her.
"I wish I could have stayed in that moment a little longer."
She moved closer.
"Samuel."
He smiled gently.
"But I suppose we've had plenty of moments since."
Clara nodded.
"Yes."
He squeezed her hand.
"Good ones."
"And difficult ones."
"Mostly good."
She smiled through tears.
"Mostly good."
Then he looked toward the kitchen doorway.
"Do you reckon Annie would let me taste the sauce?"
Clara laughed.
"Samuel Thorne, some things never change."
That evening, the family gathered around the walnut table.
Annie served the ribs.
The children brought potatoes.
Someone poured cider.
Samuel sat at the head of the table, wrapped in a thick wool shawl.
Clara sat beside him.
When the platter arrived, he stared.
The meat was beautifully browned.
The glaze shone.
Steam rose into the warm air.
Samuel looked at Annie.
"That smells wonderful."
She smiled.
"Your wife's recipe."
He nodded.
"Then I know it will be."
Clara raised an eyebrow.
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
Samuel looked at her.
"Worked well enough forty years ago."
Everyone laughed.
Annie carved a tender piece and placed it on Samuel's plate.
He tasted it slowly.
Then closed his eyes.