“You’re supposed to knead it,” the lad had supplied helpfully from the stool he sat on.
I’d turned to Antony, my hands spread wide as if to say,you see?
“Though I’m certain he won’t mind helping you when he can, I’m afraid his chores keep him much too busy. This is something you’re going to have to learn sooner or later, my wife.”
I put every ounce of energy, every bit of stubbornness I possessed, into learning and at the end of it, all I had to show for it was one good loaf of bread. But every time I looked at what I’d made—John and Antony both agreed it looked nearly as good as what they’d seen in the baker’s shop in town—I felt such a surge of pride as I’d never known before.
“I think it would be nice if you took half of this over to the neighbor’s wife,” my husband mentioned casually.
“What?” I asked sharply, nearly glowering at him. “I put all that effort into making it and now you want to give it away? I thought you said that you liked the look of it! Why, if that’s all it means to you, feed it to the pigs for all I care!”
Antony’s stern gaze pulled me upright and made me still my tongue before I did any more damage. I could tell by the hard set of his jaw that he was not happy with me and felt doubly embarrassed when I realized how rashly I’d spoken in front of John. “I was not asking because I don’t like it, Cecily,” he answered in the cool, level tone that belied his irritation. “I think it would be a neighborly thing to do, and I thought that since you are newly moved here, you would care to make a friend.”
“Yes, well, as you pointed outIam the one new here. If anyone should be bringing bread to anyone, shouldn’t she come to me?” Though I spoke quieter, without as much rancor, I could see that Antony still was displeased. “I don’t have anything to wear,” I offered weakly before he could scold me in front of his son.
His eyes looked me up and down again before he nodded. “Very well, I’m sure that I have a gown or two that will suit until we can get you your own things.”
I glanced at John and back to Antony, knowing that I was helplessly trapped. “Very well,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster.
“My boy, fetch my saddlebag, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” John said, moments before he scurried to do his father’s bidding.
I knew that my husband was not well pleased with me, and the feeling was mutual, but the moment he turned those stern eyes on me, I wilted. “Antony…”
“Come, I’ll show you the dresses and you can take your pick.”
Knowing I had no other choice, I followed behind as Antony led me into the room that must have been his late wife’s.
“Most of her things were donated,” he explained. “But we kept a very few of her favorite gowns.” He opened the wardrobe doors, then turned in my direction, scrutinizing me. “You’re more fair, but as I said, these should serve for now.”
“Thank you,” I murmured humbly. I knew it couldn’t be easy on him, seeing me in his dead wife’s gowns, yet he was offering them with a free heart to make me more comfortable.
“Choose what you like and I’ll be back in a moment to help you dress.”
Antony departed quickly and in his absence I took a look around the room. It was very well-kept, though sparsely furnished. There was a simple wooden chair by the window, a small bed piled high with homemade quilts, and a pretty basin on top of the wardrobe. Once upon a time, such a room would have made me turn my nose up, but knowing that these things had belonged to Antony’s wife, to John’s mother, made me see them in a different light.
I walked to the open wardrobe and looked inside, seeing three homespun gowns. I reached a hand inside, gently fingering the soft cloth. One was apale yellow, one a serviceable brown, and lastly a deep burgundy calico that made me pause.
“I thought you’d pick that one.”
I spun around, surprised to find Antony behind me, watching. “Oh, I didn’t hear you.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you, my lady.”
Yet, I was more startled still when he stepped into the room and I saw that he held the strap he’d bought tightly in his left hand. “Antony, please,” I pleaded, my eyes searching his face for a sign that his intentions might be different from what I thought. If anything, the hard set of his jaw and the firm line of his mouth told me that my suspicions were correct. “Please, what if John was to overhear?”
“No need to worry yourself, my dear,” he replied drily. “I’ve sent him out to feed the animals and milk the cow. We’ll be long finished by the time he gets finished.”
“Antony, I’m sorry. I…”
“Yes?”
“I… I don’t know, I suppose I should have thought before getting upset.”
“You suppose?”
“I should have,” I amended. “And I’m very, very sorry. Please, there really isn’t any need to… use that.”
