“I happen to think you’re wrong, and we’ll leave it there. Tell me why you thought that I might have hurt your mother.”
Clay shrugged and flopped on his back again.
“Has someone hurt her before?” asked Roen. Clay’s silence was palpable. “Your father perhaps?”
Clay turned on his side away from Roen and pulled the covers over his bony shoulder.
Roen stood in the doorway a little longer, but when Clay gave him no indication that he intended to answer, he backed out of the room and went downstairs.
He woke when he heard the first footfalls across the ceiling. He assumed they were the first because no one had yet come down the steps. He yawned hard enough to make his jaw crack and then moved it side to side to be sure he still could. After stretching his arms, curling his toes, and rolling his shoulders, Roen rose up on his hands and knees and pushed aside the blankets. He tossed the cushions back on the sofa and chair, fit them snugly like pieces of puzzle, and eventually got to his feet. He folded and stacked the blankets and placed his pillow on top. Not knowing what to do with the linens, he pushed everything under the table beside Lily’s rocker.
When he opened the back door and saw it had snowed at least another inch overnight, he kicked off his slippers and pulled on his boots. Like a courtier of old, Roen made an elegant leg in his nightshirt and robe when he returned from the privy and found everyone was seated at the kitchen table awaiting their turn.
“I’ll get my things and get dressed,” he told Lily as Ham jumped up and rushed past while Hannah looked him over and giggled.
“Not the worst idea you ever had,” she said. “I put the few things you brought with you yesterday in the wardrobe. The items that couldn’t be hung are in the top drawer of the chest.”
“Thank you.” He nodded at the remaining children and left the room only a little less speedily than Ham.
He didn’t think he was gone long, but Clay was tending to the fire in the stove, Hannah had a pot of water on top and a bag of oats under one arm, and Ham was almost done setting the table. Lizzie was in Lily’s lap at the table having her silky hair fashioned into a becoming French braid. Roen didn’t ask what he could do. He located a coffeepot, pumped water into it, and set it on a burner beside the porridge pot.
“Coffee?” he asked hopefully. He could not drink anothercup of tea. That would never start his day. He followed Lily’s index finger to where she pointed out the canister. He opened it and breathed deeply. He must have sighed appreciatively because when he turned away from measuring, Lily was smiling in that quietly amused way he found so fascinating. “You’ll have some?”
“Certainly. There will be milk in the cold box on the back porch if Mr. Sanford was able to make his rounds. Would you be good enough to pour a glass for each of the children? If you skim off the cream, we can use it in our coffee.”
Clay stepped away from the stove and said, “I’ll do it, Ma. Anyway, Mr. Shepard takes his coffee black.”
Lily looked quizzically at Roen. She knew her son well enough to know that the offer was not made out of kindness. Clay was stewing. He was the only one who hadn’t acknowledged Roen’s presence.
Roen mouthed the wordsI’ll tell you laterand returned to making coffee. He was adding cream to Lily’s cup at the same time Hannah was doling out large portions of hot oatmeal. Lily stopped her when she had half as much as Hannah had given everyone else. Roen wished he had known he could do the same, but it had seemed impolite. He looked at his bowl and smiled rather grimly at the contents before he tucked in. He thought he heard Lily chuckle, but when he glanced up, her lips were closed over her spoon in a way no sound could escape.
She was a witch, he thought, and not for the first time.
“When are you going to get the rest of your things and bring them here?” she asked.
“I thought I’d begin after breakfast. I’ll stop at the sheriff’s to see if Hitch is really going to help me.” He looked to the end of the table where Clay was sitting. Roen had had no desire to take up that chair. It had been Jeremiah’s and now it was Clay’s. It was not his place to take it away. “You’re going to help, aren’t you?”
Clay only shrugged.
“Clay Salt,” said Lily. “Don’t make me use your middle name. That was rude. You answer with your voice, not a shrug.”
“Clay Bryant Salt,” said Lizzie in singsong tones. “Clay Bryant Salt.”
Lily merely looked at her youngest and the little girl’s mouth snapped shut. “Clay?”
“Yes, I’ll help you.” He didn’t meet Roen’s gaze directly but stared sullenly at his oatmeal instead.
Lily’s lips parted as she intended to reprimand him again, but the almost infinitesimal shake of Roen’s head stopped her. She did not know how she felt about him inserting his opinion. He was not exactly interfering, but he had a definite idea about the way she should deal with her son in this moment.
“Thank you, Clay,” said Roen. “So I’m clear about the division of labor, are you still working for me?” Roen watched Clay’s head snap up. This was obviously something the boy hadn’t considered. “I’m not firing you, and I don’t expect you to work for free because there’s been a change in our connection, but there are family chores that you’ll be expected to do for no remuneration, and there are business tasks for which you will continue to be compensated. I think helping me move my things here is a gray area. I’ll give you half pay if you still want to be in my employ. Otherwise, you’ll help and get nothing. Fair?”
Clay stared at him and didn’t answer.
“That’s all right. You think it over and let me know your decision when I’m ready to leave.”
Clay’s eyes swiveled to his mother. “May I be excused?”
“Please.”
