At last, they stepped into the open area, a space about the size of three cabins. It felt secluded, surrounded by trees. She came here anytime she needed space to be alone, to uncluttter her mind, though she hadn't done so in a while.
Maybe she should have. Perhaps she'd have found more peace during the turmoil of these last weeks. It had started when Jonah asked her to marry him.
Or maybe before? How long exactly had this unrest churned inside her? In truth, she couldn't remember a time without it. Maybe back before Eric left, then didn't respond to her letters. Then Harvey. Then she found out she was with child, and she'd thought it was Harvey's.
When Mary Ellen had been born three weeks before she'd been expected, born with Eric's red curls, Naomi had finally allowed herself to hope. And believe. This babe wasn't the result of the man who'd forced himself on her. She was the outcome of two people who'd loved each other with every part of themselves. At least back then. They'd pushed that love much farther than they should have. But still, it had been love, not violence.
She set the crate down in the grass.
"This is nice." Eric scanned the area, then turned to her with a pleased smile. "I'll help set things out."
He unfolded the blanket and spread it over the ground. She would have shaken it out and let it flutter to the grass, but he worked methodically, opening the cover one fold at a time. Interesting how two people could go about things so differently yet accomplish the same goal.
She'd forgotten how careful and detailed Eric was when he worked. She'd always loved that about him. He was precise. That probably made him excellent with the deals he coordinated for his father's business.
While Lillian coaxed Mary Ellen into emptying her skirt full of treasures in a pile beside the blanket, Naomi pulled the food containers out of the crate.
They worked in silence. She handed plates and utensils to Eric to set out for each of them, then poured the chocolate.
"That smells so good I could feast on the drink alone." A grin played at Eric’s mouth.
Naomi returned the smile as she handed him a steaming cup. "I've learned a new recipe. This one tops the way I made chocolate before, without question."
He raised his brows. "I'm intrigued. Your warm chocolate has always been my favorite. What makes this different?"
She gave him a sideways look. "A secret ingredient, but I can't say more."
Lillian smirked, and Naomi raised a finger to her. "And don't you tell. The recipe can't ever leave the women of this family."
The girl's grin turned to a giggle, and Naomi allowed a smile.
But she stole a look at Eric. Had she made him uncomfortable, unintentionally lumping him in with "this family?" He was, in a way, as Mary Ellen's father. He was connected to them. To Naomi anyway, and she to Dinah, who was married to Jericho. She certainly felt like she was part of theCoulter family.
And she would be in truth, once she married Jonah. Even her surname would proclaim it.
Her middle twisted, and she turned back to hand cups of chocolate to Lillian and Mary Ellen. "Be careful with this, sweetie. Careful not to spill."
She kept hold of her daughter's cup as Mary Ellen lifted it to her lips. She tried to pull the mug from her, of course, but Naomi maintained a solid grip.
They ate in mostly quiet, though Eric complimented the food, especially the sandwiches.
"Lillian made the bread yesterday." Naomi sent her a smile. "She's become an expert baker."
The girl's cheeks turned pink, and she dipped her chin, her smile spreading wide.
"If this is a sample, I'd say you could rival any chef at the finest Parisian bakery." Eric lifted his sandwich. "Well done."
That, of course, made Lillian's ears deepen from pink to red, but she managed a quiet "Thank you."
Naomi sent Eric a look of thanks. Lillian deserved to be acknowledged for her hard work. She learned so quickly and possessed an intuition that helped her hone her skills, both in the kitchen and in sewing. Her talent in those arts reminded Naomi a bit of how Dinah had been with doctoring. She'd spent hours each day with Pop in the clinic, and the times Naomi ambled in to see what they were doing, Dinah was always busy bandaging a wound or measuring out medicines. Pop said she had a special knack for healing.
"Want a bite?" Eric held out his spoon to Mary Ellen, a taste of pickled beet on the tip.
Should she tell him Mary Ellen usually spit that out? He'd learn for himself soon enough, though it might not earn him any favors with the child. Perhaps it was best their daughter didn’t see Eric as completely perfect, the provider of only good things. That was an unreasonable view for anyone.
Mary Ellen eyed his offering, then glanced at Eric, and finally opened her mouth to accept the bite.
He obliged, but almost the moment their daughter's mouth closed on the spoon, her expression twisted into horror. She jerked away, then spat out the bite.
