Rebecca smiled, and Eleanor knew she’d offered the perfect distraction.
They spent the afternoon baking together while Merrick worked at the forge, discussing anything and everything except for Rebecca’s current dilemma. Eleanor told her sister about the ladies she’d met so far in Crest Stone, all she’d learned about Merrick, and the wonderful mercantile. The children played on the floor and outside, all under the watchful eye of their oldest sister.
“And how has Mr. Benton taken to learning about the baby?” Rebecca asked as she slid a loaf of bread into the oven.
“Better than I could have hoped for.” Eleanor wiped her hands on a towel. “He seems to have a way with children. Did you see how he interacted with Emmy outside?”
Rebecca nodded. “Not all men are so at ease around little ones. John was a wonderful father, but remember how Neela’s husband looked like a scared rabbit every time one of their children climbed onto his lap or asked for help?”
Eleanor laughed. It was a good thing Neela was a more than capable mother. It struck her then that she’d likely never see Neela or her children again.
Her sister must have been having the same thoughts. “Thinking about her does make me miss home.”
“I miss our friends. And I miss the beauty in West Fork. The hills and the trees. The creek,” Eleanor said. “But I don’t miss those dreary houses or the mine company’s greed. And I certainly don’t miss that general store. Did I tell you that the one here has three different hairbrushes? Three!”
“Did your husband add all three to his order today?” Rebecca teased.
“No, thank goodness.” She still felt uncomfortable about how much they’d purchased. If Merrick was trying to impress her, she wished he wouldn’t. At some point—soon—she’d need to ask him about that. If he spent frivolously, how could they afford wood for the fire or coal for his forge? And then there was the baby, who would certainly need clothing and a cradle and any number of other things.
“Mama?” Gwynnie’s voice sounded from the front door. All of the children had gone back outside a while ago.
“Yes, Gwynnie?” Rebecca set down the bowl she’d used for mixing.
“I can’t find Roger.”
Chapter Eight
MERRICK HAD JUST EXTRACTEDa red-hot sheet of metal when he sensed someone standing nearby. Setting his work down, he turned to find one of Mrs. O’Neal’s children staring wide-eyed at the forge.
“What isthat?” the little boy asked.
Merrick ran the back of his arm over his forehead before answering. Keeping the door open, especially in the cold, helped make it more comfortable inside, but it was still warm nonetheless. “This is my forge. What was your name again?”
“Roger O’Neal,” the boy answered. He must have been about seven or eight, tow-headed and very, very curious. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.” He held out his hand.
Merrick reined in the bemused expression that attempted to cross his face. “Pleased to meet you too, Roger. Have you ever seen a smithy at work before?”
The boy shook his head.
“Well, it’s very serious work, you see. I have to get my fire hot enough so I can bend and shape metal. Did you know fire can get that hot?”
