So I’ll take whatever is coming right now, just like I’ve taken everything else.
Then afterward I can figure out what to do.
He’s still tense, nearly vibrating with the intensity of whatever he’s feeling. But his eyes are also scouring my face, searching for what’s going on inside me.
When he figures it out, he drops my arm like it burned him. He takes an awkward backward step and looks down at his rifle like he’s surprised he’s holding it. He sets it down gingerly on the edge of the porch and turns back to me. “You’re terrified. Why are you so scared, Teresa?” When I can’t get a word out immediately, he continues, “Tell me right now. Are you scared ofme?”
He’s really asking. I see something that looks bewildered and horrified in his expression. “I didn’t…” Why can’t I seem to get a full sentence out? “I didn’t know. You were so angry with me.”
“I was scared!” He’s still more passionate than I’ve ever seen him, but I realize now it’s urgency, not violence. “I got here and you weren’t anywhere. I went to the village and couldn’t find you. So I came back here to get the rifle in case there was danger. I thought something bad happened to you.”
I make a little sobbing sound and uncross my arms. My shoulder bag slips down my arm to the ground. “Oh. Okay.”
“I’m sorry I scared you. I was going to find you.”
My mind is a whirl of relief and excitement and something resembling affection. Another weird sound escapes my throat. This one is half giggle, half sob. “Where were you going to look?”
“I didn’t know,” he admits, dropping his eyes in a familiar way. “But I was going to anyway.”
This time the sound I make is definitely a giggle. “Well, thank you. Because if something really happened to me, then I would definitely appreciate you rushing in with your rifle to help.”
He’s finally relaxing too. He makes a couple of huffs of a laugh and darts a quick glance up at my face. “I’m sorry I scared you. But how could you think I would ever hurt you?”
“I didn’t. Until a minute ago, I never would have thought you would. But people aren’t always… predictable. And the people you trust let you down.”
He’s listening. He hears me. He thinks for a minute before he murmurs hoarsely, “Okay. I get it. With what you’ve had to deal with, it makes sense you’d think that. But I’m not a violent man. I don’t have a quick temper.”
“I know you don’t. That’s why I was so surprised.”
“And I’m never going to hurt you, Teresa.” He holds mygaze with an earnestness that makes me shiver. “I promise you that.”
My breath hitches. I twist my hands together in front of me. Every promise that’s ever been made to me has been broken, but for some reason I believe Mason anyway.
He’s not going to hurt me.
“I mean it,” he goes on, evidently still unsure of whether I believe him. “You’re my wife. That means something to me. My job is to take care of you. I’m never going to hurt you.”
I nod. Break our gaze and stare at my hands, breathing unevenly. “Okay. Thank you. I do understand why you were worried, and I’m sorry I didn’t leave a note. But you said you wouldn’t be back until dinner, so I thought I’d be home before you. I’ll leave a note any time I’m gone from now on.”
“Thank you. I’d rather not go through that ordeal again.” He sighs and steps aside to gesture me into the cottage. “I got done sooner than I thought, so I came home.”
Both of us need to recover from the emotional intensity on the porch, so we’re quiet for the next hour as I prepare dinner and Mason sits on the porch steps and throws Bill his ball to fetch over and over again.
He has relaxed by the time we eat, and so have I. Weboth enjoy the steak, potatoes, and green beans, and he asks me about my day and what I found scavenging in a manner that’s friendlier than normal.
Encouraged by his interest, I chat more than usual too. I even make him laugh when I bring up my debacle with the bouncy balls in the village square and how Bill and the butcher’s dog thought all their doggy dreams had come true.
I got dirty while I scavenged, so I decide to bathe for real after we eat and I’ve cleaned up the kitchen. I give myself a good scrub and change into one of my nightgowns since I don’t want to put dirty clothes on my clean body.
I’m brushing my hair with the bathroom door open to let out the steam when Mason comes in from his evening chores.
He stands in the hall staring in at me.
He’s so motionless it makes me self-conscious. “Sorry,” I say. “I was really dirty from scavenging, and I don’t like to go to bed that way. I’ll be done in here in just a minute.”
He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t make a sound. Just stands there tensely and stares.
I shoot a few quick glances, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.
