“No, thank you. I can do it,” she said, with a backward glance over her shoulder. Catching up her apron to protect her hands, Amanda turned two loaves out onto a board, carried it to the table with mincing steps, and paused there, too.
Jackson went to the stove and removed the lid from the soup pot.
“I thought we might serve our bowls at the stove tonight,” Amanda remarked.
He wasn’t opposed to a change in routine. Had it been done on some feminine whim, he’d have gone along and humored her. But his wife was clearly unwell.
He’d keep his counsel for now. Then, once the children were abed, he’d press her for details. “I’ll carry the soup. Noah, put bowls on the table for everyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Amanda started toward the cupboard. “I can get them.”
“No. Let Noah do it.”
Noah got four bowls out and placed them in a single stack, as his mother would’ve.
Jackson paused on his way to the table. “Carry them one at a time, Son, so you don’t break them.”
Noah let out a frustrated sigh, but he obeyed.
Jackson looked to Amanda and lifted his chin in the direction of her chair. “Sit.”
The way she gingerly lowered herself into it added to his worry, as did the strained quality of her voice when she thanked Noah for placing a bowl before her.
Jackson ladled soup into all the bowls then picked up Jewel and placed her in her high chair. “Noah, get the spoons and the napkins while I pour the tea.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jewel held out her hands and made a grabbing motion in the direction of the food. “Hungry, Papa.”
“It’s too hot.”
“Burn Jewel?”
“Yes, it will. I’ll give it to you when it cools.”
“My soup is hot, as well,” Amanda said, waving at the rising tendrils of steam, bending them sideways. “We must be patient.”
Jackson fetched the pitcher of cream and added some to his daughter’s tea and soup, to cool them faster. Then he sat and blessed the meal. Before lifting his head, he added an unspoken prayer for his wife.
He reached for the bread then paused and eyed the loaves. One was twisted worse than the hoof in dire need of a farrier. Was Amanda so greatly afflicted that she couldn’t shape bread?
He lifted his gaze to find her giving him a pointed look.
“Noah helped me with that one.”
“Hm.” Jackson tore a piece off the lopsided loaf and spread some butter on it. He popped it into his mouth, his son watching—unblinking—as he chewed.
Jackson’s grandmother had often said one shouldn’t judge a person’s heart by their appearance. Apparently, the same was true for bread. “I’m impressed. It’s very tasty.”
Noah beamed brighter than the sun at high noon.
Jackson passed Jewel a piece of bread to appease her, while Amanda tested the temperature of the little one’s soup. He tucked into his meal once Jewel’s bowl and cup were on her tray. “Mm, good,” he said between bites.
Noah nodded. “Mama makes the best rabbit soup.”
“Yes, she does.”
