Rose followed her with her gaze and saw Thomas coming toward them. She felt herself smiling as he drew near.

  Polly caught up to him and they came to her, hand in hand.

  “Hello, wife.”

  Rose couldn’t help but giggle. For some reason, Thomas seemed to very much enjoy the endearment. The one time she’d asked him about it, he’d said it was because he still couldn’t believe it was real. “Good afternoon, husband.”

  “I’m getting hungry. I thought we’d go inside for some lunch.”

  “As long as you’re the one cooking it,” she replied drily.

  Thomas gave her a grin. “Yes, ma’am.” For now, his eyes seemed to say. One of their very first quarrels had been about the fact that he apparently expected her to learn how to cook. And no matter how many times she insisted that hadn’t been a part of their vows, he seemed set on the notion.

  In fact, when they made it to the house he insisted that she follow him into the kitchen. “Watch me,” he instructed as he got sliced pork and hunks of bread. He stood in front of the stove for a time, while Rose watched with a bored expression and her arms crossed over her chest. Then, one by one, he dropped them in. They sizzled when they hit the frying pan and after another moment or two, he used a fork to flip them over. “See?”

  “Oh, I see all right,” she replied drily.

  Thomas gave her a warning look. “Cut the sass, please.”

  She almost replied, but thought better of it in the end. Though she got one more reproving glance, she also noticed the smile he tried to hide, too.

  “Get me plates, please.”

  She did so, holding them out so that he could put all the ham on one. Then the bread went on another. When she’d walked it to the table, she put a piece of ham and a hunk of bread on Polly’s plate.

  Then Thomas instructed them to join hands so that he could pray. After the “Amen” he gave Rose’s hand a squeeze. “You’ll be makin’ dinner.”

  Her mouth dropped open, but her husband was already too busy with his food to notice.

  * * *

  “You can do this,” Rose muttered to herself as she dubiously eyed the frying pan. It was the same one Thomas had used to make lunch, and even though she was only frying more ham, and had, as he’d pointed out more than once, seen him do it only hours earlier, she still felt like she was facing a bridge she just couldn’t cross. “Come on, just… do it.”

  Dubious of even her own encouragement, she took a step toward the stove, then froze. But hey, it was one step closer.

  “Rose? Have you gotten supper started?”

  She scowled at his voice and turned to glare in the direction of the parlor. She was pretty certain that he knew that she hadn’t. But she couldn’t be hurried along—she’d get it ready when she was good and ready, dammit. And she’d tell him to his face, if he dared venture into the kitchen she’d shooed him out of.

  Not that she had the faintest clue what she was doing.

  Suddenly, a memory popped into her head. She’d forgotten so many things from her childhood—there weren’t many good times to remember—that it caught her off guard. But in her mind’s eye, she could see her mother standing at their little pot belly stove. She was instructing Carolyn on how to make cornbread. Rose hadn’t come in from playing until the batter had already been made (at her childish insistence, her mother had allowed her a spoonful) but she stood nearby watching as her sister poured it into a frying pan and then pushed it into the stove. Then, Carolyn had knelt by it, watching the flames heat the pan.

  “Not too close,” Mama had cautioned. “You don’t want to get soot on your face, or worse.”

  But Carolyn wouldn’t be moved. She’d really taken a shine to cooking after that, until their mama had passed.

  Rose couldn’t help but wonder, did she cook now? Was she cooking for a family of her own? Did she ever think about her?

  Filled with a sudden surge of determination, she marched toward the stove, picked up the ham slices and dumped them into the pan. She waited, but nothing happened. There was no hiss, no thin line of smoke like had occurred when Thomas had done it earlier.

  Furrowing her brow, she peered at the pan, even drawing eye level with it to look. She almost called Thomas in to ask for help when she realized that she hadn’t stoked the fire. That solved, she went to cutting bread, and she was glad, too. She didn’t want his help, if she could manage without it. The man was smug enough already, if you asked her.

  She had sliced up the bread as best she could and even divided a wedge of cheese and a few apples. She was feeling pretty pleased with herself. But right before she slapped her hands together in satisfaction, she smelled it: smoke.

  Whirling toward the stove, she quickly took in the hissing, spitting frying pan and her quickly browning meat. She took hold of the handle and promptly dropped it to the floor as the iron burned her skin.

  “Ow!”

  She was bent at the waist, holding out her blistered hand in front of her when Thomas came running into the kitchen with Polly at his heels.

  “What happened?”

  Righting herself, she swallowed back her tears. “I’m fine.” She was reaching for the frying pan when Thomas grabbed her arm.

  “Don’t touch that, it’s sure to be burning hot. You don’t do that without a cloth. Didn’t you see me do that earlier?”

  She had just shaken her head when he spotted her blistered palm.

  “You’re fine, huh?” He arched a brow. “Oh, sweetheart. You go sit down and I’ll take it from here.”

  “No.” She frowned. “I did all the work, and I’m going to finish it.”

  Thomas looked like he would argue, but just then, Polly piped up.

  “Are you all right, Rosie?”

  “I’m fine, darling girl.” She forced a smile for her new daughter. “Why don’t you and Papa go sit at the table and I’ll bring in the food?”

  Thomas gave her a look that made her belly flip. She knew she’d pay for her defiance, but she held her head high just the same. And when she brought the plates to the table. Thomas didn’t say one word about the burnt ham. In fact, he took the darkest slice and winked at her before taking a big bite.

  * * *

  “Aunt Louise is here, she’s here!” Polly chanted bouncing up and down as the sound of carriage wheels was heard outside. “Can I go outside and wait for her?”

  “Of course, sweetheart. But stay on the porch, all right?”

  “Are you coming, Mama?” Polly asked, looking at her shyly.

  She’d just begun to call her that and as much as Rose wanted to go, she wasn’t feeling well. “I’ll wait inside. You go and hurry back, now.”

  Quickly agreeing, Polly ran outside to wait. She was already out the door before Rose realized that she’d left her sunbonnet inside. She looked at it ruefully and sighed. She knew she should take it to her, but her stomach was so queasy this morning she could hardly stand. In fact, as soon as the door closed behind the little girl, she’d already sunk to the couch. She would remember next time, she promised herself silently.

  Polly was practically dancing as she led Louise inside the house. “Aunt Louise is here!” she trilled, as though Rose couldn’t see her friend standing in the parlor herself.

  “Yes, so I see. How wonderful. How are you, Louise?”

  Louise, a respectable woman, was wearing a straw hat, which she removed to put on the hook by the door. Then she gave Rose a sympathetic look. “I’m well. I’ve been very excited to see my favorite girls.”

  Polly beamed at the remark.

  “In fact, I just finished a new book. Would you like to take a look, Polly?”

  “Oh, yes, please!” She gave a little hop as she clapped her hands.

  “It’s in my valise. Just a moment.” Louise rifled through it for a moment before producing the promised present. When she handed it to Polly, the girl was grinning wide enough to split her face in two. “Take a look and see what words you can sound out while I talk with your mama.”

  She needn’t have said anything—Polly had already opened it and bent her head over the pages, studying it.

  “How are you?”

  Rose smiled wanly at her friend. “I’ve been worse.” That, at much, was true.

  “I hear the morning sickness passes soon,” Louise said soothingly. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Actually,” Rose sat up, her eyes gleaming, “there is. I need to learn to churn butter and make biscuits.”

  “Oh.” She looked rather taken aback. “Are you sure, in your condition, that you’re feeling up to it?”

  “Better learn now than before I have a baby to mind, too.” Suddenly realizing what she’d said, she turned to look at Polly, but the girl appeared deep in her book, too involved to notice the talk of grownups.

  Louise nodded her agreement. “All right. I’m happy to help.”

  * * *

  The day was not going at all how she’d hoped. She’d thought that Louise, having done domestic tasks before, would be exactly the person she needed to help her learn how to be a proper wife—never mind that her position as the mayor’s wife afforded her the luxury of not having to churn butter or make biscuits. Even so, she knew her stuff, and was very keen to teach her friend. And she’d tried—oh, how she’d tried, but at the end of the day all Rose had for all her efforts was sore shoulders, hands that felt close to blistering, and a pan of burnt biscuits to add to the pig’s slop. She was in a sour mood by the time her friend left and not even Louise’s gentle, encouraging smile helped matters.

  And worse still, as soon as the buggy had taken off, Polly had begun to throw a tantrum. She claimed to be bored but nothing Rose suggested seemed to appease her.

  “Would you like to read your new book?” she suggested.

  “I’ve read it four times already,” the little girl said, pouting.

  “All right. How about we go pick some wildflowers to decorate the table for supper?” She didn’t really feel up for a walk, but if it helped Polly’s mood, she’d manage.

  “I don’t like wildflowers.” The girl’s lip protruded further still.

  “You liked them just yesterday.”

  “No.” She glowered. “I did not.”

  At a loss, Rose searched her mind for something she could do to please the little girl. But she couldn’t come up with anything else, and anyway, her small charge seemed content to be in a foul temper.

  “Is something the matter, Polly? Do you feel all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she grumbled, her brow furrowing an awful lot like her father’s did. “I just wish you’d go away and leave me alone.”

  Rose’s mouth dropped open. It was almost comical, really—she was used to taking the harshest slurs, enduring the meanest, most judgmental stares, but all it took to crush her was a cranky six-year-old. Before she could even think of how to reply—she was still getting used to this mothering business—the door opened and in walked her husband.

  She didn’t think she’d ever been so happy to see him. And Thomas, for his part, seemed to take in the tension radiating between the pair right away.

  “Evening,” he said amiably. “How was everyone’s day?” He walked to Rose, slipped an arm around her waist and pecked her cheek.

  “Fine,” she replied, doing her best to smile brightly.

  “Polly?”

  The little girl leapt to her feet, tossed the book she’d been holding to the ground and stomped her foot with a loud, annoyed grunt before running from the room. Moments later, they heard the sound of her door slamming.

  “That well, huh?” he asked with an arched brow.

  “Oh, it’s not funny, Thomas!” Rose stepped away and began wringing her hands. “She doesn’t like me. I can’t do this—I never should have come here, I knew it. I just knew it.”

  “Now, you hold on a minute. This is silly. You two are clearly havin’ some sort of spat, we can work it out.”

  “But that’s just it—we weren’t. She was pleasant as pie when Louise was here and as soon as she left, she turned into… that.” She gestured toward the direction that Polly had stormed off in.

  “Hmm. Well, why don’t you get the table set for dinner? Somethin’ smells good.”

  She made a face, but now was not the time to mention it. One problem at a time. “All right.”

  “And, Rose,” he began, reaching behind her and grabbing her ass, giving her cheek a firm, meaningful squeeze, “no more of this ‘you can’t do this’ talk. You hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” she sighed under her breath.

  “You can do better than that, but we’ll leave it for later.”

  She knew what that meant. They were going to have a “talk.” It wasn’t fair! She hadn’t even done anything and now she was in trouble! This was a day she shouldn’t have even gotten out of bed!

  She had only just finished putting the plates on the table, each piled high with biscuits and the last of the leftover ham—tomorrow she was going to attempt rice and beans; just the thought of it made her tremble in fear—when Thomas walked back into the room with a sullen Polly in tow.

  “Sit,” he commanded his daughter in a tone that didn’t brook argument.

  She did so, her eyes on the floor.

  “Do you have something to say to Rose?”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, sounding anything but.

  “That’s all right,” Rose said, as sweetly as she could manage. She felt like crying, but she forced herself to sit at Thomas’s left and take his hand as he said the supper prayer.

  “This smells delicious, honey.” He beamed at her. “Could you pass the butter, please?”

  She handed him the dish of butter without a word.

  “Did you churn this today?”

  He looked so proud and delighted with her that it made her sick. She couldn’t stand to look at it any longer. Pushing her chair back, she whispered a quick, “Excuse me,” before retreating to their bedroom. Once safely inside, she threw herself on the bed and wept. She did it quietly, muffled inside a pillow, but her shoulders shook with sobs all the same.

  After a minute or two of hot, coursing tears pouring down her cheeks, she heard his footsteps halt inside the doorway. She could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

  Soon after she heard the door shut softly behind him, she felt the bed shift with his added weight. Rose scrambled to sit up and scrubbed the tears from her cheeks the best she could.

  “Feel better?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s because you were cuddling with a pillow instead of your husband. I’m right here if you’d like to give it another try.”

  Sniffling, she crawled into his lap and let his big, strong arms wrap around her. He was right—she already felt better, even if it was just a little.

  “So, what did I walk into today?” he asked, brushing her hair away from her face.

  “N-nothing. I j-just can’t do th-this.”

  “What this?”

  “M-marriage,” her lip quavered despite how desperately she tried to stop it.

  “Well, to be fair, you’ve hardly been married a fortnight, sweetheart. Don’t you think you should give it some more time before you make that decision?” His voice was both gentle and lightly teasing, but Rose couldn’t be persuaded to smile.

  “I’m s-serious, Thomas.”

  “I know.” He tilted her chin up and kissed each of her tearstained cheeks. “You sound awful convinced, darlin’. But Polly is a child—she’s goin’ to get bent out of sorts sometimes. That’s nothin’ out of the ordinary. Besides—”

  “I know,” she cried out tearfully. “And I’ll have this one, too, and… I just c-can’t do it!”

  “Shh, stop that kind of talk right this instant, y’hear? I won’t have it.”

  “You can’t stop me from the w-way I f-feel,” she grumbled, feeling very sorry for herself, indeed.

  “Well, at least let me give it a try. Polly is upset because she heard you and Louise talking about a baby.”

  Rose’s head snapped up, her eyes growing wide. “No! Oh, Thomas, I never meant for her to hear.”

  He patted her arm. “I know, darlin’, but she did. And now she’s afraid that after she just got a mother that she’s being replaced by a new baby—your baby.”

  “But… but that’s silly!”

  “I know that, hon, but she doesn’t.”

  “Oh.” She scrubbed at her cheeks once more and went to stand, only Thomas held her right where he wanted her.

  “What is it? I want to go to her, I want to explain—”

  “In a minute. Don’t you think we should take care of something first?”

  Her stomach dropped. He meant a spanking. “Y-yes, sir.”

  “Good girl.”

  She moved to lie over his lap, staring at the closed door and waiting for the first inevitable sting of his palm against her quivering bottom. Thomas took his time, slowly peeling back her petticoats to reveal her bottom. Then, just as leisurely, he pulled the string of her drawers, which quickly parted to reveal her buttocks.

  “Is that all that was bothering you today? Polly?”

  “No,” she admitted softly. “I… I’m just no good at this wife thing, Thomas.” She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting retribution to follow her admission.

  “Says who?”

  “Ah, me, I guess.”

  “Hmm. Don’t you think that ought to be my decision?”

  “Well, I suppose…”

  “I am the one who married you, after all. So, tell me, Rosie, my love, what makes you such a terrible wife that you feel the need to cry over it?”

  “Well…” She swallowed hard. He’d see the truth once she came clean, he’d see her the same way she saw herself and he’d realize that he’d been a bigger fool than she to think she could do this. She dreaded seeing his eyes change toward her—she so loved the way he looked at her, as though she was a treasure beyond measure. But it had to be done, if he was to understand. “I… those aren’t my biscuits.”

  “I see. Whose are they?”

  “Louise’s.” The word was a whisper spoken between her barely moving lips.