Page 21 of Resilience on Canvas

Henry

Earlythenextmorning,Henry was up before everyone else. He headed out into the kitchen and paused in front of the cupboards, thinking that he might make breakfast for everyone. His mind raced through the possibilities as he tried to decide what to make. Robert had said before that he liked sweet things. But Henry wasn’t sure he knew many sweet recipes. Maybe he could make a porridge? Did the Davis family have the ingredients for that? Tentatively, Henry started searching the cupboards. It was strange to rummage through someone else’s house like this. But he couldn’t stand the thought of waking Robert to ask.

Henry was reaching for a half-empty sack of rolled oats tucked neatly into one corner of the cupboard when the sound of feet shuffling nearby made him pause.

“Mornin’, Henry,” Clara said as she came into the kitchen, clutching her robe tight to hold it shut. “I think the twins will be up soon. May likes to sleep in, so it’ll be a while before she’s out.”

“Mornin’.” Henry’s eyes flitted back over to the cupboard. “I was thinking of makin’ breakfast for everyone.”

“Ah, that’s kind of you. Don’t make oats, though. I’m the only one who likes ’em.”

“Oh. What . . . uhm . . .”

“Do you want to know whatRobertlikes?” she asked with the faintest hint of a knowing smile. Henry’s cheeks began to burn, and her smile fell away. After briefly nibbling on her bottom lip, she leaned in close, and then, in a hushed tone, she said, “I’m sorry. I was trying to be funny. Or friendly. Or both, maybe. Gosh, I-I thought maybe I saw you watchin’ him in church a few times. And then, because of what you told me yesterday... Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said nothin’.”

Henry’s cheeks burned hotter as the conversation that he’d had with Clara began replaying in his head. But with that sense of shame and embarrassment, there was something else, too—a wonderful, tender warmth that flickered to life in his chest.

Standing outside the church, Henry checked to confirm that nobody else was nearby. He swallowed thickly and braced himself for what was to come.

“Clara, I can’t marry you,” Henry finally said, his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest, his voice shaking like a leaf in the wind. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh...” Tears started to pool in Clara’s brown eyes. “I’m sorry if it was somethin’ I said. Or somethin’ I—”

“No! No, it wasn’t nothin’ you said. Nothin’ you did, neither.” Henry’s own eyes started tearing up then, too. He took a breath. “I know you’ll probably hate me for this. Heck, the whole town will hate me. But I have to say it.” Several tears escaped, and Henry wiped them away with his fingers. “I, uhm, I like men,” he choked out. “I like them like... in a romantic way and... and in other ways, too. I can’t fix it. I mean, I-I’m not sure if I even want to fix it.” Henry squeezed his eyes shut. “And, so, if you want to tell everyone and run me out of Guymon, or, or, even out of Oklahoma, I packed my suitcase already. I can leave. No problem. But I had to tell you thetruth. Because, Clara, you’ve been so nice to me, brightenin’ my shifts in the store with that smile of yers. And I owed you the truth.”

Clara sniffled. Henry turned to leave, but before he could, she stepped closer and wrapped him up in a hug.

“Goodness, Henry, I’m so sorry you’ve been carryin’ that on yer shoulders.” She rubbed his back, and each of her strokes made Henry’s chest ache. “Yer one of the kindest men I’ve ever met. How could I ever hate you?”

“But . . . but the church says—”

“I know what the church says. But I know yer heart, too, Henry Sherwood.” She squeezed him tighter. “And I know it’s a good one. Gosh, you’ve been keepin’ my family from starvin’ over the past few months. All those free cans of food you’ve been sneakin’ me. What a godsend you’ve been.”

“Ain’t you mad that I lied to you and broke my promise?”

“Nah,” she said. “I was only tryin’ to make Robert happy when I said yes to the marriage myself.”

Henry smiled through the tears that were still coming, pouring from his eyes like a steady stream.

“And I was only tryin’ to make my parents happy,” he said.

“Well, then, this is for the best, I think,” she said. “God saw fit to make you this way, Henry. I figure we ought to trust Him. And I hope we both find happiness elsewhere.”

While Clara’s kind voice echoed in Henry’s mind, the warm tenderness in his chest continued to burn, its comforting heat making him feel safer than he had ever felt before in his whole life. And with that safety, he found he had the courage to be honest with Clara once more.

“Don’t be sorry, Clara,” he said, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. “Ain’t like you were wrong or nothin’. I mean, Ihad beenwatchin’ yer brother. Sometimes.”

“Oh.” Clara’s small smile returned, a faint pink blush coloring her cheeks. “I see.”

Henry’s cheeks were still on fire. But he kind of liked it. He liked being seen. Never before had he ever felt bold enough to say something like that out loud.

With a clearing of his throat, he said, “Yeah, so, uhm, if Robert has a favorite breakfast or something...”

“Scones,” Clara said, her smile broadening and eyes brightening. “We like to make ’em with a mix of potatuh flour and regular. Fry ’em in bacon fat.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Truthfully, it’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve cooked ’em. I’ve been rationing the fat. But it’s a special enough occasion with you bein’ here.”

“Oh, I ought to bring you some from the store soon,” Henry said. “We have the refrigerator. Keeps the fat for a few months.”

“Well, I would love that. Thank you.”

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