Page 22 of Resilience on Canvas

Over the next half hour, Henry and Clara worked together to make the scones. When they got to the step where they needed to fry the little triangles of dough, Clara took over. Henry waited nearby, his mind circling back to the end of the previous evening, back to the way that he and Robert had been looking at one another after Henry had let that “interesting” compliment slip. It had felt to him, then, like there was something else that was being said, too, even though neither of them had really said nothing. In the faint light from the kerosene lamp, Henry had seen fire in Robert’s eyes, and it wasn’t like the fires he had seen in them before, neither. It was... some other kind of fire. And for a moment, thewantthat Henry had been nurturing over the course of what felt like forever had transformed into something else: hope. But then, Robert had shoved Henry backward a step, and whatever had been between them (or whatever Henry had beenthinkingwas between them)for that fleeting moment had vanished. Now Henry was left wondering if he had imagined the whole thing.

As Clara removed the last few scones from the greasy skillet, the twins emerged from the bedroom, and the moment they saw Henry, their faces twisted up with confusion.

“Ain’t that the man from the store?” Peter or Thomas asked.

Henry still couldn’t tell them apart.

“It is,” Clara said. “He helped Robert make it back last night.”

“Oh.” When the boy noticed the scones, every trace of confusion vanished from his face, and his eyes went wide. “Scones!”

“Can we have some?” the other boy asked.

“Yes, you may,” Clara said with a smile. “Henry helped me make ’em for y’all.”

The boys hurried to snatch them up, each balancing several scones in their hands. Meanwhile, Clara smiled fondly over at Henry, nothing but acceptance in her eyes. What a sweet soul she was.

While Henry was busy in his head being thankful for his new friendship, Robert came out from his bedroom, his wavy-curly brown locks mussed up and one eye still closed while the other was barely open.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled in a low, raspy voice. “Scones?”

“Henry and I made some,” Clara confirmed, her cheeks turning pink, like maybe she was feeling Henry’s bashfulness over his crush, too.

“Well, that was mighty nice of him,” Robert said, his one open eye wandering over to Henry.

Henry’s heart stuttered, and he found he could no longer remember words.

Robert must have sensed how frazzled Henry was because he let out a snort and said, “Everything’s fine, Hen.” He opened his other eye and stretched. “I’m fine. Yer fine. Let’s have some breakfast.”

Henry tried for a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. Hopefully it was convincing enough. Robert and Clara turned to fetch some plates from one of the cupboards, and they started chatting about the work that needed to be completed around the farm that morning. All the while, Henry was left to ruminate on the meaning of the word “fine.”

Once they all sat down at the table together a couple of minutes later, some of Henry’s unease began to wane, and halfway through his second scone, he finally felt calm enough to taste its flavor—buttery, slightly sweet, and even a little smokey, maybe from the fat they had mixed in. Moving the half-chewed mush over his tongue, Henry tried to memorize the taste. Just in case he might ever feel the need to make them himself in the future. For a certain someone. Someone who was currently sitting not two feet away. Looking as handsome as ever. Henry couldn’t help but stare a little.

Robert caught him. He popped the last chunk of a scone into his mouth. And winked.

Henry sucked in a breath, taking the last bits of scone into his windpipe, and started coughing like mad. In only a matter of seconds, he was hacking so bad, he felt like his lungs might come up and flop right out on the table. How humiliating it would be to die like this!

“Gosh, that storm must have scarred poor Henry’s lungs,” Clara said as she began patting him on the back.

“I’ll fetch some water,” Robert said.

Robert stood up so fast, the chair legs screeched. Henry continued to sputter and cough as Robert poured some water from the pitcher into a tall glass. By the grace of God, Henry was able to compose himself enough to chug a whole bunch of it.

“Better?” Robert asked as Henry set the glass back on the table.

He managed a nod. It seemed like he was fine now. Whatever that word meant.

Robert clapped his hands together. “Well, enough fanfare, then. We better start shovelin’, eh, Hen?”

“Yeah, uhm, yeah,” Henry blurted out, still feeling off from the whole of everything.

Robert leaned in and whispered something to Clara, though Henry couldn’t make out what. And then it was time for the men to work.

Robert led the way out to the barn, and Henry followed shakily, still feeling lightheaded and rattled from breakfast. Holy hell, Robert hadwinkedat him. Henry couldn’t believe it, though he wasn’t entirely sure what the wink might have meant or whether Robert was simply the type of man who winked a lot. Maybe he winked all the time. Willy-nilly. At everyone.

Hopefully not, though. No one else had ever winked at Henry before.

Robert bumped Henry with his shoulder and smiled. Henry smiled back.

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