Page 7 of Resilience on Canvas

“It wouldn’t be,” his mother said, smiling brightly. “Why, I could make some potatuh pancakes. Everybody likes those. We can serve ’em with marmalade.”

Henry’s father chimed in. “Realmarmalade. I bet Clara’s family only serves that carrot marmalade stuff like most everybody else. But we’re lucky that we can buy the real thing.”

“Oh! We could buy some bread too! From the baker!” Henry’s mom said, clasping her hands together in front of her chest.

Henry’s father smiled. “It’ll be nice to have her over. Remind her how lucky she is to be marryin’ you.”

Henry had to fight back a scoff. Lucky? Clara wouldn’t feel so lucky if she knew of Henry’s proclivities. Maybe the Sherwoods were one of the few families that still had money for necessities—food and clothes and things—thanks to his mother being one of the schoolteachers in Guymon, and maybe they still had a considerable amount of savings from before the bank that his father had been working at had closed, but Clara marrying a man who secretly liked other men wasn’t lucky, no matter how muchbreadshe might receive in exchange.

Henry must have been making some kind of sour expression, because his mother’s face fell, her smile vanishing and brows turning up.

“Henry, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Except...” Good Lord, this was it. He had to tell them. “I can’t marry Clara.”

His mother sucked in a breath. “Oh, honey...”

His father set his newspaper on the table and sat back in his chair.

“What? Of course you can.” He cleared his throat and said, “You can, and you will. You’re too old to be livin’ here, son. Grown up with no family ofyour own. It’s time.”

“No, I... I can’t,” Henry said, his throat tightening. “I’m sorry.”

His father let out a long sigh, running a hand over his face.

“Dammit, now what am I supposed to tell Robert?”

Henry’s cheeks warmed. “Robert?”

“Yeah, he’s the one who came to me with this. Not Raymond.”

Henry’s cheeks burned hotter. Well, no wonder Robert was so upset before. And, God, that made Henry’s fixation with Robert even more pathetic, didn’t it? While Robert had been trying to marry Henry off to his sister, Henry had been busy thinking of being with Robert in a filthy way instead.

“I never meant to hurt no one,” Henry said.

His mother shook her head sadly. “Clara will be heartbroken.”

Henry’s chest clenched. Hopefully Clara wouldn’t beheartbroken. It wasn’t her fault that Henry was the way that he was. Him calling off the marriage hadn’t a thing to do with her. She was one of the sweetest people in town. Gosh, Clara Davis heartbroken. All because of him. How horrible it would be!

Henry’s father started to stand. “Well, I better head over there and break the news.”

“Wait,” Henry spluttered. “I’ll tell her. Tomorrow. I’ll tell her myself. After church.”

Henry had to make sure Clara knew therealreason. Even if it might mean catastrophe for him and for his family. Because Clara Davis, the nice and mild-mannered woman who came to his shop with a cheery smile every day, the lovely person who spoke to him in such a kind way when she purchased the things she needed from him, she was owed the truth.

Good God.

“Alright,” Henry’s father said. “I wish you’d reconsider the marriage, though. We want you to find someone. Weneedyou to find someone. You’re a handsome man. Well spoken, too. Peopleare... well, they’re wonderin’ why you haven’t eventriedto find a wife.”

“Henry,” his mother said, her voice stern and pleading, “pleasethink on it.”

“I . . .” Henry’s stomach lurched. “I will.”

Oh, the lie tasted so bitter on his tongue. Henry had only said yes to the marriage because he’d wanted his folks to be happy. He’d known that their patience with him was waning. Plumb near everyone in Guymon was wondering why the heck Charles and Lillian Sherwood’s only son wasn’t carrying on the family name. And now, not only was Henry smashing his parents’ hopes of putting the whispering to rest, but he was smashing some poor woman’s heart, too.

Seconds of tense silence followed while Henry tried not to let his eyes well up with tears.

Finally, his mother said, “I’m makin’ some rabbit for supper. Do you want to help?”

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