Page 16 of The Preacher's Wife
“Today is whatever we make of it. I didn’t expect you, but I was open to whatever the Lord brought me. Even solitude. I’m sure I’m butchering it a bit, too.”
Prudence couldn’t take it. She spun abruptly to face him. “What do you mean by butchering it? You’ve been nothing but pleasant. Your parents have been amazing as well!”
Hubert stopped and took a deep breath. “I don’t have any experience with all of this. You’re the first girl whose hand I’ve held, that I’ve considered kissing, and I just want to see you smile.”
“We are quite a pair.”
He took two enormous steps and was suddenly in front of her. “I don’t know how this goes. We get to make our own path and our own rules.”
When she nodded at him, Hubert took her hand, twirling her across the kitchen. “We are leaving for Sterling in the morning. What would you like to do for the afternoon?”
As she watched him approach, her palms grew clammy with nerves. But despite her initial hesitation, she pushed aside thoughts of the bedroom and focused on the kindness in his eyes. She trusted him not to belittle her.
“Have you ever had a picnic?”
“With a girl?” He wrinkled his nose.
Could you love someone you’d only known for days?Prudence wondered.
“Yes. But I’m talking about a girl who isn’t your mother.”
“No. The wives in Sterling are very partial to picnics by the river. So, I have, in fact, had a picnic with people other than my parents.”
That made her smile. They could create memories together.
“Today, I think we should have a picnic.” Prudence let her fingers slip from his, the idea flashing to life in her mind’s eye. She turned and surveyed the kitchen. If she had even thought for a moment that he would agree to this, she would have already prepared it. “Can you go upstairs and grab the pillows off the beds?”
His footsteps were the only response given.
She returned to the stove and added more wood. Pushing the Dutch oven over one of the two burners, she made a fresh pot of coffee and placed it on the other. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee quickly filled the cozy kitchen. She rummaged through the pantry, pulling out a loaf of homemade bread leftover from the previous night’s dinner, a bit of salt pork, a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese, and a jar of pickles that Mrs. Holstead had left behind. Placing everything on a wooden platter, she made herway back to the table, where she gently put them down before reaching for a knife.
Slicing thick pieces of the bread, she carefully placed them on the platter and then layered thin slices of sharp cheddar cheese and salt pork, finishing it with a handful of tangy pickles. The aroma of the ingredients melded, and Prudence felt her mouth water.
The stew would be ready in time for supper. This would keep them going until then. Reaching over to check the bread dough she had prepared earlier, the spongy loaves sprung back under her fingers. She slid the bread pans into the firebox to bake and then picked up the plate to go to the sitting room.
With her hands full, she turned, only to find Hubert and a pile of pillows in the doorway. Biting her lip, she tried hard not to laugh.
“Where did you want these?” he asked, voice muffled by the pillows that went up past his nose.
“I think the front room is probably best. We can start a fire, and with the curtains drawn, people can make their own assumptions.”
The tips of his ears were bright red when he exited the kitchen. Prudence bit down hard on her lip to stop the laughter. Following behind him, she settled her offerings on the table by the settee and then scurried up the stairs. She had spent very little time on the upper level of the house. Surely the things she was hunting for would be available. Mrs. Fitzgerald had told her to use it as her own, but she hadn’t wanted to disturb the house.She was just a visitor, after all.
In the first bedroom, she appreciated the brightly colored quilt and the wooden cane that reminded her of a shepherd’scrook. Not letting doubt dissuade her, she picked up the quilt and added a deep green Afghan she found in the room next door.
She expected that at some point Hubert would need to run up to his parents’ house to collect his things and say goodbye, but for now it was just the two of them. Giving another quick glance around the room, she found nothing else and headed back downstairs.
Going down the stairs was a slower affair. She couldn’t see her feet, and her stockings slipped with each step. Pressing her back against the wall, she bumped her way down to the bottom of the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she turned to free herself, but the blankets had caught around the newel post.
“Oh bother,” she murmured, trying to tug on the blanket while her feet slid in opposite directions on the slick wood.
“Let me take those. I don’t want you to break your neck.”
“I can take care of myself.”
He blinked at her outburst but didn’t argue.
“I am sure you can. I am here, though, and there is no need for you to struggle when I can help.”
