The conversation, what there was of it, moved around practical things. Thomas had fixed the gate. The eastern pasture needed looking at. One of the younger horses had a shoe coming loose. Nate asked questions and received answers and offered decisions and that was, Clara understood, how it had worked for three years.
This family moving together through necessity, speaking the language of work and immediate need. Everything else packed away somewhere beneath the surface where it would not slow anyone down. She watched Sam try to eat around his carrots, pushing them methodically to one side of his bowl. "Don't like carrots." She said quietly, not drawing anyone else's attention.
He looked at her with the slightly guilty expression of someone caught doing something they weren't sure was wrong. "They're fine." He said with the transparent dishonesty of a six-year-old. "Do you like them better with honey?" She said.
"Cooked soft with a little honey in the pot." He stared at her. "How do you know about that?" He said. "My mother used to make them that way."
She said. "I'll try it sometime." He looked at her for a long moment with those enormous brown eyes, and then he picked up a carrot and ate it with visible effort and the expression of someone doing a great personal favor. She almost smiled. After supper, after the children had been sent to wash and the kitchen was being cleared, Clara found Mabel alone at the sink and came to stand beside her.
"Can I help?" She asked. "I have it." Mabel said. "I can see that."
Clara said. "I'm asking anyway." Mabel handed her a dish without looking at her. They washed in silence for a few minutes. "You don't have to be careful with me."
Mabel said finally. "I'm not being careful." Clara said. "I'm being polite." A pause.
"People come here and they're careful." Mabel said. Her voice was flat and precise and gave nothing away. "They talk slow and they smile and they try to make friends with Sam because Sam's easy to make friends with and then they decide it's too much and they leave." "Who's come here before?"
Clara asked. "Mrs. Delacroix from town brought supper after Ma died and spent three hours telling Pa she'd be glad to help." "She came back twice and then she didn't." Mabel handed her another dish.