Hannah steadied him by the elbow. Grant looked from his son to the open pantry, then to the list. What's going on? Henry's face closed immediately. Hannah saw it happen.
She answered before he could. Your household records are poor. Grant looked at her. Morning to you, too. Morning.
His eyes went to the table. What records? Food stores. Grant looked at Henry. Henry stared at the floor.
Grant said, "Why is he helping?" Hannah held his gaze. "Because he knows the pantry better than I do." That was true. Not the whole truth, but true. Grant studied her for a moment. Then he looked at Henry.
"You volunteer?" Henry shoved his hands into his pockets. Maybe. Grant's mouth twitched once. Dangerous habit. Henry glanced up.
Grant poured himself coffee. He did not ask another question. That surprised Hannah more than if he had at breakfast. Molly ate quietly. Halfway through her biscuit.
She looked toward Henry. Henry gave the smallest nod. Molly continued eating. Grant noticed that, too. Hannah could tell by the way his coffee mug stopped halfway to his mouth.
He said nothing. That afternoon, Hannah took Henry with her into the cellar. They counted potatoes by the bushel instead of individually, inspected onions for rot, and moved two jars away from a damp spot near the wall. Henry wrote numbers with his tongue caught between his teeth. His handwriting leaned backward.
You hold the pencil like it owes you money, Hannah said. It writes. So does a chicken scratching dirt. He gave her a look. She handed it back again.
By the third day, Henry had made himself assistant keeper of the stores. He checked the pantry each morning before breakfast. He also began placing Molly's nighttime food on a proper saucer instead of wrapping it in a towel. Hannah never mentioned it. Neither did he.
Molly began appearing in the kitchen more often. She rarely spoke. Sometimes she sat near the stove holding the blue ribbon while Hannah worked. Hannah let the silence stay quiet. On Thursday afternoon, Grant came in carrying a small paper parcel.
He set it on the table beside Hannah from Elk Crossing. Hannah wiped flour from her hands and opened it. Inside was a new ruled ledger, not expensive, but new. Beside it lay two pencils, freshly sharpened. Hannah looked at Grant.
For the house accounts, he nodded. And Henry's figures. Henry, seated at the far end of the table, pretended not to listen. Hannah ran one finger over the clean cover. You didn't need to buy this.
No. Grant poured coffee into his tin mug. Then he added, "Needed doing." He moved toward the door. Hannah said, "Mr. Dalton." He stopped.
She glanced at Henry, then back at Grant. "Thank you." Grant dipped his head once. That evening, Henry carried the ledger upstairs after supper as though it belonged to him. Hannah found him on the porch steps just before sunset. The sky over the mountains had turned copper.