Do what you think best. Then he walked outside. Hannah stood alone in the kitchen. For several moments, she listened to his boots cross the porch. She had prepared herself for indifference.
She knew how to work around indifference. Respect was harder. Respect had a way of making a person lower defenses she had built for good reasons. So Hannah rolled up her sleeves. She found potatoes in a bin beneath the pantry shelf, onions hanging in a net sack, carrots packed in sand, and a side of salt pork in the cellar.
By 6:30, beef stew simmered on the range. Biscuits browned in the oven. Henry appeared twice and claimed both times that he needed water. Molly sat silently at the table, watching Hannah's hands. Grant came in last.
He washed at the basin by the back door, rolled down his sleeves, and took his place at the head of the table. Nobody spoke much during supper. Henry ate two biscuits, then a third. Molly broke hers into tiny pieces before finally tasting one. Grant finished his stew, set down his spoon, and looked toward Hannah.
Good meal, thank you. Henry immediately said, "Better than pause." Grant glanced at him. Nobody asked. "It's still true." Hannah lowered her face toward her plate before either of them saw her smile. Later, she washed the dishes while Grant carried a sleeping Molly upstairs.
The blue ribbon still hung from the child's fist. Henry disappeared without saying good night. By 9:00, the house had gone quiet. Hannah unpacked her dresses, placed Edith's $4 beneath her handkerchiefs, and set her hairbrush on the wash stand. Her room was simple.
Bed, chair, small chest, one window overlooking the corral. From there, she could see a lantern moving near the barn. Grant probably always one more thing to inspect before sleep. Hannah unpinned her hair. She had just blown out the lamp when she heard it.
A faint creek in the hallway, then another. She sat up. Bare feet crossed the floorboards outside her door. Not Grant. Too light.
Hannah waited. A stare groaned, then another. She slipped from the bed, pulled her wrapper around herself, and opened her door. At the bottom of the staircase, a small shadow moved toward the kitchen. Henry.
He looked over his shoulder once. Hannah stepped back before he saw her. A moment later came the quiet scrape of the pantry latch. Hannah stood in the dark hallway listening. Something clinkedked softly inside the cupboard.
Then paper rustled. She thought about Walter's warning. The frogs, the hog pen, the boy with opinions. Hannah tightened her wrapper and started down the stairs. Whatever Henry Dalton was doing in that pantry after midnight, she intended to find out.
The kitchen was almost completely dark. Only moonlight came through the west window, pale enough to catch the edge of the worktable and the shine of the water pump. Hannah moved slowly, careful of the loose board near the stove that had creaked under her twice that afternoon. The pantry door stood open 3 in. Inside came another soft rustle.
Hannah reached the doorway and stopped. Henry was kneeling on the floor with his back to her. He had one arm buried in a wooden cracker box and a dish towel spread beside him. On the towel sat six crackers, two dried apple slices, and a biscuit left from supper. He added another cracker, then another, Hannah said quietly.
Planning a journey? Henry jerked so hard he struck his shoulder against the shelf. The cracker box tipped. Hannah caught it before it hit the floor. For a second, they both froze.
Henry's face went white. Don't wake, P. I wasn't planning to. I wasn't stealing. Hannah looked at the food on the towel.