I noticed it because the yard and the fence line together tell two different stories about how much a family can manage when they're running short. The room went quiet. Rose was watching her with both hands pressed against her cheeks in an expression of pure fascination. Lily, still standing near the door, had gone very still. Emma was looking at the floor.
Daniel Hayes said nothing for a moment. Then very quietly, he said. Emma keeps the yard. I thought so, Clara said. She looked at Emma directly.
You've been working very hard. Emma lifted her chin. Somebody had to. Yes, Clara said simply. Somebody did, and you did it well.
Emma did not soften, but she also did not look away. It was a beginning. The room Clara was given was small at the back of the upper hallway with a window that faced the eastern range. The bed was plain but solid. The quilt on it was handmade in a pattern of blue and ivory squares, and despite the general exhaustion of the house, it had been recently laundered.
Someone had placed a small jar on the windowsill dried wild flowers brown and papery now, but arranged with deliberate care. Clara sat on the edge of the bed and held her suitcase in her lap for a moment. She allowed herself 30 seconds to feel the full weight of where she was and how she had come to be here. The emptiness of it, the strangeness, the faint, persistent terror of beginning again in a place that had already decided not to want her. Then she set the suitcase down, opened it, and began to unpack.
Supper that first night was a quiet, tense affair. Daniel sat at the head of the table, and said very little. Emma served the food with practiced efficiency and watched Clara from the corner of her eye the entire time. Lily ate without speaking and kept her gaze on her plate. Rose sat beside Clara and narrated the meal in a running whisper.
That's the bread I helped make it. We put too much salt this time, but Papa says it's fine. Until Emma shot her a look that quieted her. Clara ate what was given her. Asked for nothing more.
And when supper was finished, she stood and began clearing the table before anyone could tell her not to. "You don't have to do that tonight," Daniel said. "I know," Clara said. "I want to." He watched her for a moment.
Then he pushed back from the table and went to sit near the fireplace. The three girls watched Clara clear the table and wash the dishes with varying degrees of suspicion and curiosity. When she had finished and set the last clean dish in the rack, she dried her hands and turned to find Rose standing directly behind her. "Will you read to us?" Rose asked.
Emma said instantly. "Rose?" "It's a reasonable question," Clara said. She looked at Emma. "Would that be all right with you?"