Pick me up like a sack of flour? She stared at him. I suppose so. I mean, you don't weigh much more than she stopped. Are you testing me?
Curious, Silas admitted. I weigh about 140. That much? Norah's laugh was surprised and genuine. I've hauled hay bales heavier than that, Silas Boon.
Huh? He said, standing and reaching for his boots. That's actually impressive. It's mortifying, she corrected. No man wants a wife who's stronger than him.
Maybe no man you've met before, Silas replied. Then, because he could see she didn't believe him. Look, I'm not saying I'm happy about being small. I'm not. I've spent my whole life being underestimated, ignored, or just plain looked past.
But I learned a long time ago that strength comes in different shapes. You're strong with your back and arms. Maybe I need to be strong in other ways. Like what? He thought about it while pulling on his boots.
Like knowing when to ask for help. Like not being too proud to admit I can't do everything myself. Like he hesitated. Like maybe not dying alone in a cabin built for one. The honesty surprised them both.
Norah turned back to the stove, but not before he saw her blinking rapidly. "I woke you with that head bump last night," he said, changing the subject to give her space. "You were already awake when I was planning to start day's work." "City habits," she said. "In St.
Louis, I worked at a bakery. We started at 4:00 in the morning to have bread ready when shops opened." "You worked in a bakery for 3 years after my father died and I couldn't keep the farm going alone. It wasn't respectable work for someone pretending to be a lady, but it was honest and I was good at it. She poured coffee into two tin cups.
The owner wanted to marry me, actually. Why didn't you? He was 73 and had nine grandchildren, three of whom were older than me. He wanted a wife who could run the bakery and care for him in his decline. I wanted, she trailed off.