Tommy asked. Elias cleared his throat. Haven't said grace in years, Nora. Well, then it's past time you started. She folded her hands and bowed her head, leaving them no choice but to follow suit.
The prayer was simple. Thanks for food, for health, for shelter. When Nora finished, she looked up to find Elias staring at his plate with an unreadable expression. Something wrong? She asked.
No, just He shook his head. This looks like something Sarah would have made. It was the first time he'd spoken his wife's name aloud in Nora's presence. The words hung in the air, fragile and aching. Then I hope I did it justice, Nora said quietly.
They ate in silence after that, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Tommy chattered occasionally and Nora responded and gradually Elias's rigid posture eased. By the end of the meal, he'd cleaned his plate twice and when Nora offered him a third serving, he actually almost smiled. You weren't lying about being able to cook, he said. My mother made sure I learned properly, even if she didn't approve of who I married.
Nora began clearing the dishes. There's also pie. Apple, from your root cellar. This time, Elias did smile, small and brief, but real. Haven't had pie 5 years.
Then you're overdue. That night after Tommy was tucked into bed and the kitchen was clean, Nora sat on the porch and watched the stars emerge. The prairie night was vast and alive with sound, crickets, wind, the distant howling of coyotes. It was nothing like Tulsa, nothing like anywhere she'd ever lived, but there was a strange peace to it. The barn door opened and Elias emerged, silhouetted against the lamplight within.
He saw her on the porch and paused, clearly debating whether to approach or retreat. Nora made the decision for him. Nice night. Yeah. He climbed the porch steps slowly, like a man approaching a skittish horse.
Boy sleeping? Out cold. I think the fresh air exhausted him, in a good way. Elias nodded and leaned against the porch railing, his gaze on the dark horizon. They stood in silence for a while, neither quite comfortable but not uncomfortable either.
Can I ask you something? Nora finally ventured. Depends what it is. Why do you sleep in the barn? Elias's jaw tightened.
How'd you know that? I hear you leave after dinner, and the house is empty except for me and Tommy. Doesn't take much to figure out. It's my barn. I'll sleep where I want.
I'm not criticizing, just wondering why you'd give up your own house. Elias was quiet for so long that Nora thought he wouldn't answer. Then too many ghosts in that house. Especially at night. The barn's easier.
Nora understood. She'd felt the weight of memory in certain rooms, the sense of absence that was almost a presence. The spare room where she and Tommy slept, it had been meant for a child, she thought. The cradle in the barn confirmed it. A child who'd never been born, or who'd been born but hadn't survived.