Black and brown.
Anna stopped.
The dog stared at her.
Thomas came around the wagon.
"That's Jasper."
"Does Jasper like strangers?"
"No."
Anna froze.
Thomas's mouth almost twitched.
"He mostly ignores them."
Jasper sniffed Anna's hand, decided she was uninteresting, and walked away.
Thomas carried her suitcase inside.
The warmth struck Anna immediately.
A fire burned in the kitchen stove.
The house smelled of wood smoke, beef stew, onions, and bread.
For a moment, Anna could not move.
She had spent so many months in borrowed rooms, railway cars, and places that never belonged to her that the simple sight of a kitchen table under lamplight almost overwhelmed her.
Four chairs.
A blue ceramic pitcher.
A basket of bread.
A child's slate near one corner.
A man's coat hanging beside the back door.
Ordinary things.
That was what hurt.
Lily tugged Anna's sleeve.
"Come see your room."
"After supper," Thomas said.
"But she should know where it is."
"The room will still be upstairs after supper."
Lily considered this.
"Probably."
Thomas looked at Anna.
"Wash basin is through there. Supper's nothing special."
Anna looked toward the pot.
"It smells wonderful."
"It smells better than it looks."
"That's not true," Lily said.
Thomas lifted the lid.
The stew had thickened almost beyond recognition.
Lily leaned toward Anna and whispered, "He forgot it when we went to the station."
"I heard that."
Dinner began awkwardly.
Anna sat with her hands folded beneath the table.
Thomas filled her bowl.
She thanked him.
Then Lily pushed the bread basket toward her.
Anna took one piece.
Lily watched.
Anna noticed.
"What?"
"You can have more."
"This is enough."
"There's six pieces."
"Lily."
The girl looked at her father.
"What?"
Thomas tried not to smile.
Anna ate slowly.
The stew was overcooked.
It was also the best meal she had tasted in weeks.
When she finished half the bowl, Thomas asked if she wanted more.
Anna automatically said no.
Her stomach answered before she could stop it.
Lily giggled.
Anna flushed.
Thomas silently ladled more stew into her bowl.
No one commented.
That kindness nearly undid her.
After supper, Anna stood immediately.
"I'll wash everything."
"You can leave it," Thomas said.
"I would rather help."
He seemed ready to argue.
Then he changed his mind.
"All right."
Anna washed.
Thomas dried.
Lily narrated a complicated dispute among the chickens.
It was strangely domestic.
Dangerously so.
Anna reminded herself repeatedly that she was leaving in the morning.
The guest room was small but clean.
A narrow bed stood beneath the window.
A quilt patterned with red and cream squares covered it.
There was a washstand, a wooden chair, and a little shelf with two books.
Anna touched the quilt.
"Your wife made that," she said.
She did not know how she knew.
Perhaps because the stitching was careful in the way handmade things became personal.
Thomas stood in the doorway.
"Yes."
Anna turned.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."
"It's all right."