Page 24 of Mail Order Moose

Then Maggie was already reaching for the rag, Belle was lifting the child’s feet away from the spill, and David was saying, “Good thing the floor was hungry too,” in such a mild voice that the child hiccupped instead of crying.

Ella filled another bowl. Not as full as the first, because there were numbers to mind, but enough. “Careful. It is hot.”

The child nodded solemnly, as if trusted with something important. Perhaps he was.

The cabin grew too warm. Then too noisy. Then both. Maggie used the quiet corner first, sitting with the baby and closing her eyes while conversation rolled past her like weather. Ella saw Lula notice the corner and soften, though Lula said nothing. Later Belle sat there with her baby, and sipped her tea for five minutes, smiling at Ella as if the corner had been placed for her alone.

Once, when too many voices gathered near Ella at the stove, her thoughts scattered like spilled buttons. She could not remember whether she had added salt to the second pot. She could not remember where she had set the knife. She could not remember why she had thought this was a good idea.

David appeared at her shoulder, not touching. “Sebastian,” he said, “tell Maggie what you said about the bear at the mill.”

Sebastian turned at once, delighted to be invited into his own story. Half the room turned with him. Noise shifted away from Ella just as David had intended.

Ella found the knife beside the bread. She had not added salt to the second pot. She added it, stirred, and looked once at David.

He was listening to Sebastian or seemed to be. But his eyes touched hers briefly, asking without words whether she had found her feet again.

She gave the smallest nod.

After supper, the cards came out. The trunk was not truly a card table, and the men had to sit crookedly around it, but no one complained. Lula played as if cards were a battle and Sebastian as if he had already won. Belle and Sally spoke quietly by the stove. Maggie’s child slept against her lap, one hand still curled around the spoon he had been allowed to keep.

Mrs. Peabody stood. “Thank you so much for the hospitality, but I need to be getting my children to bed.”

Albert immediately stood. “I’ll help you home, Mrs. Peabody.”

Mrs. Peabody looked startled for a moment, but then nodded. “Thank you.”

Ella smiled at her. “Thank you for coming. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.” The words were hard to get out, but they were necessary.

Ella sat on the edge of the bench for the first time all evening and realized she had been standing for hours. Her feet ached. Her shoulders ached. Her face ached too, though she had not smiled nearly as much as Lula.

Still, the room held.

*****

The leaving took almost as long as the arriving. Coats had to be found. Boots had to be matched to the correct feet. Someone had taken Sebastian’s hat by mistake, though since it was on his own head, no one could say who was at fault. The baby woke, objected to the cold before meeting it, and settled only when Maggie tucked him close beneath her shawl.

Maggie pressed the empty coffee pot into Ella’s hands. “You did well.”

Ella looked at the floor where the stew had spilled earlier and left a faint darker place despite the scrubbing. “It was crowded.”

“It was warm,” Maggie said.

Belle tied her scarf beneath her chin. “And thoughtful. I have never been so grateful for a quiet corner.”

Lula hugged her so quickly Ella had no time to prepare for it. “I told you your cabin was perfect for this.”

“It was not perfect,” Ella said into Lula’s shoulder.

“Of course not,” Lula said, pulling back. “Perfect evenings are dull. This one had stew on the floor and cards on a trunk. Much better.”

Sebastian bowed toward Ella with one hand pressed to his heart. “Mrs. Sanders, any supper that feeds me twice and sends me home with all my fingers unfrozen is a grand success.”

That was too much praise, so Ella looked at the door latch until David opened it for them.

When the last guests stepped into the cold, and the door closed behind them, the cabin seemed impossibly large.

It was not clean. There were bowls stacked by the washstand, crumbs on the table, damp patches near the threshold, and a spoon under the bench. The quiet corner had a half-unfolded blanket and a cup left beside the stool. The air smelled of stew, coffee, wool, woodsmoke, and people.