Page 9 of Eleanor’s Earrings

“They do not listen any better than you do.”

Her eyes widened, and he waited for anger.

Instead, she laughed.

Nathaniel tied the cloth more carefully than necessary. Her hand was smaller than his but not soft. She had calluses from work, which should not have surprised him. Very little about Eleanor Whitaker matched his first assumptions.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You are welcome.”

Neither of them moved.

Nathaniel released her hand.

They continued another three miles before the ground forced them to stop. The campsite was poor, but it was higher than the land they had left. People hurried to light fires with damp wood. Children cried from cold and hunger. Oxen stood with heads low, exhausted by the mud.

Nathaniel made his rounds until dark. When he reached the Whitakers, Martha was stirring something in a large pot while the younger sisters held tin cups near the fire.

“Coffee?” Eleanor asked.

He looked at the cup she offered. “Are you attempting to make peace?”

“No. I made enough for one extra person.”

“How fortunate that I arrived.”

He took the cup.

The coffee was weak, but it was hot. Nathaniel stood near the fire while Eleanor checked Grace's cough.

“Move her sleeping place,” he said. “The rear corner of the wagon is damp.”

Eleanor looked up. “Martha?”

Martha nodded. “He is right. Grace should sleep between Lydia and me tonight.”

Eleanor agreed immediately.

Nathaniel noticed. She had not questioned him because the advice concerned her sister rather than her own authority.

“You need not look so surprised,” she said.

“Was I?”

“You expected an argument.”

“I have begun to expect them.”

“I do not argue when people are sensible.”

Rebecca choked on her coffee.

Eleanor turned. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Rebecca managed.

Nathaniel hid his smile behind his cup.