seen more than one man hit a woman and treat her like she was nothing more than a prized heifer. Caleb didn’t act mean, though. He had kind eyes, so she doubted that was it. Was he the lazy sort? A womanizer?
Does it matter?
At the moment it didn’t. Right now she had somewhere warm to sleep and from the bags and tins of food lined up on the shelf over the long work table, she wouldn't go hungry anytime soon.
“Most everything you need will be up there.” He nodded to the bags and cans of dry goods. “There’s a root cellar that holds everything else.” He crossed the room and reached for something on the floor before pulling up a door she hadn’t realized was there. Darkness filled the space he peered down into.
“Let me light a lamp.” He lit one that sat on the table and held it over the darkened root cellar steps. It wasn’t big—nothing more than a hole in the ground from where she stood. She hoped he didn’t want her to go down there. She’d never been a fan of tight, dark places and that hole in the floor made a shiver race up her spine.
Caleb shut the door and set the lamp on the long table under the shelf. “Any preference for breakfast this morning?”
She shook her head. “No, whatever you like is fine.”
He smiled and reached up to the shelf saying, “I like it all,” before grabbing a bag and setting it on the table. “But I’m usually too tired to do much about it in the morning so I just fix oats. Amanda likes it well enough and hasn’t complained about eating the same thing every day.”
After sitting the bag down, he stood there unmoving, waiting for her to fix them if she had to guess. She’d wondered earlier if she’d be required to cook all the meals now and the expectant look on his face gave her the answer. He did and honestly, why wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what wives did?
She crossed to where he stood and opened the bag. The dried oats were just that—dry. How did she fix them? With water, she knew. She’d seen the nuns who ran the orphanage cook them enough to know that but how much? And for how long?
She glanced at Caleb and raised an eyebrow, saying “water,” as if questioning where it was.
He nodded to a water pail at the end of the table with a towel draped over the top of it. “Amanda brings in a few buckets from the well every day so there’s always some inside the house.” He reached for the pail on the table and frowned when he lifted it. “And apparently she didn’t do that yesterday.” He smiled before grabbing two more pails from under the table. “She was excited about your arrival. I’m surprised she remembered to do any of her chores, to be honest. Grab the other pail and I’ll show you where the well is and introduce you to the chickens, Bertha especially. She's as mean as the day is long.”
It was cold out. The coat Diana had packed kept her warm enough and Rebecca was glad she hadn’t been unfortunate enough to be homeless in Angel Creek. She’d have frozen to death in no time.
Drawing water was something she did know how to do and they made quick work of it, both of them silent as the sun peeked over the mountains. The chickens weren't happy to see them this early in the morning though, and Caleb had been right. The big red hen he said Amanda named Bertha was mean and pecked her hand the moment she reached under her for the eggs she was sitting on. She yelped and jerked her hand back, dropping the egg she'd gathered. Her soon-to-be husband had laughed, ushered her out before the other chickens got riled, and directed her back into the house.
Caleb’s mother was awake when they stepped back inside the house. “Good morning, Diana.”
Rebecca almost corrected her but bit her lip before giving the woman a smile. “Morning, Agatha.”
“Did you sleep well, dear?”
“I did. Best sleep I’ve had in a very long time.”
“That’s good.” She wheeled her chair to the window and drew back the curtain. “I see the snow stopped falling.”
“For now it has,” Caleb said as he set the two buckets he had on top of the counter. “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of it yet.”
Rebecca carried her bucket