Chapter Six
As Hubert held her in his arms, Prudence’s heart danced in her chest. The weight of his gentle touch and the warmth of his presence made her feel lighter than she had in years.
She couldn’t help but admire the way his powerful arms carried her the short distance between his father’s church and the Holstead house as if she weighed next to nothing.
The gold ring on her finger caught the light, and she couldn’t stop smiling, knowing that they were about to start their life together. As they approached the house, she caught a whiff of his unique scent, a blend of earthy moss and sweet notes of cinnamon and vanilla.
“You could put me down,” she said with a little laugh.
“I could, but I won’t. Unless you need me to.” His chest rumbled under her cheek.
She was feeling anxious. They were now legally bound in marriage, and he could request intimacy from her whenever he pleased. She had no experience in these things, having only recently had her first and second kisses. Holding hands was new, too.
As he carried her up the porch steps, Prudence’s body jostled in his arms. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment when her feet brushed against the floor instead of being swept off the ground and across the threshold as tradition dictates.
But with their already nontraditional wedding, she pushed the thought away and focused on the warmth of his embrace.
“Don’t frown. This isn’t our home.” His fingers grazed her cheek in a gentle caress. “We’ll be home before the end of the week.”
Hubert stepped back, pulling open the door, and Prudence let them in through the main door.
“I was thinking, not frowning.”
“Potato, potahto,” he chuckled.
She couldn’t help but admire the way he effortlessly removed his jacket and hung it on the hook by the front door.
He even took off his boots before stepping further into the house.
That was something her father never did.
As she nervously copied his actions, she realized with embarrassment that she was still wearing her heavy winter cloak from the ceremony earlier.
Hubert took it from her hands, hanging it next to his before turning back to her. “You look beautiful.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t think to take my cloak off. Lately, my disrespect of propriety would have horrified my mother.”
“You haven’t mentioned her. Do you miss her?”
“Every day.” Walking around him, Prudence headed for the kitchen. No one had asked about her mother in years. The mere thought of her caused a sharp pain, a wound that had never fully healed. So much for keeping that closet door closed.
“Hey,” Hubert called softly from the doorway, “what did I say wrong?”
“My mother died four years ago. No one talks about her.” Instead of looking at him, she moved the bread pans from the stove to the table and replaced them with a Dutch oven containing dinner.
Lifting the lid of the pot, she quickly stirred the stew inside while grief swamped her.
“I never thought I’d get married without her. She would have liked your mama.”
Hubert coughed behind her, his hesitation to approach her palpable in the air. “I’m sorry to hear of your loss. It sounds like you’ve had enough trials and tests in recent years.”
“We don’t need to be so melancholy. I don’t want to ruin the day.” A sniffle escaped her, and her hands stilled.
“Today is whatever we make of it. I didn’t expect you, but I was open to whatever the Lord brought me. Even solitude. I’m sure I’m butchering it a bit, too.”
Prudence couldn’t take it. She spun abruptly to face him. “What do you mean by butchering it? You’ve been nothing but pleasant. Your parents have been amazing as well!”
Hubert stopped and took a deep breath. “I don’t have any experience with all of this. You’re the first girl whose hand I’ve held, that I’ve considered kissing, and I just want to see you smile.”
“We are quite a pair.”
He took two enormous steps and was suddenly in front of her. “I don’t know how this goes. We get to make our own path and our own rules.”
When she nodded at him, Hubert took her hand, twirling her across the kitchen. “We are leaving for Sterling in the morning. What would you like to do for the afternoon?”
As she watched him approach, her palms grew clammy with nerves. But despite her initial hesitation, she pushed aside thoughts of the bedroom and focused on the kindness in his eyes. She trusted him not to belittle her.
“Have you ever had a picnic?”
“With a girl?” He wrinkled his nose.
Could you love someone you’d only known for days? Prudence wondered.
“Yes. But I’m talking about a girl who isn’t your mother.”
“No. The wives in Sterling are very partial to picnics by the river. So, I have, in fact, had a picnic with people other than my parents.”
That made her smile. They could create memories together.
“Today, I think we should have a picnic.” Prudence let her fingers slip from his, the idea flashing to life in her mind’s eye.
She turned and surveyed the kitchen. If she had even thought for a moment that he would agree to this, she would have already prepared it.
“Can you go upstairs and grab the pillows off the beds?”
His footsteps were the only response given.
She returned to the stove and added more wood.
Pushing the Dutch oven over one of the two burners, she made a fresh pot of coffee and placed it on the other.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee quickly filled the cozy kitchen.
She rummaged through the pantry, pulling out a loaf of homemade bread leftover from the previous night’s dinner, a bit of salt pork, a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese, and a jar of pickles that Mrs. Holstead had left behind.
Placing everything on a wooden platter, she made her way back to the table, where she gently put them down before reaching for a knife.
Slicing thick pieces of the bread, she carefully placed them on the platter and then layered thin slices of sharp cheddar cheese and salt pork, finishing it with a handful of tangy pickles. The aroma of the ingredients melded, and Prudence felt her mouth water.
The stew would be ready in time for supper.
This would keep them going until then. Reaching over to check the bread dough she had prepared earlier, the spongy loaves sprung back under her fingers.
She slid the bread pans into the firebox to bake and then picked up the plate to go to the sitting room.
With her hands full, she turned, only to find Hubert and a pile of pillows in the doorway. Biting her lip, she tried hard not to laugh.
“Where did you want these?” he asked, voice muffled by the pillows that went up past his nose.
“I think the front room is probably best. We can start a fire, and with the curtains drawn, people can make their own assumptions.”
The tips of his ears were bright red when he exited the kitchen.
Prudence bit down hard on her lip to stop the laughter.
Following behind him, she settled her offerings on the table by the settee and then scurried up the stairs.
She had spent very little time on the upper level of the house.
Surely the things she was hunting for would be available.
Mrs. Fitzgerald had told her to use it as her own, but she hadn’t wanted to disturb the house. She was just a visitor, after all.
In the first bedroom, she appreciated the brightly colored quilt and the wooden cane that reminded her of a shepherd’s crook. Not letting doubt dissuade her, she picked up the quilt and added a deep green Afghan she found in the room next door.
She expected that at some point Hubert would need to run up to his parents’ house to collect his things and say goodbye, but for now it was just the two of them. Giving another quick glance around the room, she found nothing else and headed back downstairs.
Going down the stairs was a slower affair.
She couldn’t see her feet, and her stockings slipped with each step.
Pressing her back against the wall, she bumped her way down to the bottom of the stairs.
When she reached the bottom, she turned to free herself, but the blankets had caught around the newel post.
“Oh bother,” she murmured, trying to tug on the blanket while her feet slid in opposite directions on the slick wood.
“Let me take those. I don’t want you to break your neck.”
“I can take care of myself.”
He blinked at her outburst but didn’t argue.
“I am sure you can. I am here, though, and there is no need for you to struggle when I can help.”
He made it all sound so simple; frustration was warring with Prudence’s desire to keep the peace. She didn’t need to be coddled. Freeing the blankets, she smiled and carried on as if nothing had happened.
In the living room, she laid out the blankets, the green one first to give the impression of grass. Pillows lined the wooden edge of the settee, and then Prudence put the quilt down as well.
“Sit. I’ll be right back.”
It pleased her to see that he had started the fire and was now settling on the blanket as directed, his long legs reaching for the fire and his eyes drifting close.
Prudence’s desire was to see him in a vulnerable state, with no barriers or masks.
However, she hadn’t expected the inner struggle this would create for her.
She needed to keep the appearance of being unbreakable, as she had always done.
Her heart knew, however, that wasn’t the way to start things in a marriage.
“I’ll be right back. I just want to check on the coffee.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t open his eyes.
She watched him for another minute before going to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two cups that she sat near the hearth.
“Here we go.”