Chapter Nine #2
Lola rubbed her nose, only managing to spread it further. Ruth laughed and a moment later, Lola joined her. The sound filled the kitchen and it was the kind of laughter that belonged in a family home.
“What now?” Lola asked.
“Now we rest,” Ruth replied as she carried the dirty bowls to the sink. “And we let the oven do the rest.”
Lola nodded as she sat down at the table.
As Ruth glanced over at her, she silently thanked God for the small beginning, knowing that sometimes the Lord answered prayers not through grand miracles, but through ordinary afternoons, shared work, and a child slowly deciding not to be afraid of you anymore.
***
The pie was cooling on the windowsill by the time a boots sounded outside the back door.
The afternoon sun had begun its slow descent, spilling warm amber light across the yard.
Through the open window, Ruth could hear the distant lowing of cattle and the rhythmic creak of the windmill turning in the breeze.
The kitchen smelled wonderfully of cinnamon, baked apples, and buttery pastry, scents that seemed to settle into every corner of the house.
Lola sat at the table with a slate and chalk in front of her, though she appeared far more interested in talking than in her arithmetic. “... and then Buttercup got her head stuck in the fence,” she was saying.
Ruth tried not to laugh. “What happened?”
“Uncle Henry had to pull her out.”
“Was she hurt?”
“No.” Lola smiled. “Just embarrassed.”
A familiar voice sounded from the doorway. “Sounds like somebody I know.”
Lola’s entire face brightened. “James!”
He stepped inside, carrying his hat beneath one arm. Dust coated his boots from the road, and the late afternoon sun illuminated the easy smile that always seemed to accompany him. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
“Hello, James,” Ruth said.
His gaze immediately landed on the pie cooling by the window. “Now that’s a sight for sore eyes.”
Lola giggled. “We made it.”
“Did you?” James examined it with exaggerated seriousness. “I can already tell it’s superior to anything I’ve eaten this week.”
The little girl looked delighted by the compliment as he reached into his pocket and glanced toward her. “Tell you what. If your homework is finished before supper, I might happen to have a surprise waiting.”
Lola’s eyes widened. “A surprise?”
“Possibly.”
“What kind?”
James shook his head. “That would ruin the surprise.”
The child slid from her chair so quickly she nearly upset her slate. “I’ll go do it right now.”
Ruth laughed. “I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.”
Neither had Lola apparently. She disappeared down the hallway before anyone could change their mind. Silence settled over the kitchen as James watched the hallway with a fond smile.
“She’s a good kid.”
“She is.”
Ruth moved to the counter and began wiping it down and for a few moments James simply observed her.
“How are things going?” he asked. The question carried genuine concern.
Ruth paused. It was tempting to offer a polite answer, the sort of response people usually expected. Instead, she found herself answering honestly, “I’m trying.”
James nodded. “I figured as much.”
She smiled faintly. “I don’t think I’ve burned anything yet.”
“That’s always encouraging.”
The joke eased some of the tension. Still, Ruth hesitated before continuing, “The house is easier than the people.”
James leaned against the counter. “I suspected that might be the case.”
Ruth glanced toward the window. Beyond it, the ranch stretched beneath the afternoon sun. Somewhere out there, Henry was undoubtedly working.
“He hasn’t been unkind,” she said carefully.
“Henry rarely is.”
Ruth considered her words. “He just seems... distant.”
The description felt inadequate. Distant implied choice and what she sensed in Henry felt deeper than that. As though part of him had retreated somewhere she couldn’t reach.
James nodded slowly. “That’s a fair description.”
“And Lola...” Her voice softened. “Some days she seems ready to talk. Other days, she pulls away again. In truth, I never know which version of her I’m going to meet.”
James studied the floorboards for a moment. When he finally spoke, his usual humor was absent. “You’re seeing the result of a great deal of grief.”
The words immediately drew Ruth’s attention and she set down the cloth in her hands. James removed his hat and turned it slowly between his fingers. “You know the basics, I suppose.”
“Only that her parents died.”
His expression darkened slightly as he nodded and for several moments he seemed to gather his thoughts. The kitchen remained quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock in the next room.
Finally, he continued. “Henry and Samantha were twins,” he said. The affection in his voice was unmistakable. “And they were about as close as two people could be.”
Ruth listened quietly.
“I spent every summer here growing up,” James said. “My family lived in the next town over, but the ranch was practically a second home. Most of my childhood memories include the two of them.”
A small smile touched his face. “Samantha usually got us into trouble.”
Ruth found herself smiling too. James laughed softly. “Although, when push came to shove, it was Henry who always looked responsible. And Samantha, who only looked innocent.”
For a moment, Ruth caught a glimpse of the family they must once have been.
“When the war came, Henry enlisted.”
Ruth’s gaze lowered. She knew enough about the war to understand what often followed.
“He was gone for several years and when he came home...” James stopped as a shadow crossed his face. “When he came home, Samantha and her husband were gone.”
The words settled heavily between them. Ruth’s heart tightened as James continued quietly, “There had been violence in the area. Raiders. Deserters. Depends who tells the story.” His jaw tightened. “The house had been attacked.”
Ruth pressed a hand against her chest. “Oh.” That single syllable was all she could manage.
“Only Lola survived.”
The clock continued ticking. Somewhere outside, a horse whinnied from the barn.
They were just ordinary sounds, and yet the room felt changed.
Ruth thought of the little girl sitting at this very table only minutes ago.
Talking about ponies and trying so hard to be brave.
She was a child carrying losses far larger than herself.
Then her thoughts shifted to Henry. Suddenly, so many things made sense. The sadness in his eyes and the way he kept everyone at arm’s length. The loneliness she had sensed beneath his stern exterior.
He had gone to war believing he had a family waiting for him, only to return and discover nearly everyone he loved was gone. No wonder he guarded his heart. And so it was no surprise that he buried himself in work.
Finally, Ruth looked toward the window again. Outside, the ranch no longer appeared merely neglected. Instead, it looked like the physical reflection of its owner. A place still standing and functioning, yet carrying scars from battles long past.
“I think,” she said softly, “that they both miss her very much.”
James followed her gaze. “Every day.”
Ruth swallowed against the lump forming in her throat, with a renewed sense of compassion settling over her. Not pity, but compassion, because there was a difference. Pity looked down on suffering while compassion stepped alongside it.
For the first time since arriving at the ranch, she realized that earning Henry’s trust was not simply a matter of proving she could cook or clean or manage a household.
The man was grieving and perhaps he always would be.
And the little girl was grieving, too. That understanding did not make the task easier, but it made it clearer.
As the scent of cooling pie filled the kitchen and the afternoon sunlight stretched across the floorboards, Ruth found herself offering a silent prayer. Not for success or acceptance. But for patience.
Because if there was one thing grief had taught her, it was that wounded hearts rarely healed quickly. And if she hoped to help either Henry or Lola, she would need to remember that every step forward, no matter how small, was still a step.