Five Loaves Press

A Day Just for Us

Renee Silver

Hazel & Caleb · June 1911

Caleb Maddox had faced drawn guns with less trouble than he was having asking his wife to take a walk.

Hazel sat at the kitchen table buttering her bread, dressed for a morning at the west pasture gate. He had mended it before she woke. The horses were fed, the trough filled, Mills had agreed to mind the office, and a basket waited on the porch where she had yet to notice it.

He had managed every part of the invitation except asking her.

She glanced up, her gaze traveling from his clean shirt to his jaw.

“Have I forgotten an occasion?”

“No.”

“You have cut yourself shaving.”

He touched the place below his ear. “It’ll stop.”

“Come here.”

He obeyed. She dipped the corner of a clean cloth into her water glass and dabbed the cut, tilting her head to see what she was doing. Lavender soap, warm bread, the small crease of concentration between her brows—he had meant to give her something pleasant this morning, and here she was tending him before he had said a word about it.

“There. You will live.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Her thumb smoothed the edge of his collar. He had spent some time persuading it to lie properly. Now he hoped she would find something else wrong with it.

“Is there something you wish to tell me, Caleb?”

He caught her hand and kissed her fingers. “Will you come up the hill with me?”

She looked toward the window, where the slope rose green between the pines. “Now?”

“After breakfast. Whenever you’re ready.”

“I was going to mend—”

“Gate’s done.”

Her brows lifted, and he went on before he lost his nerve.

“Horses are tended. James will come by this afternoon, and Mills has the office.”

“You have been busy.”

“Had something in mind.”

Her fingers settled more comfortably in his. “I am beginning to hope so.”

Ten months married, and an ordinary look across the breakfast table could still make him forget what he had intended to say. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and made himself finish.

“Thought we might take our dinner. Stay a while.”

“What is up the hill?”

“Grass. Some trees.”

“A powerful inducement.”

He could hear the laughter she was holding back. “There’s cake.”

“Ah.” She rose without taking back her hand. “You should have led with that.”

“I’ll remember.”

She rested her free hand on his chest. “I should be delighted to walk out with you, Mr. Maddox.”

He bent to kiss her, but she turned her face at the last moment and offered her cheek.

“Such a fine invitation deserves a proper answer. Once I have changed.”

“Hazel.”

She laughed then, openly, and he found himself smiling despite the delay. There had been a time when he counted the lamps in her windows to assure himself she was safe. Now he carried the sound of her laughter into the yard, sometimes remembering it hours later with a fence tool in his hand.

“A quarter of an hour,” she said. “Perhaps twenty minutes.”

“I can manage.”

Before he released her, she brushed her mouth over his. Her palm stayed against his shirt as he leaned toward her, hoping she might reconsider the need to go upstairs at all.

“Practice,” she said, and slipped away.

Caleb stood beside her empty chair. From the corral came the gelding’s snort. He picked up his cup, discovered he had finished the coffee, and put it down again.

He had asked his own wife to go walking.

A man ought to be able to stop smiling about that.

Hazel took three dresses from the wardrobe before admitting she was enjoying herself.

The first was too warm. The second needed its mended cuff pressed. The blue cotton had a generous skirt for walking and little pearl buttons she liked against her throat. She laid it on the bed and sat beside it for a moment, remembering Caleb’s face when she accepted.

He had shaved for her. Taken care with his collar. Mended the gate she had meant to spend the morning wrestling with, all so he might ask for an afternoon of her company.

She had wanted to kiss him more thoroughly downstairs. There would be time for that.

After fastening the blue dress, she brushed her hair and pinned it with less severity than usual. A curl fell beside her ear. She left it there and reached for the little clasp on her bureau, the one Caleb had repaired when its fastening bent. He had put it beside her brush without mentioning the work. She fitted it into her hair now, turning toward the mirror to see whether it showed.

Downstairs, a chair scraped. Her husband was finding things to do while he waited.

She wished the girl she had been in Boston could see this morning. That girl had known which gloves to wear and how long a call ought to last. She would never have guessed the pleasure of dressing for a man who had already seen her muddy, frightened, and cross, and still wanted to take her out for the afternoon.

Hazel went to the writing table and drew a sheet toward her.

Dear Caleb, she began, then considered the handsome formality of his invitation. She could answer in kind.

On a fresh sheet she invited him to spend next Saturday evening on the porch. She would bring the pie. He could bring himself.

She paused over that, pleased with it. There was no gate she needed mended on the porch, no difficult paper awaiting his judgment. She wanted to sit beside him while evening came down over the ranch. It was worth telling him so.

Instead of signing her full name, she wrote, Your wife, who hopes you will say yes.

She folded the note twice. An entire week to decide on a pie seemed a very agreeable use of time.

Caleb was at the kitchen sink when she came down. He turned with a plate in his hand and kept holding it.

“Will this do?”

His gaze moved from the clasp in her hair to her blue skirt, then returned to her face. “It surely will.”

She liked the quiet way he said it. He remembered the plate at last and set it in the cupboard while she came nearer. She straightened his collar, though it scarcely needed it now, and kissed the uninjured side of his jaw.

“My answer.”

His hand settled at her waist. “Worth the wait.”

For a moment neither of them attended to the open door or the basket outside. Then he reached for her hat.

“I’d better fetch our dinner.”

“I shall bring it. You find your hat.”

On the porch, Hazel lifted the basket cloth. Bread and cheese, cold chicken, two apples, and a covered tin of Mrs. Brennan’s lemon cake. Beneath the parcels lay a folded blanket, its worn edge neatly stitched.

She knew Caleb’s care in the shape of repaired timber and long hours beside a frightened animal. He had sat with her through letters she could scarcely bring herself to write. This basket pleased her in a different way. He had thought about what she might enjoy and made room for it in their day.

She slipped her note between the blanket’s folds.

“Ready?” he asked from the doorway.

Hat in hand, he was watching her as though the whole arrangement still required her approval. She took his free hand.

“Lead the way before I discover another dress to try.”

“I like this one.”

She glanced down at it, then back at him. “Then I chose well.”

His smile stayed with her as they stepped off the porch.

The path climbed through grass that brushed Caleb’s boots. Hazel walked beside him where it widened and ahead where the pines pressed close. He carried the basket in his left hand, leaving his right free when she reached back.

She did so on an easy stretch, offering him her hand without looking round. He took it and came up beside her.

A year ago she had picked her way over this ground as though every stone intended to trip her. Now she stepped across roots with an easy certainty, lifting her skirt clear of the scrub. He liked watching her move over land she knew. He liked having no reason to hurry her.

They emerged beneath an open sky. The ranch roof showed between the trees, with the new barn standing square beyond the corral. Down in the valley, a wagon traveled the road under a thin trail of dust.

“Here?” Hazel asked.

He set the basket beside a pine, where old needles softened a level patch of ground. “Thought the view was worth the climb.”

She turned to look. The light caught the curl beside her ear, and her hat ribbon stirred against her shoulder. He had seen that face across a judge’s desk, under lamplight, streaked with dirt after a day’s work. He enjoyed looking at it now with the whole afternoon before them.

“Caleb.”

“Hmm?”

“The view is behind you.”

“I’m satisfied with this one.”

She lowered her eyes, smiling, and began taking parcels from the basket.

He drew out the blanket and caught a folded paper before it fell into the needles. Hazel promptly took it from him.

“That is for afterward.”

“After what?”

“Dinner.”

She tucked it into the empty basket. He looked from the paper to her face and spread the blanket without further inquiry.

They settled beneath the pine, his hat beside his knee, her skirt spread over her boots. As Hazel reached to straighten a corner of the blanket, the wind lifted her hat and sent it rolling into the grass.

Caleb caught it before it reached the slope. When he turned, she was laughing behind her hand.

“You needn’t have hurried. I was not particularly attached to it.”

“Could’ve told me before I chased it.”

He set the hat on the basket and weighted its brim with an apple. Hazel watched this precaution with evident approval, then touched his sleeve as he sat down.

“Do you know, I once spent an entire dance discussing a chimney?”

“Must have been a fine chimney.”

“It smoked. The gentleman’s family had engaged men to rebuild it, and I had been watching repairs near our house. I wanted to know whether they meant to alter the flue.”

“Did they?”

“I never found out. Mother came to retrieve me. She said I had mistaken a ballroom for a work yard.” Hazel secured a loosened hairpin. “The gentleman seemed relieved whenever we had to turn. I suspect he had prepared himself to discuss the weather.”

“Poor fellow. Could’ve learned something.”

She gave him a sideways look. “You are biased.”

“Considerably.”

They unwrapped the food. Hazel sat back to look at their dinner, the blanket, the valley beyond his shoulder.

“This is lovely, Caleb.”

The plain sincerity of it reached him more surely than the teasing. He set down the bread knife and took the hand she offered. They bowed their heads.

“Thank You, Lord, for our food. For bringing us through the hard days.” He paused, aware of her fingers resting over his. “And for a good one we can spend together. Amen.”

“Amen,” Hazel said softly.

He had asked for help so often over the past year, sometimes with no words beyond a name. Giving thanks here, with nothing pressing him to get up, took a different sort of attention. He stayed still a moment, listening to the wind in the pine. Then Hazel passed him the cheese, and he began cutting their bread.

They ate slowly. A squirrel scolded overhead, advancing along a branch to inspect their arrangements.

“I believe we have taken its table,” Hazel said.

“Might be objecting to my hat.”

“What can it possibly have against your hat?”

“Never asked. It’s been giving me its opinion for years.”

She looked at him, then up at the indignant creature, and began laughing. Caleb tried to maintain his grievance, but the squirrel scolded again and spoiled the effort. They sat with their dinner forgotten for a moment, laughing beneath the tree while their host waited for better manners.

When they reached the cake, Hazel put two slices on a plate and returned the others to the tin.

“For later.”

He accepted the fork she offered. “Mrs. Brennan asked whether we were celebrating something.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I wanted cake.”

“Did she believe you?”

“She gave me a look. Same one you give me when my boots are in your way.”

Hazel considered that over a mouthful of frosting. “Then she understood you perfectly.”

The lemon was sharp against the sweetness of the cream. Caleb remembered their wedding cake on the judge’s desk, her hand beneath his on the knife, both of them careful with an ordinary task made strange by the promises they had just spoken. Today she reached across his lap to take a crumb from his shirt and ate it without ceremony.

He liked how easily she reached for him now.

“What made you think of this?” she asked.

He looked toward the ranch. From here he could see the turn in the fence where she sometimes stopped to loosen her gloves.

“Saw you coming up from the pasture a few days ago. You stopped to look at something in the grass. A flower, I think.”

“A very small one. I nearly stepped on it.”

“You stayed a while.” He put his plate on the cloth. “Thought I could give you more time for looking.”

Her fingers smoothed a crease in her skirt. She was waiting, willing to let him find the rest, and he wanted her to have it.

“I’ve had good days with you. Even when the work was hard. But I wanted a day when I could look at you without wondering what needed doing next.”

She grew still. He could have left it there, but the hope in her face made him confess the foolish part too.

“I shaved twice.”

Her mouth trembled. “I noticed the second attempt.”

“Mills said I was taking longer to arrange a picnic than he takes to serve a warrant.”

“I hope you told him this was more important.”

“I did.”

She moved nearer until her shoulder rested against his. “I have been waiting to be alone with you since breakfast.”

He turned toward her. “That so?”

“You were rather slow about asking.”

“I’ll do better next time.”

“You are doing quite well now.”

Her kiss tasted faintly of lemon. He cupped her cheek, and she turned into his hand, letting the kiss deepen before she drew away. She stayed close, studying his face with an expression he would willingly have climbed another hill to see.

Then she looked toward the open grass.

He recognized the change. “What?”

Hazel stood and offered her hand.

“I should like another dance.”

Caleb looked from her hand to the clearing.

“You’re a long way from a ballroom.”

“An advantage. No one will interrupt us to inquire about chimneys.”

He took her hand and rose. Hazel brushed needles from his shoulder, her fingers lingering at the back of his neck before she stepped toward the sunny grass. He followed so readily that she had to look away to keep from smiling too broadly.

She placed his hand at her waist and set hers on his shoulder. He adjusted his hold as she came nearer, watching her with such quiet pleasure that she forgot, for a moment, to begin.

“Which way?” he asked.

“Your left foot first.”

“That much I can find.”

“We shall see.”

She counted softly. He shortened his stride to hers and steadied her when her heel caught in a tuft of grass. Their first turn brought them up facing the pine at an angle she could not have accounted for in a ballroom.

“I believe the floor requires attention.”

“Want to stop?”

“Certainly not.”

They began again. She hummed a waltz she had carried half a continent without thinking about it. Her dancing master would have found much to correct in their measure, their footing, and the small distance between them. Caleb’s breath touched her temple. She left the corrections for another afternoon.

They learned the ground together: a few steps, a turn, a pause to avoid the rough grass. His hand rested warmly at her back. As she moved hers farther around his shoulder, he glanced at her mouth, and the next notes escaped her entirely.

“Forgotten it?”

“You are distracting me.”

“Haven’t moved.”

She looked up at him. “I had noticed.”

His laugh was low and easy beneath her hand. She began humming again, glad when he guided her around the troublesome patch and into a narrow reach of shade.

“There,” he said. “Managed it.”

“Very well, too.”

“Hum that again. We might manage another.”

She did. When her breath ran short, he took up enough of the tune to carry them farther. He was uncertain of the notes, but he kept trying, his eyes on hers. The sun caught the gray in them, and she found herself enjoying the familiar face above her as freely as she enjoyed his hand in hers. A faint mark remained where she had tended his shaving cut.

Thank You for him, Lord.

The thought came with a fullness that stopped her feet. She wanted to know this man at every age: the husband who had packed their dinner and sung for her on a hillside, who would leave his boots by the wrong side of the kitchen door tomorrow and look surprised when she found them there.

Caleb’s hand tightened at her waist. “Your ankle?”

“Perfectly sound.”

“Then what is it?”

She looked at their joined hands. The flowers on her ring caught the sun against his worn fingers. He had chosen that ring while she was still learning to believe he wanted the marriage for himself. She had worn it through dishes, worry, work, and ordinary mornings. Today she had time to admire it.

“I was thinking how fortunate I am to be the woman you asked.”

He stood still. “For a walk?”

“For today. All the other days.” She met his eyes. “You might let me be sentimental for a moment without making me explain myself.”

His smile softened. “Take as long as you like.”

She touched the corner of his mouth, where that smile always began. “You make it difficult to finish.”

“I’ve got all afternoon.”

He said it lightly and waited as though he meant to give her every minute. Hazel put her arms around him and rested her cheek against his shirt. The grass stirred around their boots. She could hear the slow settling of his breath as he held her.

“I like you here,” he said against her hair.

“I should hope so.”

“Beside me. Looking pleased with yourself.” His fingers moved gently at her back. “I get to see a different Hazel when we leave the tools at home.”

She tipped her face toward him. “Do you approve of her?”

“She kissed me before we left the kitchen. I’m hoping to know her better.”

Her laughter was still between them when he kissed her. She slipped her hands into his hair, welcoming the arm that drew her closer. Familiar as he was, the warmth of his mouth could still take all her attention. She rose to meet him and let the kiss last, with the valley quiet around them and no one calling either of their names.

When they parted, she kept her fingers at his nape.

“There is something I should tell you.”

“Go on.”

“I liked the invitation before you mentioned cake.”

He bent until his mouth brushed her ear. “I was counting on the cake.”

She shivered at the nearness of his voice, then drew him back by the collar where she could see his face.

“You have underestimated yourself.”

She kissed him again. The next dance could wait.

By the time they returned to the blanket, its shade had moved across the basket. Caleb brought it nearer and gave Hazel an apple. She leaned against him while he polished the other on his sleeve, and they watched a hawk turning above the valley.

After a while she took his hand to inspect the scrape he had earned mending the gate.

“This is why you were so careful of the shaving cut,” he said. “Saving your lecture for the rest.”

“I brought no salve. You are safe from me.”

“Wouldn’t go that far.”

She turned his hand palm up. Her thumb passed over the pale seam left by the fire and rested in the center of his palm, as easily as it rested against any other part of his hand. He closed his fingers around hers. They sat that way until the hawk drifted beyond the ridge.

James would be along soon. There were horses to bring in before dark, but Caleb could leave them to the grass a little longer.

When Hazel finished her apple, they gathered the parcels together. He wrapped the bread while she put the remaining cake into its tin. Then he reached into the basket and brought out the folded paper.

“May I?”

She brushed a needle from her skirt. “You may.”

He unfolded it. Her small, assured handwriting was familiar from the notes she left beside his breakfast when she went out early. This one made him read more slowly.

Mr. Maddox,

If you are free next Saturday evening, I should like your company on the porch after supper. I will bring the pie. You may bring yourself.

Your wife, who hopes you will say yes.

He read the last line again, then the little sentence above it.

You may bring yourself.

He had spent half the morning making certain he had something good to offer her. Here was Hazel asking him to come and sit beside her. The pleasure he felt was almost embarrassing in its size.

“I can be free.”

Her mouth curved. “You needn’t decide on the spot. I allowed you a week.”

“That’s a week wasted.”

She came toward him, and he caught her at the waist, drawing her close enough to kiss the curl beside her ear.

“Yes,” he said. “In case you wanted it plain.”

“I hoped you might.”

He folded the paper carefully. He had asked God to help him become a good husband, and there was work enough in learning. Yet he was grateful for this small part of their life that Hazel had made so simple. Come to the porch. Sit with her. Let himself be wanted there.

“What kind of pie?” he asked.

“I haven’t decided. What would tempt you?”

He put the note in his shirt pocket. “Ask how soon I can get to the porch.”

Her laughter followed them down the hill.

James was filling the trough when they reached the yard. He raised a hand, then leaned his forearms on the fence.

“Good walk?”

“Very good,” Hazel said.

James looked between them. A grin tugged at his mouth, but he confined himself to reporting that the horses were well and the pasture gate shut. Caleb thanked him. When a day came that James needed an afternoon free, he would be glad to give him one.

Hazel carried the basket inside while Caleb walked James to his wagon. After the wheels turned toward the road, he stayed a moment with his hand on the gate. Through the open kitchen door came the waltz Hazel had hummed on the hill.

He went in.

She had put the remaining cake on a plate. Their hats hung side by side, hers with its ribbon untied. A pine needle clung to the blue cotton at her shoulder.

“Brought some of the hillside home,” he said, lifting it away.

“I thought you might like a keepsake.”

He touched his pocket. “Already have one.”

Her gaze followed his hand, and her expression grew tender. He would find somewhere safe for the paper later. For now he liked the slight rustle when he moved.

They did the evening chores together. Hazel rubbed the filly’s forehead while he brought in the mares, then helped put away the tack. Supper could be bread and cheese. There was still cake, and neither of them felt inclined to hurry through it.

Afterward Caleb carried the plates to the sink and found Hazel waiting at the foot of the stairs. She had taken the clasp from her hair. The curl he had watched all afternoon rested against her cheek.

“I have decided I should like another answer to my invitation.”

“Thought I gave you one.”

“A written answer would be proper.”

He came nearer. “I’ll write it in the morning.”

“That will do very well.”

She caught his hand and laced her fingers through his. He followed her upstairs, and at their door she turned to draw him into a kiss. He put his arms around her, feeling her settle against him with a quiet sigh.

When Hazel closed the door, her invitation was still in his pocket—and he had next Saturday to look forward to.

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