Ruth & Elias · October 1921

Ruth Mercer had intended to kiss her husband before anyone asked her to find a stocking.

She nearly managed it. Elias had scarcely closed the front door when she took hold of his lapels and rose to meet him. His arm came around her waist. There was October cold in the wool of his coat, but his hand was warm, and she had been thinking about this welcome all the way home from the clinic.

“Mama Ruth!” Clyde called. “William’s taken the other one!”

Elias paused just short of her mouth.

“If we stand very still,” he whispered, “perhaps they won’t find us.”

She kissed him before he could suggest any further precautions. The stocking could wait. When she stepped back, his spectacles were crooked, and the smile behind them was entirely worth the interruption to Clyde’s wardrobe.

“Good afternoon,” she said, setting them straight.

“It is now.”

Clyde appeared with one stocking on and one bare foot planted firmly on the hall floor. Behind him came William, carrying the missing article over his shoulder and a wooden horse beneath his arm. At nearly three, he had begun to take a generous view of how much of Clyde’s property ought to be his.

Elias knelt. “Your brother needs that.”

“Horse blanket.” William held out the horse to demonstrate.

“An excellent blanket. Would he consider my handkerchief?”

William examined the offered linen. Ruth waited while the exchange was weighed and accepted, then watched Clyde settle on the bottom stair to put his stocking on. Elias stood and offered her his hand.

“You may continue.”

She glanced toward the boys.

“Your good afternoon,” he explained.

Ruth took him into the kitchen. The light was leaving the windows, and the stove had warmed the room. Her nursing bag stood beneath its peg. She had finished her visits, told Ward she would be home, and put away the bandages she had been tempted to sort for tomorrow. She had even left them put away.

“I have made arrangements.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“That depends on whether you wish to have supper with me.”

“I had counted on it.” His gaze went to the table, where William’s blocks occupied three places and a picture book lay open at the fourth.

“In the parlor. Just the two of us.”

He looked back at her.

“Mrs. Sutton is coming to give the children supper and settle them upstairs. I asked her yesterday.”

His fingers closed more firmly around hers. “And you have kept this to yourself all that time?”

“Since yesterday,” she admitted.

“A remarkably long time.”

“I thought you might enjoy being asked.”

He drew her nearer. She could see the fine silver among the dark hair at his temples and the beginnings of a smile he seemed determined to keep modest. She liked making that difficult for him.

“I am enjoying it very much.”

“Good. I should hate to have borrowed Mrs. Sutton’s evening for nothing.”

“What must I do?”

“Sit beside me. Tell me something that has nothing to do with a council meeting.” She smoothed his lapel, letting her hand rest there. “Let me look at you for longer than it takes to pass the bread.”

The humor softened in his face. For a moment he simply looked at her, and she felt the pleasure of having been understood. It had seemed such a small thing to ask while she planned it. Saying it aloud had cost her more courage than she expected.

“I can begin now,” he said.

His kiss was slow enough to make her forget the blocks. She kept her hand at his neck when he drew away.

“We do need to feed them first.”

“Mrs. Sutton can give them the soup from dinner. I’ll make something for us.”

“Nothing elaborate.”

“Potatoes and eggs. An apple or two in the oven. Unless you object to dining so plainly with the mayor.”

“I was hoping to dine with Elias.”

He bowed over her hand. “He would be delighted.”

From the hall came wooden wheels rattling at a determined pace. William had put the horse to bed in the wagon and was taking it on a journey.

“Go and change,” Elias said. “I’ll see to this end of the evening.”

At the stairs she turned back. “I won’t be very far away.”

“I may survive until supper.”

She was still smiling when Nellie met her halfway up.

“Mrs. Sutton’s coming. Are you and Papa going somewhere?”

“Only as far as the parlor.”

Nellie considered this. “You could wear your green dress.”

Ruth looked down at her blue work dress. “Could I?”

“Papa watches you when you wear it.”

She pressed her lips together, with very little success at concealing her pleasure. “Then I believe I shall.”

Elias stood at the counter with a potato in his hand and a strong inclination to follow his wife upstairs.

He ought to be capable of peeling a potato after an invitation to supper. He had taught fractions to sixteen children at once, several of them openly opposed to arithmetic. Yet Ruth had asked with her hands on his coat and her eyes on his face, and the recollection required more attention than the knife.

“Papa?” Clyde leaned against the table. “Why are you having supper in there?”

“Your mother invited me.”

“She eats with you every day.”

“She does. Tonight I hope to hear an entire sentence.”

“I can say an entire sentence.”

“I have heard you say several without drawing breath.”

Lucy looked up from the picture book she shared with Luke, her mouth twitching. Clyde accepted the acknowledgment of his abilities and climbed onto a chair to inspect the apples.

“Are those ours?”

“There are enough for everyone. Sit back, please.”

Elias cored the apples and arranged them in a dish with butter and sugar. Once they were in the oven, he returned to the potatoes. A jar of late flowers stood beside the basin, brought in by Ruth before the cold could take them. He chose a few short stems for the parlor.

Lucy closed the book. “I’ll get William’s bowl. And I can take Luke’s things upstairs before Mrs. Sutton—”

“She will know where to find them.” He set down the knife. “You can stay with your book.”

“I know where everything is.”

“You do. If she needs help, she’ll ask me.”

He fetched the bowl himself. When he turned, Lucy was showing Luke a picture he had missed. Her shoulder had settled against his, and both heads were bent over the page.

Elias stood a moment with the bowl in his hand before putting it beside the soup.

There were ways of caring for this household that required him to leave a thing undone long enough for someone to enjoy being a child. He resumed peeling quietly.

Nellie came down with a narrow green ribbon.

“Mama Ruth says this doesn’t match.”

“Doesn’t match what?”

“Her dress. It’s the wrong green.”

He examined it. It was certainly green. Further judgment seemed likely to expose him.

“It would make a fine bookmark.”

Nellie gave him a patient look. “I’ll find the cream one.”

She went upstairs. He heard her call through the bedroom door and Ruth’s answering laugh, clear enough to reach him over the sound of the knife on the board. He was willing to be found wanting in ribbons if it gave his wife that much pleasure.

The kitchen filled with the scent of apples and warming soup. A cart grated past outside. Elias added a stick to the stove and set two places on the small table he had drawn into the parlor.

Luke followed with a folded napkin.

“Is this for yours?”

“It is. Thank you.”

The boy laid it beside the plate, then adjusted one of the flowers. He stepped back to judge it, his attention as serious as Elias’s had been when he chose the stems.

“That looks well.”

Luke nodded and went for his book. Elias left the flower where it was. It would please Ruth to know who had arranged it.

He had just filled the lamp when she appeared in the doorway.

The green dress had been altered for the child she carried, its seams lying neatly beneath a cream collar. She had fastened the ribbon at the back of her hair. A few strands rested against her cheek, and she waited with one hand on the frame while he put down the lamp chimney.

“Nellie was right,” she said.

“About what?”

“Nothing of consequence.”

He went to her. The familiar dark eyes watched him with a pleasure she made no attempt to hide. He had looked forward to having her to himself; he had not quite allowed for the effect of her dressing for him too.

She freed her hand from his to straighten his turned-under cuff. “Have I kept you waiting?”

“Not nearly long enough for me to know what to say.”

“You could say you like the dress.”

“I do.” He bent nearer. “I like the woman in it considerably more.”

She lifted her face and met his kiss halfway.

The knock at the front door brought them apart. Ruth rested her forehead against his chest, laughing, and he laid his cheek against her hair for the brief moment they had left.

“Mrs. Sutton,” she said.

“We should have asked her earlier.”

Mrs. Sutton arrived with her shawl drawn close and her knitting under one arm. William presented the horse in its handkerchief blanket.

“He looks comfortable. I hope you mean to be as comfortable in bed later.”

William studied her. Ruth took the shawl before either of them could make a binding arrangement on the horse’s behalf.

The children gathered at the kitchen table while Elias dished up the soup. Ruth reached for William’s chair, but Mrs. Sutton had already lifted him into it. Nellie explained about the apples. Clyde announced that one had been promised to him, and Lucy opened her book again at Luke’s request.

Ruth let go of the chair back.

She could go into the parlor. Mrs. Sutton knew this house and these children, and the soup would be eaten perfectly well without Ruth standing beside it.

At the parlor door she stopped.

Elias had set her chair toward the hearth. On the little table stood the flowers she had rescued from the garden, their short stems gathered into a companionable bunch. The lamp shone against the mantel’s polished wood. She had eaten in finer rooms, but she could not remember wanting to sit down in one more than she did now.

He came behind her carrying their plates. The potatoes were browned at the edges beside the eggs. He had even sliced the bread thinner than usual, as though the difference would make a supper for two suitably distinguished.

“I hope this meets with your approval.”

“I haven’t tasted it yet.”

“You were meant to say something encouraging.”

She took her place. “I am very encouraged by the company.”

He sat with his knee brushing hers beneath the table. Neither reached for a fork.

“Shall I give thanks?”

“Please.”

He took her hand. “Thank You, Lord, for our food, for the children, and for Mrs. Sutton’s kindness in coming tonight. Thank You for this home and for the time we have together. Amen.”

Ruth added her amen. She had asked God so often to help her care for the children. Tonight there was soup in their bowls and a trusted neighbor at their table, while her husband held her hand in the next room. She could receive that care too. She left her fingers in his a moment longer before taking up her fork.

“Very good,” she said after tasting a potato.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am trying to sound encouraging.”

He laughed, and she settled more comfortably into her chair.

They had eaten several mouthfuls when Nellie appeared with a sheet of paper held in both hands.

“We made this.”

Across the top she had written For Papa and Mama Ruth. Below it Lucy had drawn the house, with all seven of them outside. Clyde had supplied an enormous cat, though they owned no cat. Luke had placed a small shape near the garden gate.

“That’s the horse,” Nellie explained. “William said he should be in it.”

“Of course he should.” Ruth held the picture for Elias to see. William’s own contribution ran vigorously along the bottom of the page. She touched the pencil marks. “This is lovely. Thank you.”

Elias propped it on the mantel. “An excellent likeness of the house. I see your brother has provided us with a cat.”

“We might have one,” Nellie suggested.

“We might discuss one tomorrow.”

She accepted this and went back to the kitchen. Ruth watched her leave, then reached for Elias’s hand beneath the table.

“Do you think—”

“Papa!” Clyde appeared in the doorway. “Does tomorrow mean yes?”

Ruth pressed her napkin to her mouth.

“Tomorrow means tomorrow,” Elias said with composure she admired considerably.

“I thought perhaps—”

Mrs. Sutton came behind him. “Your father is having his supper. Tell me about the cat while we take these bowls into the kitchen.”

“It’s a very large cat.”

“So I see. Large enough to help you find your nightshirt, I should think.”

The door closed behind them. Ruth heard water being poured and the beginnings of a discussion about who should wash first. She looked at Elias, who was waiting with an expression so carefully composed that she began to laugh. He lasted another moment before joining her.

“What were you going to ask?” he managed.

“I cannot remember.”

“Then I shall take the opportunity to tell you something.”

He offered his hand beside her plate, and she put hers into it.

“I have been looking forward to this since you caught my coat.”

She blushed, although he was her husband and knew perfectly well what she had intended in the hall. His thumb moved over her wedding band. Beneath his amusement was such open affection that she was glad she had made the arrangements, glad she had worn green, glad she had asked.

“I meant to catch rather more of you.”

His fingers stilled. In the kitchen Mrs. Sutton was calmly settling the order of the washing, and Lucy laughed at something Luke had said.

Elias leaned nearer. “Then I hope she brought plenty of knitting.”

Elias had never appreciated the kitchen door quite so thoroughly.

On the other side, William was insisting that his horse required supper. Here Ruth’s green skirt touched his trouser leg, her hand rested in his, and lamplight lay softly along her cheek. He liked looking at her in this unhurried way, with her work put aside and that expectant smile meant for him.

“You promised conversation,” she reminded him.

“I was deciding where to begin.”

“Somewhere interesting.”

He considered their joined hands. “That rules out most of my afternoon.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

After a moment he said, “I once played a king.”

Her brows lifted. “Did you?”

“In a school play. The boy broke his arm the day before, and his mother had spent a week on the costume. I offered to wear it.”

“That was kind.”

“It was foolish. The crown fitted, more or less. Nothing else did.”

Her smile encouraged him to continue.

“The cape reached my knees. Every time I raised a hand to command somebody, the sleeve rose with it.”

“I hope you commanded quietly.”

“From behind a table. We hung a blanket across the front so no one could see my boots.”

She laughed. “I should like to have seen you.”

“So would several parents. Half the audience stood up to look over the table.”

She leaned back, enjoying him, and the recollection grew clearer as he told it. He remembered the children’s solemn bows to their unlikely king, then their delight when his sleeves betrayed him. He had almost forgotten how much pleasure there had been in the ridiculous business.

“Your turn.”

“I have never been a king.”

“Something else, then.”

She turned her fork between her fingers. “I used to look in the milliners’ windows in Denver.”

He waited. There was shy enjoyment in the admission, and he wanted to hear it at her pace.

“On the way home, I would choose a hat and imagine the afternoon that might require it. Once there was one with a ribbon so wide I thought a strong wind would carry the whole woman away.”

“Did you choose that one?”

“Of course. I had nowhere to wear it, but I might have found somewhere.”

“With no wind.”

“And a gentleman willing to carry it once I tired of holding it on.”

“A demanding office.”

“Do you wish to withdraw your name?”

He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “I’d like to know what else the afternoon included.”

“I never thought that far.”

He set her hand beside her plate. “We could.”

She watched him, then drew his hand back before he could reach his fork.

“I like this evening very much.”

“So do I.”

He let the answer stand. There was no need to improve upon a supper she was enjoying or make a grander promise than the one he could keep by staying in his chair and listening.

Ruth told him which flowers she hoped to plant by the garden gate in spring. She described a color she could not quite name. He would recognize it when she found it; he had learned something tonight about the distinctions a green ribbon might require.

The apples came from the oven with their skins split and the butter and sugar gathered into sauce. Ruth leaned over her dish to breathe in the scent.

“I must invite you more often.”

“I’m easily persuaded.”

“I shall remember.”

He carried the empty dishes into the kitchen. Mrs. Sutton stood by the basin, guiding William’s hands under a small stream of water. The other children had gone upstairs.

“Mama?” William peered past him.

“In the parlor.”

The boy lifted a wet hand. “Apple good.”

“I’ll tell her.”

Mrs. Sutton glanced at the plates. “Leave those. The kettle’s hot.”

“I can wash them later.”

“So can I. Your wife has been waiting for an evening.” She reached for a towel. “Go and give her one.”

He looked toward the stairs, listening for trouble out of long habit. He heard a drawer close and one of the children speaking to another. Mrs. Sutton dried William’s hands, talking to him about his horse. For once Elias could leave the next small need in someone else’s capable care.

He put the plates down and went back to Ruth.

She had drawn two chairs to the hearth and patted the arm of the one beside hers.

“That is yours. I chose the warmer place.”

“As hostess, you are entitled.”

“I thought so.”

He stretched his legs toward the fire. She brought her chair nearer until her knee rested against his, and they watched the flames move over the wood. Upstairs came footsteps, another drawer, Mrs. Sutton’s quiet voice. Ruth’s fingers found his.

“I nearly asked her to come another night,” she said. “I could think of so many things to finish.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“So am I.” She looked at him. “I wanted this more.”

He turned her hand over. Washing had roughened the skin at her knuckles, and a spot of ink marked one finger. He kissed it. She watched him with a tenderness that made him reluctant to lower her hand.

“You might have told me sooner. I would have made myself agreeable.”

“You are often very agreeable.” “Often?”

“I don’t wish to encourage vanity.”

He leaned nearer. “Too late. You wore green.”

She laughed softly, then rested her fingers beside his face, just below the arm of his spectacles.

“Nellie told me you watched me in it.”

“Nellie sees too much.”

“Were you hoping I hadn’t noticed?”

“I hoped you knew exactly what I was thinking.”

She grew still. He touched her cheek, enjoying the warmth beneath his thumb and the way she turned toward him.

“I think of kissing you at the most inconvenient times,” he said. “You’ll be telling me something perfectly sensible, and I’ll be hoping you come a little nearer.”

“You could come nearer yourself.”

He did. Her hand stayed against his cheek as she met the kiss. When he drew back, she followed, holding his collar lightly.

“I asked Mrs. Sutton so we needn’t keep stopping.”

He took off his spectacles and set them on the table. Ruth smiled as he turned back, then closed her eyes when he kissed her again. His arm settled around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, her hand warm at his nape. The fire stirred beside them while they took their time.

At last she rested her forehead against his. He could hear his own breathing and feel the small movement of hers beneath his arm.

“I am enjoying your conversation,” she whispered.

He laughed against her hair and held her while the log settled into its coals.

Ruth had tucked her hand into Elias’s elbow when Mrs. Sutton appeared in the parlor doorway.

“They’re settled. William’s horse has its blanket, and Clyde has both stockings. Lucy asked me to tell you she left the book open where you stopped yesterday.”

“Thank you.” Ruth sat a little straighter. “For all of it.”

“I’ve had a pleasant evening.” Their neighbor gathered her knitting. “Luke tells me there may be a cat.”

Elias closed his eyes for a moment. Ruth pressed her lips together.

“There may be a discussion.”

“A useful beginning.” Mrs. Sutton’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll find my shawl.”

Ruth accompanied her into the hall while Elias fetched his spectacles and helped their neighbor with her wrap. Cold air slipped over Ruth’s wrists as the door opened. They thanked Mrs. Sutton again and watched her reach her gate beneath a clear sky before Elias closed the door and turned the key.

“Shall we?” Ruth asked, looking toward the stairs.

They went up together, avoiding the board that creaked. At the children’s door Elias lifted the lamp. Lucy’s book lay beside her bed. Luke’s hand rested near a wooden horse. William had thrown back his cover; Ruth drew it over him before they checked Nellie and Clyde.

All five were asleep. They had been fed and listened to and put into warm beds, and she had spent the evening enjoying her husband. For so long she had prayed over what each child needed, afraid of overlooking the thing that mattered. She stood still beside William’s bed and let herself see what had been given tonight.

Thank You for the people who help us love them, Lord.

Elias waited with the lamp. She took his hand and led him downstairs.

There would be breakfast questions soon enough, and competition for the last spoonful of something. Tonight the fire was still warm, and she wanted a few more minutes before it with him.

The children’s picture leaned on the mantel, its great cat presiding over the crooked house. Elias straightened the paper, then glanced toward the kitchen. Ruth caught his hand.

“Mrs. Sutton washed everything,” he said. “I ought to put it away.”

“It will be there in the morning.”

He looked at her. Understanding brought the smile she had been hoping for.

“Will it?”

“I am fairly certain.”

She stepped close and rested her cheek against his coat. His arms came around her, and she listened to his heart while the house settled about them. There were things she could leave until morning. She had a husband who wanted her company tonight, and asking for his had been one of the best decisions of her day.

“Thank you for supper.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

She raised her face. “I haven’t finished entertaining you.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I was hoping you hadn’t.”

Ruth kissed him. There was no stocking to find this time, no child waiting to ask about tomorrow’s cat. His hands rested at her waist, careful of the child between them, and she drew him nearer.

When she stepped back, she kept his hand.

“Come upstairs with me.”

He banked the fire and lowered the lamp before following her. At their door she reached for the cream ribbon in her hair, but his fingers covered hers.

“May I?”

She lowered her hands. He loosened the bow slowly. Watching the care he took with that simple fastening, she remembered Nellie’s confident advice on the stairs and was glad she had listened. He laid the ribbon on the bureau and turned back to her.

“You may,” she said, and drew him into their room.

He closed the door behind them.

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