by Nella Tyler
“That looks amazing,” I said, breathing the smell of it in deep.
“Thank you. Why don’t you take a seat? Dad should be down in a minute and we can get down to eating.”
“What about Addie?” Autumn opened the door to a little alcove adjoining the table and started to pull out a high chair.
“I’ll grab her,” Mrs. Nelson said.
Tuck finished putting out the napkins and silverware as Bob Nelson emerged from the upstairs part of the house, and I waited just a moment to see where everyone would be sitting before choosing the seat opposite Autumn. Addie had her high chair next to her mother, and after a brief grace led by Bob, everyone started to dig in.
I helped myself to food, trying not to take so much that I looked like a greedy pig, but enough to show I appreciated the invitation to partake. Tuck and Bob started talking about business, while Autumn told a story about a funny incident with Adelyn earlier in the day.
Since I didn’t have a whole lot to contribute to the conversation, I listened and began digging into my food. The mashed potatoes were perfect: the consistency of ice cream, almost—only hot, of course—and creamy-rich with butter. The green beans had just enough texture, the biscuit I’d taken was fluffy, the relish crisp and refreshing. Finally, I bit into the chicken. It was absolutely heavenly: juicy, tender meat and crunchy, salty skin, just hot enough without burning my mouth.
“Well? Is it good enough for your high standards?” I grinned at Autumn as I finished my first bite of her chicken; she must have been paying more attention to me than I’d thought.
“It is not the same as my mom’s,” I told her, “but it is every bit as good as hers.” Autumn grinned, and I saw the color rising in her cheeks, the pleased look in her bright eyes as she reacted to the compliment. I couldn’t help but enjoy the way it felt to see her so happy—so flattered at something I said.
“You’ll want to save room,” Autumn told me once she’d gotten back some of her composure. “There’s a pound cake with strawberry glaze for dessert.”
“Besides, there’ll be plenty to send you home with some leftovers,” Mrs. Nelson told me, echoing her daughter’s smile.
I ate until I was just full, taking part in the conversation around the table whenever I could, laughing at Addie’s antics as the almost-toddler tried to get the hang of eating actual food. Autumn reported that Addie was pretty deft with things like bread and meat, but was still not quite neat when it came to softer things like mashed potatoes—which I could see as the baby smeared some across her face in the attempt to get it in her mouth while distracted.
Tuck and Bob talked about what we’d be doing the next week, and I paid attention; Bob at least seemed to be happy with how I was working out, even if Tuck had his doubts about me. I had to wonder what the cause of that was, but it wasn’t my place to ask.
I helped clear the table, though Mrs. Nelson wouldn’t hear of me having any part of doing the dishes. By the end of the evening, I climbed up into my truck with a plate of food—a real plate, which I promised to bring back on Monday, washed and dried—and a chunk of the delicious pound cake that Autumn had made for dessert. I drove into town from the farm, tired down to my bones and more than ready for the beer, shower, and bed that I’d promised myself.
I put the plate in the fridge, and the pound cake on the counter, stripped off my sweat-stiff clothes, and got in the shower to scrub off the rest of the day’s dirt and grime from my body. I’d have Saturday and Sunday to myself—it wasn’t the busiest part of the growing season yet—and I thought I might be able to find some time to go fishing, maybe meet up with some friends.
After the cheerful warmth of the Nelsons’ house, I had to admit that my little place was a little bit lonely. Once I was clean, I sat down in front of the TV with a beer and turned on something I hoped would clear out the quiet—but it wasn’t the same as having actual people in the house with me. I finished off my beer and while I was still tired, I knew it would probably take a while to get to sleep.
At least you have plenty of work to keep you occupied, I thought as I unmade my bed to get between the sheets. I’d been alone for a while—but it was the first time in months I’d actually felt lonely. I pushed the thought of the Nelson family and their obvious affection for each other out of my mind and focused on how much money I’d be able to make. It’d cover my expenses for a good long while; that was enough for me.
Chapter Seven
Autumn
I looked out through the window as I finished off my morning coffee; Addie had kept me up late the night before—I was pretty sure she was teething again, but I hadn’t seen any definitive signs.
It had been a couple of weeks since Cade had started working for my dad, and I’d gotten used to the sight of him around the farm as the planting season rushed along, so the first thing I noticed was that Dad and Tuck were by themselves out in the field. Maybe he’s just on a far end of the property, I thought to myself, rinsing out my coffee cup and putting it aside to refill later.
Back before I’d been pregnant with my daughter, I had had a huge caffeine habit—and a tolerance to go with it. After more than a year of avoiding caffeine, though, I got jittery if I had more than maybe three cups in the course of a day.
I went about my morning chores: watering the kitchen garden, checking on the laundry, helping Mom with some of the cleaning. She had lunch well underway by the time I’d gotten up, and I knew from experience it was best to stay out of her hair unless she asked for help. I played with Addie, carrying her on my back while I swept the front porch and the living room, letting her crawl across the floor while I dusted. She was still grouchy, so I sat down with her about an hour before lunch to let her nurse for a while, hoping it would comfort her.
Tuck and Dad came in for lunch. Mom had made roast beef sandwiches with fresh bread, along with some potato salad and sauerkraut leftover from the previous fall’s canning. I sat down to eat with them, giving Addie a little bit of roast beef, the soft innards of a piece of bread, a spoonful of potato salad, and a pinch of kraut so she could eat along with us, though I doubted she’d be all that hungry after nursing an hour before. “I didn’t notice Cade out there with you—is he working the new fields?”
“Nah,” Tuck said, around a bite of his sandwich. “He called this morning, sick as a dog. Says he’s pretty sure it’s just a bad cold, maybe a flu, and he’ll check in tonight if he doesn’t feel any better.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I said, torn between pity for the farm hand and worry for Addie; I’d gotten her a seasonal flu shot, just like the doctor had told me to, but I wasn’t sure how long it would last, or even if it would cover whatever strain Cade apparently had.
“Probably that bug that’s going around,” Mom said, shaking her head. “Elise Hansen is down with it, too, and all her family with her.”
“I hope Addie doesn’t catch it,” I said, looking at my little girl; coming down with a spot of flu might explain her grumpiness the night before—though she didn’t have a fever, at least not enough of one to notice. “Hell, I hope I don’t catch it.”
“You wouldn’t have much of a chance at that,” Tuck pointed out. “Seems to me most of the people coming down with it are town people. You’re barely away from the house.” I wasn’t sure whether he sounded approving or disappointed by that fact.
“I go to the store,” I countered tartly.
“I read somewhere that colds and flus are actually contagious before you even show symptoms,” Mom told us.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” I said, turning my attention back onto my plate and my daughter’s efforts to feed herself. When Tuck and Dad went back out to work the fields for the afternoon, I told Mom I would take care of the dishes and she went into the living room to watch Addie and take in one of her shows on the TV.
I thought about Cade—home alone, with no one to care for him, probably shivering and sweating at the same time in his bed. It was a shame,
I decided; the little I knew about him was that he was single, that his parents weren’t around anymore, and he was an only child. I tried to convince myself that he probably had at least one friend who could bring him soup, but I couldn’t make myself believe it.
When I finished cleaning up from lunch, I came to a decision: I’d make a pot of soup for dinner and bring some of it to Cade. “Hey, Mom?” I stepped into the living room.
“What, sweetie?” Mom looked up from jiggling Adelyn on her lap.
“How do you feel about chicken noodle soup for dinner?” She thought about it.
“Make some garlic-cheese bread to go with it and I think it’ll be enough,” Mom told me.
“Sure thing.” I went back into the kitchen and got to work. Mom had killed, plucked, cleaned and frozen a few chickens who were no longer producing eggs—or, in the case of the roosters, fertilizing eggs—at the rate they needed to be, so I had that to start with. I chopped up some carrots, celery, onions, and garlic and threw it all into the big stock pot with plenty of water, herbs, and salt, and got it going.
While I waited for the stock to come up, I started on the noodles. There is nothing in the world better than fresh egg noodles in soup—and Mom had taught me to make them from scratch since I was old enough to mix and hold a rolling pin in my hands.
I checked on the stock from time to time, hoping that the slowly heating water would thaw the chicken out the rest of the way and still give time for the salt to flavor it; I didn’t want bland, mushy chicken in my soup. I stirred the pot every so often while I worked on the noodles, mixing together the flour, water, eggs, and salt and letting the dough rest for a little while to check on my little girl. Mom had put her down for her usual nap and I relaxed a little in the knowledge that she still wasn’t running a fever.
The stock for the soup finally came up to a boil and I lowered it to a simmer while I rolled and cut the noodles. It was only then that I wondered to myself why I was going to so much trouble on Cade’s behalf—at first I told myself that it was because my family would be eating the soup, too, and I didn’t want to disappoint them. But Dad and Tuck had been known to eat plenty of things I thought were disappointing without even batting an eyelash at it.
It’s because it’s a damn shame that Cade doesn’t have anyone to do this for him, no family or… I realized I didn’t actually know if Cade had a friend—a girlfriend or just a buddy—to make soup for him when he was sick. For all I knew, he was at home eating something homemade. The idea made my heart lurch in my chest and I knew the real reason I was putting so much trouble into a simple care package for the farmhand: I liked him.
I almost stopped at that realization, but I made myself keep going; after all, there was no point in half-finishing a project once I’d started it. But as I went to work on the bread to go with dinner, I thought about Cade.
He wasn’t just a decent farmhand; he was actually an interesting, funny, sweet-seeming guy, all on his own. He’d gone out of his way, more than once, to help me out when we crossed paths during the course of the day: helping me haul groceries, or knocking down an early-spring hornet nest I had been trying to get to on the eaves of the house so I wouldn’t have to risk getting stung. Tuck had given me a hard time about having a crush on Cade, but apart from the first dinner I’d made for him when he’d started working for us, I had tried hard to keep from getting close to him.
Tuck and Dad came into the house at one point to refill their water cooler and grab a quick snack to get them through the rest of the day’s work, and Tuck asked about dinner. “Soup and garlic-cheese bread,” I told him.
“Better be some good soup,” Tuck said, gulping down a glass of water. Spring was fully arrived, and it was already starting to get hot. We’d probably need to water more heavily than usual during the summer, if the heat kept going up.
“Chicken noodle, with homemade noodles,” I told him. Tuck beamed; chicken noodle was his second-favorite soup after beef and barley.
“Think you’ve made enough?” Tuck poked at the contents of the stockpot with the wooden spoon I was using and I shooed him away from the stove.
“There’s plenty,” I said tartly. “Get back out there and earn your dinner.” I wasn’t about to tell him that I was going to take a quart of the soup over to Cade; it would just give him the chance to tease me again about having a crush. I’d wait until he and Dad were out in the field and use the excuse of “running errands in town” to take Cade his supper.
I put the bread into the oven and finished up the soup, picking the chicken off of the carcass and simmering the noodles in the broth. I added some fresh vegetables—peas, carrots, and corn—and waited for the bread to be done. The soup could sit on the stove, on low heat, the whole time I was out and still be fine. I might have to add a little water just before dinner, but that wouldn’t be a problem.
I felt my heart starting to beat a little bit faster as I got the bread out of the oven and started to assemble everything to go with me to Cade’s house in town. Because of his tax paperwork—which I’d handled for Dad—I knew what his address was.
I had the suspicion that Cade might actually think that it was weird for me to show up at his doorstep with soup and bread, but I put it out of my mind; after all, I was already committed to the idea, and there was no sense in not seeing it through. I took a few moments to clean myself up a bit and put on a little lipstick—not enough that Mom would notice and ask questions, but something to get some color on my face. I took my hair out of the braid I’d had it in and twisted it into a sloppy bun, and made sure I didn’t have any flour or stains on my clothes.
Mom, at least, I could trust with the real reason for leaving the house. “I’m going to bring Cade some of the soup I made for dinner,” I said. “I’m just going to run it by his house and make sure he’s okay.”
“That’s a sweet idea,” she told me. “I’ll keep an eye on the stockpot for you and make sure it doesn’t get too low.”
“If I’m not home by six, go ahead and drop the noodles in to cook through,” I told her, gathering my keys, my purse, and the insulated bag I’d stuffed Cade’s care package into.
I checked out in the fields to make sure that Tuck and Dad were far enough away that they wouldn’t necessarily notice me walking out to the car; I could barely see them. I took a deep breath and carefully wedged the insulated bag in the passenger seat before climbing in on the driver’s side. I got the car started and tried to hurry down the driveway without looking like I was in a rush.
My heart pounded in my chest right up until I turned onto the road leading into town—and then it only slowed down a little at the prospect of seeing Cade, even sick. I shook my head at myself, thinking how ridiculous I was being—but I couldn’t help it.
Chapter Eight
Cade
I heard a knock at my door and very nearly pretended like I wasn’t home. My nose was somehow running and stopped up at the same time, I’d been sneezing since the night before, my head was killing me, and I had a nasty-sounding cough that was making my throat hurt. I wasn’t sure if I had a fever, but I was feeling pretty low all the same.
I hated to have to call in sick, but I knew that if I didn’t nip my flu in the bud, I’d be useless out in the fields anyway; and I didn’t want to expose the Nelsons to my bug when there was a baby who would probably get much sicker, who could be in danger from the flu.
But curiosity won out; I had no idea who could be at my door in the middle of the week, in the afternoon. I half-decided that it was probably either a salesman or a Jehovah’s Witness—those were the only two options I could really think of—when I got up off of the couch and started to walk towards the door.
Instead of either one of them, though, I saw Autumn, standing there on my doorstep with an insulated bag. I almost started to walk away from the door—I was in my pajamas, and I especially wanted to avoid getting Adelyn sick—but then I decided it would just be plain rude to leave her out there on my front p
atio. I opened the door and pulled my shirt up to cover my mouth and nose. “I don’t want to get you sick,” I told her right off the bat. “Or Adelyn.”
“It’s okay,” Autumn said with a smile. “Addie and I have both gotten our flu shots, so I should be safe. Can I come in?”
I thought about that. Bob Nelson’s order that I not fall in love with his daughter was one that I took pretty seriously, and inviting her into my house probably wouldn’t be a good step on the road to obeying him. But I was sick; it wasn’t as though I was going to make out with her in my current state. I was also too tired to stand around talking.
“Come in,” I told her, opening the door wider and letting the front of my shirt fall away from my face.
Autumn stepped through the door and hefted the insulated bag on her shoulder. “I brought you a big jar of chicken soup—I made it this afternoon,” she told me as I closed the door behind her.
“That’s kind of you,” I said, surprised at the gesture. “I’m sorry the house is such a wreck—I was going to clean last night, but started feeling under the weather and well…” I shrugged.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, shaking her head. “Go get on the couch and let me find a bowl to put some of this soup in.”
She went into the kitchen and I smiled in spite of how miserable I felt, before walking heavily back to the couch I’d been sitting on when she knocked and sinking down onto it. I heard her moving around, checking cabinets, and I almost told her where to look—but then she emerged, with one of my trays in her hands. There was a big bowl with steam still rising off the top of it, a glass with some Gatorade in it, and a bottle of Nyquil. “Have you taken anything recently?”
