In full swing now, Martha cut the cornbread into cakes and put a piece into each of the girls’ bowls. After sprinkling sugar over the bread from the cup she kept it in on the table, she poured the icy milk over the cornbread, making it into a sweet-tasting, belly-filling mush. She handed each girl a spoon and turned back to the eggs, flipping them expertly without breaking the yolks. Elijah didn’t like his yolks broken, and Martha did her best to please him. He was a hard-working man, and he deserved a good breakfast.

Turning to reach for a plate for the eggs, Martha startled. “Goodness, Lige. You scared me out of my wits.”

Elijah, Lige to everyone who was close to him, stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her.

“Your eggs are ready.” Martha slid them onto the plate and set it on the table. She then poured his coffee from the pot that had been warming on the stove. When she turned to set the cup beside his plate, she stopped.

Lige still stood in the doorway, his gaze focused on the girls as they ate their bread and milk. His clear blue eyes held a wistful look. Like he was in some other place, not there in the kitchen.

“Lige,” Martha said softly. “Somethin’ wrong?”

He blinked and ran a long-fingered hand through his wavy blond hair. Martha loved that golden hair of his. Silky soft to the touch, it glowed with the sunlight when he was out working the field. When Elijah Sawyer stood in the sunlight, his long lean body with the golden hair and crisp blue eyes took her breath. Still, after five years of marriage, he could make her heart feel like it wanted to jump right out of her breast.

It felt like that now, beating against her breastbone like a hammer. The way he stood with a look of something not quite right on his face. That look was making Martha a touch nervous. It felt as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

“Daddy, come eat wif’ us,” Vinie said, breaking the spell.

Lige stepped into the kitchen. “I think I’ll just do that,” he said. He pulled out his chair and sat down. He reached over and tugged one of Gracie’s blond curls. “Mornin’, Gracie.”

Gracie grinned around a mouthful of cornbread.

Martha smoothed her apron with a trembling hand and set his coffee in front of him.

Lige caught her wrist as she started to turn away, wrapping his fingers all the way around it. She stopped and met his eyes with her own. “Thanks,” he said, squeezing her wrist.

Martha looked deep into his eyes for a moment, wondering. He had never thanked her before. A wisp of a shiver ran up her spine.

He tilted his head. “Are you cold?” he asked, releasing her wrist.

Martha hesitated, disguising the tremor in her hands by smoothing her apron down over her cotton dress again. “No. No. Just felt a goose walk over my grave is all,” she said finally. “Eat your eggs before they get cold.” She turned away and poured the water she had brought in from the well into the sink to wash the breakfast dishes. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Lige was not acting himself. He wasn’t the kind of man to just stand and stare like he had when he had come down from the bedroom upstairs. And he had never thanked her for making breakfast. That was her job as his wife, after all.

The sun was up full now over the top of the mountain, and the animals were coming to life out in the yard. Martha was going to have to get busy and get the girls dressed for the day, feed the chickens, and get the cow milked before she started on the household chores. She swished her hand through the soapy water in the sink and turned toward the table only to catch Lige watching her, his coffee cup held halfway to his lips. “Have I got my housedress on backwards?” she asked as she took the girls’ empty bowls and wiped their faces with a cloth.

“What?”

Martha lifted Gracie down from the highchair. Both girls left the kitchen, their feet flying as they headed back to their bedroom and their dolls. “Well, something must be wrong, what, with the way you keep watching me.” She absently cleared the dishes from the table, scraping the scraps from the dishes into a bucket that sat on the floor by the sink before putting them into the soapy water. The bucket would later go to the dog when Martha went out to take care of the animals.

“I’m just…” His voice trailed off.

Martha chanced a look at him.

He was staring down into his coffee cup as if he was hypnotized.

That weird feeling crept up her back again. Something is brewing in that man’s mind, that’s for sure, she thought. Time to have out with it. “Elijah Sawyer, what are you thinkin’?” she asked, hands on hips.

Slowly, he looked up from his cup, his eyes dark and broody. “I’m just wool-gatherin’, I guess.” He rose from his chair and drained his coffee in one quick gulp. “I best be gettin’ some work done.” Then he walked out of the kitchen.