The next morning, Ruby was determined to fulfill her duties as woman-of-the-house properly—starting with breakfast. She awoke with the first light and forced herself out of bed, as much as she wanted to roll over and hide away under the covers. Instead, she changed into her dress and twisted her hair into a simple bun and pinned it up. There was no mirror in the room, but Ruby knew she could turn heads. She could easily make any frontier farmer proud to call her his wife, at any rate.

Pongo was on the other side of the bedroom door, and he followed her outside and back as she brought some fresh water in from the pump. She poured some water in the pitcher and wash-basin and splashed her face as a last act of vanity—though it helped to refresh her mind, still a bit groggy with sleep.

She cursed her way through getting the stove lit, but once done, she set the rest of the water to boiling as she ground up some coffee beans. Then came the task of what to make for breakfast.

Well, not pancakes—that was easily decided. But what else? She knew there must be plenty of food on this established homestead, but she didn't know where to start when it came to finding it—or preparing it.

With a sigh, she decided on porridge. Oh, well, just let them complain if they didn't like it.

There was something cozy about having the house to herself as the early morning light grew stronger, the purple light of dawn turning to a more golden hue. As she moved through her preparations, she thought she heard a funny dripping sound, as if something was falling down—but it came from all over. She couldn't place it, and with a shrug, she continued on with her work.

Soon, the strong scent of coffee filled the room as Ruby stirred the porridge on the stovetop with the dog sitting beside her, watching her as if she was preparing something for him.

"I'm sorry, Pongo, but this is people-food," she said with a rub behind his ears.

As she got the bowls and spoons and cups out, she noticed that the chinking that was so bright the day before was a funny, muddy colour. She stepped closer to investigate, and to her horror, realized that the filling between the logs had soaked up all of her wash-water—and was falling all over the cabin!

Just then, the door swung open, and Ruby turned from the stove with a start. Frozen in the doorway stood the redheaded boy with round eyes and his jaw hanging open. His father came up behind him and stopped in his tracks as he locked eyes with Ruby.

"Breakfast?" she asked, holding up the ladle thick with porridge. Maybe too thick.

"I've never seen nobody sleep so long," the boy said as he slowly entered the house. "I thought you might be dead."

"August!" Mr. Hopper chastised from the doorway as he followed close behind with a pail in his hand.

"Sorry," August mumbled.

"I'm sorry about that, Ma'am," Archibald said to Ruby with a nod. "Thanks—thank you for making breakfast. It's nice to see you up." He brought the pail over to the table, along with the blue-and-white pitcher, and poured the thick, creamy milk into it. Then, he set the pail by the door. Ruby simply nodded back and turned to the stove to serve the bowls as August and Archibald washed up at the basin.

Ruby tried to ignore the "plopping" that sounded every now and then, which was not hidden by the silence between them. They sat down—Ruby last of all, after she'd handed out breakfast and poured herself and Archibald some coffee and given August some milk. She realized that August was sitting where she'd been sitting the last couple of days, and so she quickly sat in an empty chair by the stove, in between father and son.

She was about to dig into her breakfast until she realized that neither August nor Mr. Hopper had raised their spoons. Instead, they had folded their hands and looked down with their eyes closed. Confused, Ruby did the same as Mr. Hopper started to speak in a steady voice.

"Heavenly Father, thank You for this day, and thank You for this food. Bless it to our bodies, and us to your service. And bless the hands that prepared it."

Ruby swallowed at that. She was about to open her eyes when the man continued.

"And Father, we thank You for bringing Miss Ruby to our home. Please be with her during this hard time, and may she know Your peace and love. Amen."

Ruby felt something stir deep inside her with the words and her eyes stung with tears. She blinked them back as she slowly opened her eyes. Archibald gave her a soft smile before he quickly turned to his son, and August just started on his breakfast like it was nothing out of the ordinary to hear his pa talk like that—talking to God as if He was a close friend. How strange.

Ruby collected herself and dug her spoon into her porridge. It was a little harder than she like, but oh, well, it would be filling. She cringed as she took her first mouthful. It required more chewing than porridge was supposed to, considering it shouldn't really need to be chewed.

She glanced over to see August making a face into his bowl, and she narrowed her eyes at him and silently dared him to do any better. Then, she chastised herself at the thought. He was only a child, and porridge was never a treat at the best of times.

Plus, he might have a point, she mused as she chewed on another mouthful and swallowed. She chased it down a gulp of coffee.

"It's, uh, nice to have breakfast made for us," Mr. Hopper finally broke the silence.

Ruby didn't know whether to laugh or cry—or scream, especially when she heard another chunk falling out of the wall. Why did he have to be so nice about everything? His steadiness was unnerving, and so unlike Peter's teasing. She'd almost rather he just laugh at her for overcooking the oats, or not using enough water, or…

Goodness, she didn't even know what it was she'd done wrong. How was she ever supposed to make three meals a day for them all, or keep the house clean without it falling apart? The sting returned to her eyes for an entirely different reason, and she willed herself not to cry, especially in front of this man.

"I see you've been busy around here, and found your way around a bit," Mr. Hopper said. Ruby nodded, but said nothing. He took her silence as a sign to continue. "I can show how to use the cold pit, for fresh cream and milk and butter and preserves and ham." Ruby's mouth watered at that, and she wondered how she'd missed it. "There's the attic upstairs, but you have to get to it from outside. It's only partly full now, but it will fill up with the fall harvest. And there's the root cellar outside with more vegetables."

He continued to tell her about the cow and pig and chickens that they had, and when the "killing and curing" would happen—and August piped up that he got to have the tail, whatever that meant—and what kind of provisions she could expect over the winter. He went to town every week, and did she have anything she'd like him to get? She could come with him, too, when she was feeling up to it, although soon enough there'd be fewer trips, depending on the winter weather. They had good crops that had provided good harvests—with some savings—and a decent garden that she could make use of with enough vegetables for what they needed. There would be some wild game for fresh meat during the winter, and there was a stream with some good fishing. There was also something about an apple orchard, but it would not be ready this year. Ruby was disappointed to hear that last bit, because a sweet, juicy, crisp apple sounded divine…

"I still have one more day to help David Nolan with his crop, so I'll take August with me again." When Ruby raised her eyebrows, he continued to explain. "You met Mr. Nolan and his wife Mary Margaret at the, uh…" Ruby's heart sank at the way he almost said "wedding", but she appreciated how he'd caught himself. "Well, he needs some help, seeing as how he splits his time between his sheriff duties and his own farm. That's where I've been the last few days."

Ruby nodded again, though she couldn't think of anything to say, and so she just took a sip of coffee instead. She'd tried to finish her porridge, but the last bit at the bottom of her bowl had become like hard rubber as it cooled, and she couldn't quite stomach it.

Mr. Hopper got up and helped himself to more coffee, and Ruby chided herself for not noticing his need before he did. He didn't seem to mind, though, but Ruby noticed he didn't help himself to more porridge.

"It's good coffee," he said as he held his cup up to her before taking a long drink. Well, at least that was something.

A scraping sound came from August's direction, and Ruby and Archibald looked over to see the boy trying to feed Pongo the last bit of porridge. "Come on, boy," he whispered to the dog, but the dog just sniffed at it and backed away.

Mr. Hopper chuckled and Ruby groaned. She bit her lip as she stood up. "Just give it to me."

August gave her sheepish smile as he handed her his dish, and Ruby shook her head as she started to clean up, blinking back tears.

After she was done washing up—which included Mr. Hopper's dish that she had seen him scraping off outside before he came back in and handed it to her—Archibald showed Ruby the cold box that was at the front of the room in the corner near the door. A rope in the corner—which she'd thought was just hanging up like the others—fed into a trap door. When he lifted it open and pulled, a medium-sized box came up just enough to get into its contents by opening the mesh front. It was enough to make Ruby lick her lips to see the goodies held within. She should have no trouble with breakfast now.

With everything in its place, Ruby followed the boys outside to see them off.

"We'll be back around suppertime," Mr. Hopper said as he hoisted himself up beside August. Ruby nodded as she shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand to look up at them.

August leaned over to look her up and down. "Hope you can make us something better than burnt pancakes or porridge. It's too bad I'll be gone, 'cause I can make some real good fried chicken. Pa says mine's his favourite."

"August," Mr. Hopper said slowly, which pulled out a mumbled "sorry" from the boy beside him. Ruby crossed her arms and bit back a remark.

"We'll see you soon," Mr. Hopper said. "Oh, and if you feel like doing any more cleaning, all you need to do is brush down the walls with a dry brush to give them a good dusting." Before Ruby could say anything, he gave her a nod and with a click to the horse, they were off.

So he had noticed.

She sighed to herself as she turned to check on the laundry with Pongo at her heels. It was still damp from the dew, and so she decided she'd leave it until the afternoon to bring in. While she was waiting, she figured she'd get started on preparing the chicken for supper. If a nine-year-old boy could do it, how hard could it be?

Archie and August rode home from the Nolans' in silence—mostly from being tired after a long day than anything else. When the homestead came in sight, however, Archie felt the need to give some instructions.

"Now, I know it's hard having someone new living with us," the father started to say with a glance to the boy beside him, "but I need you to be nice to Miss Ruby. She's been through a lot, and she's trying to help us out as best she can. It might just take some time for us all to get settled, okay?"

August said nothing, and Archie could sense that the boy's cheer from spending the day at the Nolans' was already deflating as they neared their home. Archie sighed, and quickly prayed—not for the first time—that this adjustment period would hasten to an end for both August and Ruby. Still, he knew better than to think everything would be peachy in just a couple of days.

Archie tried again. "Okay?"

"Okay," August huffed beside him, and Archie knew that was the best he was going to get.

As they neared the house, Archie realized that something was scattered all over the yard. Not just something—feathers.

"What the…?" August exclaimed, equally as puzzled, and he jumped down and ran to the chicken coop as the wagon pulled to a stop. Archie got down and followed the red trail of blood to a nearby tree stump, now stained red. And was that…?

Archie crouched down to investigate, and he couldn't help but smile as he realized it was a sizeable part of beak that lay in the middle of the stump. Hopefully the poor thing was put out of its misery more quickly than not.

"Pa! Pa!" August came rushing to him, breathless. "It looks like a coyote got in there!"

Archie picked up the beak to show August. "More like a madwoman with an axe," he teased. August just frowned at him, and Archie stood up and patted the boy's shoulder. "Come on, let's get Cleo unhitched and then we'll have supper."

Against his better judgment, he hoped that Ruby had had more success with the chicken than with the porridge that morning, because the thought of fried chicken already made his mouth water.

Still, he held his breath when they swung open the door to the house—especially when he noticed the floor covered in white and brown feathers.

Ruby turned nonchalantly from the stove to face them, a plate in one hand and a spatula in the other. "Good, you're home," she said, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "Supper's ready."

Archie wasn't sure, but he thought he caught a smile of delight on August's face before he remembered himself and crossed his arms, his expression severe. "Good, 'cause I was getting awful tired of pancakes." Archie gave the boy a shove at that as he cleared his throat.

"Me too," Ruby nodded. "Chicken?"

If she didn't know any better, Ruby would have said that her shoulders relaxed when Mr. Hopper and August walked through the door. Maybe it was just because she felt her luck was finally changing when she found a recipe for fried chicken in their books, or maybe it was because she'd actually managed to capture the little beast, kill it, pluck it, and prepare it—and the final result didn't look half bad, if she did say so herself. And, on top of all that, it smelled good. They didn't have to know that her attempt at biscuits had ended in rock-hard pucks that she'd had to bury because they wouldn't even burn in the woodstove.

The real test was in the tasting, however, but she passed with flying colours when the men helped themselves to second servings—and August even asked for a third. She raised her brows at him as she served his plate, and he mumbled something about it being good, he supposed, and Ruby bit back a smirk.

"So, you're all done helping Sheriff Nolan?" Ruby asked as she tucked in to her own second helping, more hungry than she'd been in awhile. This little one could never make up his mind whether he liked food or not, but Ruby was going to take advantage of her sudden appetite.

Mr. Hopper looked up from his plate. "Yes, and next week he's coming to help us with the pig. We'll have bacon and ham to last us awhile, and he'll take some home to Emma and Mary Margaret and baby Leo."

Ruby nodded as she made note of everyone's names. She'd met Mary Margaret and David, but she didn't remember meeting their children.

"Oh, and we brought your things from your wagon," Archibald added.

Ruby's heart lurched and she paused mid-bite. Then, after a hard swallow, she asked, "Oh?"

"They're in the barn," he said as he tilted his head in that direction. "I can show you after supper."

"Thank you," Ruby said softly. She hadn't even thought about her things in the busy-ness of the last couple of days, but it would be nice to see them. At some point.

Before she knew it, supper was over, and Ruby was following Mr. Hopper's long strides to the barn. Ruby realized there was so much of this homestead that she hadn't seen yet—though she'd become a little too well acquainted with the chicken coop, as far as she was concerned. She started to panic when she noticed Pongo playing with a certain burnt biscuit that he'd dug up, but Mr. Hopper didn't seem to notice as he swung open the big door.

Any thoughts of her unorthodox cooking methods flew from her mind as she adjusted to the dim light in the barn. Tears welled in her eyes as she saw her and Peter's familiar trunks and crates in these strange surroundings. She lifted one lid to reveal the spines of dozens of books, all neatly lined up. She pulled one out and held it to her chest before caressing the cover with her fingers. "The Adventures of Pinocchio" stared back at her, embossed with gold.

"I checked to see if there was any food that would spoil…" Archibald trailed off as he took a step closer to Ruby while still leaving some space.

"We planned on buying supplies when we settled," Ruby said in answer to what he implied. If anyone else had said the words, she knew they'd hold fierce judgment against her and Peter's naïveté. Even after a few days in the frontier, she knew they'd been woefully unprepared to eke out a living from scratch in this land.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet the eyes of the man standing beside her—so unlike Peter. This man was solid and steady where Peter was impulsive and carefree. Still, the blue eyes looking back at her held such sympathy that it made tears well up even more, to be met with kindness from a perfect stranger, and she had to look away before they spilled over.

Her gaze then fell on the case beside her trunk, and her chest tightened when she thought of all of Peter's blacksmith tools packed away—never to be touched by his hands again.

"Books must be pretty important to you," Archibald said, breaking the silence. "We'll see if we can find space for them in the cabin."

Ruby stood for a moment in the stillness. She could picture the bookshelf inside, and she knew she wasn't the only one who appreciated literature. Still, her books would fill that case a few times over.

Ruby sighed, suddenly feeling very heavy again. "I'm—I'm not sure what you're expecting from me," she said quietly without looking up.

"Come with me," Archibald said, and Ruby glanced up to see his arm outstretched. She slipped the book back into the empty space and closed the lid before stepping beside Archibald, and he guided her outside by her elbow. Then, he dropped his hand as they both stood to face the chicken coop, where August was laying out a bedding of hay with a pitchfork that was almost as big as he.

"August is nine years old. He works almost as hard as I do, sun-up to sun-down. Has been for the last couple years. He never complains, but the work is stealing his childhood. He doesn't know what he's missing"—he paused to turn to face Ruby—"but I do."

His voice was steady and gentle, and filled with love for his son. Ruby felt a pang of guilt at how she'd thought of the boy over the last couple of days, and she couldn't meet Mr. Hopper's eyes as he continued to speak—though she couldn't bring herself to watch the boy for too long, either.

"Maybe if somebody's there to share the chores, he'd have time to learn—some of the things I think you could teach him. Things he'd learn from his mother."

Ruby crossed her arms around her middle, struck by the weight of what he was asking of her. She couldn't decide if she was grateful that he thought so highly of her or frustrated that he might be greatly overestimating her skills. It was too late to back out, anyway, but something was missing from this equation.

"And when I go home? In the spring?"

Archibald licked his lips and glanced back at August before looking back at her. "Well, I, uh—I figure I'll cross that bridge when I come to it." He gave her a nod, his lips almost curved upwards in a smile as he turned to walk away.

One last thing niggled at Ruby. "The books"—she turned to face Mr. Hopper as he stopped and looked back at her—"how did you know they were mine, and not—not Peter's?" The name burned her lips.

"Oh, well, a man would've thrown them off the wagon at the first big hill," Archibald replied matter-of-factly. "Unless he was trying to please a stubborn woman."

Ruby thought she caught a smirk playing across his features and a hint of amusement in his voice as he continued on his way. She found she was too tired to be angry, though, and besides—it held more than a hint of truth.

Oh, how did he always seem to be right?