Pleasant aromas were beginning to drift through the kitchen and fill the house. Kid and Ruth were alone, his family having made a trip into town to pick up some things they would need with the planting season so near. Kid had a feeling with the date being what it was, the anniversary of Ben's death, it was mostly an excuse to keep from having to look at him.
Kid stood in front of a pan near the oven with a white linen towel covering it. He lifted the corner of the towel to have a look at the doughy rolls underneath. "Are they rising?"
"They ought to be rising. What do you think yeast is for? They ain't going to suddenly pop up in front of your eyes if that's what you're waiting for," she said humorously.
"But did you put in enough?" he asked as he put the towel back over them.
She sighed. "You were right there when I did it and you've never complained about my bread before."
He went over to where she was draining the water that the dried beans had been soaking in and replacing it with fresh water so she could put it on the stove.
He peered over her shoulder. "Beans? You're fixing beans?"
"I thought you liked beans," she said with a trace of frustration.
"I do, but I don't think beans were the right choice for a side dish. They're too plain and ordinary."
"I'm going to flavor them up real nice with onions and spices. They'll be tasty enough."
When he saw the potatoes she had boiling on the eye that meant they were having another ordinary side dish of either mashed or fried potatoes, he complained, "You're going to ruin it. You're going to ruin the whole dinner."
She swallowed hard. "I'm trying my best."
"Your best isn't good enough. I want this dinner to be perfect. Memorable." The smell of ham wafted through the air now. "Ham?"
"I believe that's what they call it," she said a trifle sarcastically.
He sighed. "That's wrong too. You should have fixed some fried chicken. That was Ben's favorite. Didn't I tell you that?"
"I wasn't going to butcher one of your family's chickens without their permission," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "The ham was already in the smokehouse."
"Couldn't you at least have gotten fresh meat of some kind? Some game or something?"
"It's the end of winter. You can't be picky as nothing's fresh right now and what's left is limited. It's all dried and smoked and canned and there was too much to do to spend the day hunting on top of everything. You want fresh meat, you go out and find it."
He gave an exasperated sigh. "I should've gotten someone else to do this."
"Well, then maybe you should just cook it yourself," she said sharply, throwing her apron down on the floor.
She hurried out of the kitchen with tears blinding her vision. She took long strides in her effort to get away, but she couldn't match Kid's longer strides.
He grabbed her shoulders from behind outside before she'd gotten very far from the house and turned her around. "I'm sorry. I'm nervous and I took it out on you. It wasn't fair of me. You're the last one I should be fussing at. You've been wonderful. Absolutely wonderful and I know your meal's going to be wonderful too."
The tension eased out of her shoulders. "I know how important it is to you."
"I'd understand if you wanted to quit," he said, his shoe pawing the ground contritely.
She wiped her eyes. "No, I still want to help. I would've come back eventually. You're a pain sometimes, but you're my pain." She started back toward the kitchen
"I'll stay out of your hair this time," he promised, following behind her. "I'll go set the table."
She smiled gratefully. "That would be sweet."
Kid was as neurotic about the table as he had been about the meal. He used the best dishes and made sure there wasn't a speck of dirt to be found on any of them. He made sure they were precisely spaced out with the silverware lying as straight as humanly possible.
He went out and cut some small branches from a dogwood tree that was in bloom. He'd seen the white and pink blossoms on the way to church and thought they would make a beautiful table decoration. His parents, ever practical, had nothing as fancy as a container that had the sole purpose of holding flowers, so instead of a vase he used a tin cup which he thought added to the charm. That the tree was dead through the winter and had sprung to life again, he thought gave silent hope of the resurrection. Sister Ruth would have certainly agreed with the idea that nature declared God's glory and message. In fact, it seemed like there was a verse somewhere along those lines.
"Everything's ready," she informed him when he finally made his way back to the kitchen. She'd gotten the butter out and smeared a pat onto one of the piping hot rolls to eat herself. Few things were as good as fresh bread with melted butter.
"You going to eat with us?" he asked.
"No, I think I'll take something to eat outside and revel in God's creation for a little while. I love the smell of a freshly plowed field. It smells like spring, rebirth."
He wasn't fooled and he appreciated her giving him this time alone with them, a fact he let her know with a short, soft kiss to her lips. She helped him get the food to the table and then she made herself scarce while he waited. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long or the food would have gotten cold.
Their eyes all widened at the food before them but there was no thank you or comment. They sat down around the table like they'd know about it in advance and Wallace gave the usual blessing.
It was as silent as a tomb without Ruth's attempts at conversation. He nosily clinked just in an effort to keep it from being so quiet as it disturbed him on today of all days.
The chair across from him was empty and mocking. It was where Ben had sat, which had hitherto been filled by Ruth. Now he seemed to hear a voice say, He's not coming back. It gave a morbid feeling to the dinner. He hadn't meant for this to have a morbid feel.
"You know what the last thing Ben said to me was?" he asked at last. It wasn't a great conversation opener, but it was what he was thinking about at that moment. "He said trust God, Kenneth. God will carry you through the dark days."
It was met with silence.
"Do you think he knew he was going to die?" Kid asked.
"Of course he didn't know he was going to die. What kind of talk is that?" Jed asked.
"When wasn't Benjamin talking of God?" his mother said wistfully.
"He was better than all of us," his father said with a sentimental tone and shining eyes. It was the only thing his father seemed to get sentimental over.
Then it was back to the quiet. For dessert, Ruth had made a dried apple pie that was out of this world. She'd remembered him saying how much Ben had loved apple pie. He felt ashamed over how much trouble he'd given her. He was intent on finding a way to make it up to her.
He was fooling himself to think they would want to have anything to do with him again. He realized that when the dinner was over. "If you want us to go, we don't mind camping in our wagon until the revival's over."
"Don't be a fool," his father barked. "And have folks talking about what coldhearted people we are leaving ya'll to live out of a wagon with your kin not a mile away?"
"You coming to it?" Kid asked. "I know it would mean a lot to Ruth if you did. She wants to get close to all ya'll." He left out the fact that he wanted to get close to them too.
"No, and no one else in this house is either," he answered. His father still ruled the house with an iron fist; his word was law. Mending his relationship with his family was hopeless. He and Ruth would leave after the revival.