Jud

He could smell the pie even as he sat down to dinner, reminding him of what had happened that morning. He knew he should hate her for sending him off on a chore for that cowhand, for purposefully ignoring him when she knew full well what he wanted to ask her.

Besides, it wasn't as though Curly was taking her to the social; if he had already asked her, it would be all she talked about at dinner. She was exactly like the rest of the people he'd worked for, always acting so much better than him just because he was a hired hand with dirt on his hands, and by all logic he should hate her like he hated the rest of them. Should up and leave one day, get a better job, and let the two women try to manage the farm themselves.

But leaving her, let alone hating her, was impossible, especially when the soft glow of the fading sun touched her cheeks and her lips. The ripe fullness of her face looked impossibly beautiful in that light, like nature made a mistake and created something too lovely and perfect than should rightfully exist alongside folks like him. He tried to keep his eyes on the table, on his food, but his eyes were always drawn to her, only to her.

"Never seen the corn so high as it is this summer" Aunt Eller observed. Jud hoped, beyond any reason, that she'd thank him, or at least mention the fact that it was all his doing. But of course she didn't. "Corn at the Hutchins place ain't half so tall."

"Reckon that's 'cause—" he spoke up, only for Laurey to interrupt.

"He's got wonderful strawberries, though. I could eat his strawberries all day. Maybe we could plant 'em too? Ask him how he gets 'em so big?"

"Not as much money in strawberries," Aunt Eller pointed out. "Ain't much use in growin' them, 'specially since our farm is smaller"

"I guess you're right. Shame, though; guess I'll just have to go to the Hutchins place more often" her voice took on that teasing tone it sometimes got, so he knew she was sharing some joke with her aunt. Some joke she'd never even think to tell him about.

Jud bit his tongue. He'd be willing to plant strawberries for her. He'd grow her nothing but the biggest, ripest strawberries she'd ever seen, if that would make her happy. Maybe she'd let him feed them to her on hot summer days.

But he knew she wouldn't. Doing some nice thing like that would only make her scold him somehow, or thank him so grudgingly it'd seem like she was angry about having to speak to him.

So he kept his mouth shut, like he always did at dinner, eating as slowly as he could, just to stay near her for as long as possible. Occasionally, he sneaked glances at her yellow hair done up all pretty against her neck, knowing later that night he'd watch her take it down, letting it tumble over her shoulders. That thought was the only thing that allowed him to sit there politely, that allowed him to go back to the smokehouse by himself until it was nighttime.