She looked up at him across the table, still unnerved after three months to have a man who wasn't Curly in the house, even if it was just at mealtimes.

"How, um, how was your day?" She offered, remembering how Curly would expound on even the most mundane question like that.

"Fine." He shrugged.

"You feelin' settled yet?" She asked, worried he thought she was just asking about his farmwork, like she didn't care about him at all.

"Yeah."

"That's good." She thought about asking him more questions, like there was some key to getting him to talk more, but realized it would be futile. So they sat together in silence, and she wished that anyone else in the world were sitting across from her.

"You were right." She finally blurted out, desperate to fill the silence.

He looked up at her, eyes wide with surprise.

"'Bout the corn. You were right to plant it when you did, I-I was wrong when I told you to plant it earlier. You really know what you're doin'."

"Yeah." He smiled. "I guess I do."

She took his empty plate from him, but he stayed sitting down, didn't immediately go back to the smokehouse like he always did after dinner. "Sure am glad havin' someone smart workin' the land for a change." She sat across from him and noticed his eyes flick down to the table.

"No one, uh, no one ever said that before."

"What, that you was smart? Can't believe that. Season's not halfway through and the farm's already doin' better than it was last year."

He shook his head. "No, I—everyone I worked for just treated me rotten. Always acted like they was so much better'n me."

The bitterness in his voice set her on edge, reminded her again that she was a single woman alone with a man. She tried to think of something she could say to soothe him. "I certainly don't think that way. I reckon if a person treats someone rotten, it's probably 'cause they don't feel too good about themselves to begin with. Gotta feel superior to someone. It ain't right, but it's how folks are sometimes"

"Maybe."

She continued, trying to soften his resentment. "My Aunt Eller always used to say, um, 'I may not be better'n anybody else, but I'll be damned 'f I ain't just as good'." It sounds silly, but when you think about it, I reckon it's somethin' more people oughta take to heart."

That got him to smile again, and he repeated it under his breath. "I like that. Gonna remember that."

"Good." She found herself glad she had said something to make him happy. Found herself glad that he liked her. "There's more cornbread, if you want it. I'll make you some more, if-if you like it."

Three Months Later

"Mrs. McClain?" Jud said, beaming at her in a way she'd never seen before. He leaned up against the doorframe, like pretending to be self-assured would make it true.

"Yes, Jud?"

"I, uh…" he thrust his hand in his pocket and held out an envelope to her. "Sold some corn in Claremore. Price is pretty high, so…"

"Oh!" She gasped, fanning out the bills in her hand. She couldn't remember ever having seen so much money in the same place, and certainly not in her hand, not to spend. "How much do I owe you?"

"Already took my share, twenty percent, like we agreed. Can show you the receipt, if you—"

"No, I trust you. Don't have any kinda head for numbers anyhow."

"I also got you somethin'. With my own money, didn't spend none of yours." He reassured her, handing her another, bigger bag.

"Ethan Frome" she read the title of the book out loud. "Looks awful good."

"Yeah, you, uh, I remember you said you had to sell a lot of your books a while back."

It had been a throwaway comment she'd made months before; she was shocked he even remembered.

"Thank you. This is…this looks wonderful"

"Man at the store said it was good for ladies, but it's still…excitin'."

"Thank you." She flung her arms around him. "Dunno what I'd do without you."