elisemccrary

[elisemccrary]

rjmccrary:

Robert watched his wife, a warmth behind his tired eyes. It was exhausting sometimes, hearing her talk for what felt like hours, but after a long day on his own, it was some sort of comfort, catching her voice again. He listened to the strange chatter of insects outside of their window, but seeing Elise draw her shawl tight around her, Robert stood slowly on his feet, tired as he was. “Here, I’ll close it.” Without his boots, his feet sounded quietly as he made the few small, shuffling steps to shut the window close, the leather suspenders falling down to his side. And when he reached the table again, he fell back down on his chair with a heavy sound and a hum in his throat. He smiled when Elise kissed his cheek, and closed his eyes; he could fall asleep right then and there, with some soup warm in his belly. But still, at the mention of his bead, he lifted his fingers to feel the coarse, reddish hair on his jaw. They moved deftly over the place where she’d kissed him. “A trim, maybe. It’s too dark for that today in any case.”

Robert said naught on the subject of the Smith bairns, however. Nothing happy to give her hope, nor scornful to displease her. Children were just nothing he’d ever been interested in, or keen on — he could think of one reason to keep them around, and ten thousand others to never have them at all. He knew it was selfish when Elise wanted some babes of her own, and he learned not to argue with her over it. Instead, he kept his head low and lips pursed whenever she brought it up.

He turned his attention to the outside. The sky had some orange haze left in it, lingering just above the horizon in clusters of strings, shifting in tones every other minute or so. Had he come home an hour early, he would’ve sat down by his tree with his tobacco, and enjoyed that sight on his own. He’d pull his hat over his eyes, his trousers worn at the knees, his shirt dirty with a few buttons undone. His fingers would smell of cigarette smoke, and he’d walk on home quietly after a little while, content and silent. He’d get no peace for another twenty years with children sauntering around.

Robert bowed his head at her answer, relieved, in a way, that they could agree on this one thing. Of course, they’d only been out west for just around two years now, and he reckoned her mind might change when the surroundings would bore her enough. She seemed fickle that way, sometimes, in her little tantrums. She was loyal, however, and they both had worked hard to start anew far from any city or big road. He brought the bowl of soup to his lips again, taking a long gulp before speaking. “It’s easier now. A lot of trading posts and the like up and down the trail, guides… I reckon we are lucky to have gone when we went, there must be more people travelling now.” He hated the thought of being intruded upon like that. They were not the only ones living here, but he’d grown attached to the red hills and dirt, and the little rivers and streams nearby. “Though I shall expect to see towns here, sooner or later. And when they’re done digging in California, they’ll start digging here, too, you’ll see.”

His tone was quiet and sullen when he’d spoken, and that straggled in the air around him as his eyes lowered to his hand, watching the deep lines in his palm, the few scars further up his arm. Her words beckoned a tired smile out of him; his eyes stayed a beat longer on hers, seeing her teasing smile, and he shook his head at her. “That’s all Scottish hands are good for these days — farming. It’s us or the Irish.” He smoothed the thicket of hair at the back of his head in thought, watching her play with her hair. Elise had always been the only person to get him to smile after a day that felt drawn-out and heavy on his shoulders. It made it easier to come home �� and it was good to know that she did not regret the move west. “Thankfully my hands belong only to you,” he told her.

Robert never thought much of himself as a husband, a father least of all. When he’d thought on going west a few years back, before having even met Elise, he saw himself hiking down the creeks, rocks, and trodden paths. He would’ve liked to live by the mountains, with a little stream running close by where he could dip his feet on summer afternoons. Having someone else to look after did not please him initially; he’d given her a rifle, but it seemed she wouldn’t even shoot at dirt to scare someone off.

And yet he could not complain; he was fond of her laughter, and the little curls framing her face. She seemed to love him well enough, too, and that was all he could ask of her. Robert lifted his heavy head, watching her as she went to fetch a letter — it did not surprise him that it was addressed to her parents. Despite her urging, Robert was lazy in his correspondence. On the other hand, Elise seemed to spew out letters when there was nothing to write about all the same. “I will need to travel to town soon enough, I will send it then, if need be,” he promised her, his eye on the wedding band around her finger. “It’s too hot in the day to travel too long on horse before reaching any railway. In any case, any correspondence would reach us sooner from New York. Although, sending so many letters… I am not sure they’ll reply to all of them, you know.”

Elise smiled at her husband, her green eyes still bright despite the tiredness she felt. She could see the same look on Robert. He had done far more today than she had. Robert hardly ever smiled, while Elise felt she could never stop. Even when things were hard she’d smiled through them. Her smile was her courage and no one could take that away from her. “Thank you, my love.” Elise mumbled, bringing a hand up to her shoulder, rubbing at the knot she felt at the start of her back, eyeing the nearly full bowl of soup left at the table. Sitting down all afternoon writing letters and worrying about the return of her husband had taken away her appetite.

“More than a trim, I think.” She scrunched her nose up, teasingly. “At this rate, you’ll look ten years older with a beard like that. People will wonder what a young woman like me is doing with such an old man.” She brought her hand up to her mouth, laughing into it. “Perhaps I should do it. I promise I won’t hurt you — much.”

Elise did not take his lack of comment on the subject of bairns to heart. Deep down she knew he had no intention on raising children, but he had never voiced those opinions, for that Elise was thankful. It would break her heart to hear him say it. For now, it was better left unspoken, though secretly she hoped one day she would fall pregnant and he would realize the joy of children once and for all. Her word alone would not be enough to convince him and while she presently enjoyed her life alone with him, she did not know if she could go the rest of her life without the company of anybody else.

Living so far from anything was hard at times, especially when she so enjoyed the company of others. New York had given her that satisfaction, with its endless crowds and church gatherings, but it proved to be too much for her fragile self. In New York, she missed the easy stream of people that passed through their old inn back in Scotland. The smell of ale in the air and the familiar accents that she so longed to hear again, but her new home was not without its charms. She thought of the little stream near their house where she enjoyed soaking her feet on a hot summer day, lazily picking off pieces of grass and dandelions before blowing them to the wind — or her garden, a project she had taken on all on her own and she was determined to see it through. It would one day be a grand garden, with any flower one could think of growing proudly.

Elise kept her gaze on his hands as they moved deftly through the motions of bringing the bowl of soup to his lips. She thought back on a time when she feared their marriage would be cold. He was a strong man who showed very little motion — or so she thought. It had taken her over a year to see through his cold exterior. She had given up on trying to explain to the other wives how truly sweet and thoughtful he was. In a way, she enjoyed being the only one that saw that side of him. It gave her a sense of unexplainable pride. Still, he expressed his love in a different way, little gestures of kindness that Elise could never forget. He was a better husband that she could ever ask for, and he kept her warm in the cold Colorado nights. He kept her warm in other ways too, subtle touches in all the right places that could set her off the edge. Now, almost three years into their marriage, Elise thought herself an expert on him.

“We’ll be settled enough when they come. We won’t have to resort to panning for gold.” It was a hopeful statement. There was so much that could go wrong between now and then. A few too many cold days or too much rain could ruin their crop — and their hope of making any money that season. It was a fear that Elise refused to spend more than a second on. It was something she would only dwell on if that day every came, but for now she prayed it never would.

“It doesn’t matter to me if they write back or not. All that matter is that they know we’re safe.” Her mother had held back in communicating her worries. She was skeptical about the move west, as she rightly should have been, despite being in the safe hands of Robert, who her family had known was a trustworthy and honorable man. She had chosen to come west with him and there was no turning back now. “You should write to your parents sometime too, Robert — and your sisters. I’m sure they wonder how you’re faring. Do they even know you moved west?”

[elisemccrary]

rjmccrary:

Robert felt all the weight of the day’s travels go to his shoulders the moment he sat down. The sight of her squeezed a tired smile out of him, seeing her wrapped up against the cold, her lashes leaving long shadows across her cheeks in the candlelight. He watched her face, smiling quietly, and his eyes followed hers when she glimpsed the burlap sack he’d left on the table. “Salt pork and some apples — is my little wife pleased with me?” As Elise turned back around, he reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes. He listened to her still, and even offered a small laugh while she spoke. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling the scruff of his jaw beneath his fingers. “They gave me a slice of bread, with goat’s cheese. I could eat,” he scooted to the edge of his seat, already reaching for the bowl of stew before she could even set it down. It burned his fingers just slightly, but he cared not. He took a gulp, then another, and it warmed him right up after a few hours out in the cold. And for that he thanked her, silently, in his own way, giving her a slight smile.

He gazed out the window in thought, and clasped his hands in his lap, shoulders slumped forward. He did not think he would have the time to look over all the traps before nightfall; he would leave that for the morrow. “I reckon anyone can be, if they’re desperate enough,” he said. Robert never turned to digging for gold; he never spared it a thought. He found a man easily lost his integrity when faced with the prospect of riches — and that was not the man he desired to be. He did wish he had the fortune to gift his wife many things: a cashmere shawl like the ones in fashion plates back in New York, pretty fabrics and pretty dresses, matching bonnets from the milliner. He knew also, however, that Elise was not much of a materialist, nor so shallow of character. She talked too much, and was the most stubborn woman he’d ever met other than his sisters, but she was loyal to him. She knew of the life she’d chosen for herself, and did not seem intent on going back on her wedding vow. He scratched the back of his head, tousling the reddish hair there. “In any case, they advertise it well. Remember, in New York? In the papers, and the pamphlets in the corner shop. They’re printing books nowadays, too. I s’pose they’re trying to gather as many hands as they can get, for work in the mines.”

The severity of his tone softened when he first saw the sadness in her eyes. He turned quiet, but did not reach to comfort her in the instant. He knew it pained her, seeing their neighbours leave one by one, but there was little he could do to stop them. He would not meddle in another’s business, as they did not bury their nose in his. His jaw tensed at the mention of the Smith bairns — he was not sure whether it was true or not, but felt Elise tried to mention children every chance she could. His face kept still, however, and he did not retreat when her hands sought out his quietly. “Aye. Their youngest has begun walking now.” His hands rested in hers, and he slouched back in his chair, watching the ripples of candlelight on the surface of the table. “They suffered a fever in the early summer, but they are all well. They’ve acquired a new goat,” Robert gave her a small smile.

Robert fixed his eyes on her, pursing his lips, as though tasting the thought. “No.” His voice was cool and intent, and he shook his head. He could only imagine leaving their small timber house if the land failed them — and even then, his feet would take him eastward, back to New York. The people in California were far too greedy for his taste. “The soil here is good, enough to sustain us both. The crops are growing well. I like the quiet, and you seem happy here, which is as important to me as anything else.” Robert lifted her hard-working hand to his lips, squeezing her fingers with his calloused ones. Eventually he let go, stretching his arms above his head with a low hum in his throat. “Lucky for us, we are not desperate,” he added with a humorous smile. He thanked God they were not; he could not imagine forcing himself to settle in a crowded little street again, with the sound of carriages bustling outside and drunken commotions every afternoon. He did not think Elise would like the thin walls much, either.

He knew men would come to settle soon when the west will no longer accommodate them. They could only pray no gold would be found in the surroundings, lest they wished the land to be disturbed in droves by people from all around. For now, it was just an intermediary in trails, between one point and another. The traders he met at Bent’s would never settle, and travellers only stopped for rest. The air seemed clearer, and he feared the silence he heard day in, day out, would not last long. It was true that he thought back on Scotland sometimes — he was not homesick, but he remembered the hills that went up and down like waves behind the houses, the clear blue water, and the morning mist that laid itself over it when the days were colder. He remembered the little boats docked on the sand when the tide fell, and the main street that followed the harbour. The landscape was so drastically different, he willed himself to forget. The mud on his boots was of a ruddy colour now and his land was vast and green on good days, and should he choose to hike up a mountain, he would see its other face dry and yellow, rocky. If, on that peak, he turned elsewhere, he would find dense woods and the sound of streams sprawling downward miles and miles ahead. There was much to discover yet, many secrets, and he knew that soon, man’s curiosity would drive them here.

His mind settled back on Elise, and how weary she seemed. She was too little in frame to take on hard labour like he did. He was used to it, he’d tilled his father’s farm and worked it for as long as his hands and back would allow him. He noticed some work done in the field when he’d approached home, and he was glad for it — he knew he shouldn’t ask for more than she could handle. So Robert decided to make her smile. He reached up, slipping his leather suspenders down the length of his arms, rolling up his sleeves. With a sly grin on his face he watched her, leaned back in his chair. “Mmm. This ugly mug of mine? I thought I could spare you the sight for a few hours.”

Elise pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders, sitting up straighter in her seat, a cool night breeze coming in through the open window. She had poured herself a bowl of soup before she had sat herself next to him, taking a sip every now and then. His words brought a smile to her face. In this light, he was as handsome of ever. His tired eyes staring straight at her. “My poor sweet husband — of course I’m pleased with you.” She leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, his reddish-brown beard tickling the skin around her lips. “Though he could use a shave.” It was only a joke. In truth, she loved his beard, far more than she ever thought she would. She pulled herself back to her original position, her eyes playful and teasing, just as they always seemed to be.

“Oh, how sweet!” Elise could hardly contain the joy in her voice, her grip on his hand tightening for a moment. Children were truly her weakness. She couldn’t get enough of their warm little hands and soft skin. She longed for a few of her own, though she felt Robert had other plans. Margaret had always pestered her on how she was two years a married woman and still no children. It was a question Elise could never answer. It’s not as if they didn’t often spend their nights together. “Last I saw of the babe, he was so small I thought I would break him when I held him in my arms.” She swallowed hard, the journey west was not made to be traveled on as a child, even the strongest healthiest man could easily fall victim to one of the many perils the west had to offer. They didn’t write about that in the papers. The mere thought of the poor Smith children suffering was enough to wipe the smile off her face. Now, she could only pray for the Smiths, and their lovely bairns.

She followed his gaze to the window, the darkness was no longer as terrifying as it had been before he had arrived. “I have no interest in riches and gold if it means sacrificing the life we have made for ourselves here.” She did not desire anything more than what she already had. A child or two was all she would ask of Robert. She had left everything knew in New York, and she had no intention on going back on that now. “Funny how they never mention how many people die on the journey west, or how the moment you find the slightest bit of gold it’s taken away from you and given to the company you work for.” Mining for gold was all the town ever seemed to talk about, and the last time she visited she had soaked it all up. Rumors of a lawless hell were never in short supply. Another said that it was all a hoax, no gold had ever been found, and it was all just a ploy to get foolish men to move west, for what, Elise did not know.

“Your hands were not made to pan for gold.” Nor were hers made to scrub clothes until her hands bled for the men who didn’t have a wife to do it for them, all for the chance to make a couple of extra coins. “They were made for farming — and to hold me.” She gave him a teasing smile, her hand moving up to twist her soft red curls through her fingers. Crowded and dirty, that’s all the mining towns were. Her flowers would not grow there. “I am happy here. It’s our own little world that I wouldn’t trade for anything.” He was a kind man, her husband. Stubborn and hard-headed, but kind. He was always watching out for her, and at times she feared he would wear himself out in the process.

“I could never be away from you for long. I would miss you far too much.” The days she would spend alone while Robert rode into town were torture. She’d lock herself in their home, only going out to feed the animals, and even then she would jump at any small noise she happened to hear. The rifle he had given to her would rest at the entrance of the house, as if she would ever have the strength to actually shoot it.

She lifted herself from the chair, walking over to her writing desk, picking up the letter to her parents and bringing it back to where Robert. “I suppose it’ll be a while before I’ll be able to get this letter out.” She brought the letter up to her heart, her eyes closing for a moment. “Mama will worry. Papa will try to sooth her, but it won’t work. She won’t relax until she is sure I am safe.” She folded the letter neatly, placing it on the table. “It’s silly, writing so many letters to my parents, I know, the road back to New York is long, who knows if they’ll ever even reach them.”

[elisemccrary]

rjmccrary:

Robert rode home under a clear sky, slowly, watching the landscape with a keen eye — seeking out in the dark for home. He willed the horse to slow down when he spotted that straining light in the far distance, stretching a few feet ahead like welcoming arms. His mind reached for the softness of their bed, the warmth of their timber home. With his rifle slung over his shoulder, he moved through the night quietly.

He had woken early in the morrow to pay their neighbours a visit — he’d promised, a few months back, but did not follow through till that day. And his social call ended in disappointment; he would speak of it to Elise in a matter of minutes. The day was productive nonetheless: he traded well with Thomas Smith, and was bringing home cured pork and apples for the price of some potatoes. Elise would be glad, he hoped. He knew he would need to make the ride to town sooner or later (possibly the former), perhaps make the further distance to the trading fort, but might hold out for a little longer. He felt weary and sluggish, and though he needed to work the following day, and the day after, he wished for nothing but a good night’s rest.

The journey to the Smiths took a few good hours, and the way back felt even more dragged out. There’d been a dark, lazy quiet across the land, all still, and he could almost hear the wind sift through the young crops. If he strained his eyes, he could see his breath before him, curling like silk in mid-air. He left his horse in its enclosure, and made the last few steps homeward.

Robert entered quietly, leaving his dusty, worn boots outside, dragging with him the bag of goods and his rifle. He gave his wife a smile, but said nought at first. Instead, he left his things on the table, shrugging off his coat, and it was only when he sat down that he thought of what he could tell her — but not before pressing a kiss to the top of her red head.

“They’re leaving, the Smiths,” he finally began. “It won’t be long now, I expect they shall want to wait for a good harvest before moving west.” Robert tried not to sound as disheartened, frustrated, as he felt. In truth, he knew his neighbours’ doings were none of his business. But the Smiths’ house was closer to them, and he could always rely on them for little services, be it sending out one of Elise’s letters should Thomas venture out to town, or trading for some last supplies before having to cross the distance to Bent’s. It was company that Elise revelled in, too, and sometimes he would help out at their farm when help was needed.

He scratched his jaw in discontent. Lest they call on them one last time, the likelihood of never seeing their good neighbours was there. And he knew well it would daunt Elise, who loved chatter and companionship. She had a child’s heart, he felt, but he knew the news would leave her disappointed, too. Scrubbing his face, he added: “We’ll be the only ones left at this rate, if everyone is so keen on digging gold.”

Part of him hoped the land around them would stay intact, however. He dreaded the thought of seeing houses cluster together and form towns, cities, in this little chunk of peace they’d built for themselves out there. It was the most peaceful Robert had felt in years, and with the land rich and desolate, it made him think of Scotland, somehow, though the earth was not as lush compared to his old home, too brown and red. Glancing up at Elise, he blinked. He wondered sometimes whether it really did please her, moving westward, so far away from him. Nonetheless, he asked, somewhat quietly: “Are you well?”

It was sunset when he returned. She had watched the sky as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, threads of light lingering in the sky, mingling with the rolling clouds, dyeing the heavens first orange, then red, then dark blue, until all that was left of the sunset was a chalky mauve. The creak of the door as it opened and closed caused Elise no alarm. She had grown accustomed to the sound of his heavy footsteps nearing her, accepting the kiss on her forehead, it was tender, a side of Robert that Elise loved to see, only turning when he sat at their supper table. She eyed the brown cotton sack he had set down. Apples, no doubt, the Smiths were always eager to trade with them, no matter how little they had to give. “Are you hungry? Or were the Smiths kind enough to feed you something before they sent you on your way?” She talked aimlessly, pouring a bowl of stew, gently placing in front of her husband. “Even if you’re not hungry, humor me. Your poor little wife worked hard on your dinner.” There was a playfulness behind her words, never being the type to take anything too seriously, in sharp contrast to her husband.

Elise had never been able to hide her emotions well. No matter how hard she tried her features would always give her true feelings away. “Is that so? I’ll admit I never took the Smith’s for the gold digging type.” Her eyes stung. She wanted to weep. The Smiths, their good neighbors, were leaving west. They were the latest in what seemed to be a growing trend among their neighbors. First, it had been the Johnson’s, then the Allen’s, even dear old William Barlow, who couldn’t even walk a few steps in front of him without the aid of a large oak cane, god bless him, had gone West, drunk on the thought of striking it rich. At this rate, they would be the only ones left.

“Was Margaret well? The children?” If only they lived closer, Elise would be of a mind to help the Smiths in any way she could, no matter how much Robert disapproved. With four young children running around the Smiths’ land, she knew they would need the help. She edged closer to him, pulling up a chair to sit beside him, her eyes scanning his face for any sort of emotion. Her hands looking to find his in the warm, dark candlelit kitchen of theirs. The Smith’s had been as good neighbors as they could expect, she considered them friends and as far as she could tell, Robert did too. Their departure would affect them greatly, the nearest town being a two days ride away from them. She could only think of how much more Robert would have to be away from her, it was selfish of her, yes, but he was her husband and his rightful place was next to her.

“Do you have any plans for moving west?” They’d spoken about this before, in passing, no more than a few words had been said about the subject. The lure of gold was strong, enough to make a man want to leave a stable home. She hoped, no, she knew, Robert was not fool enough to believe the travelers, telling them great stories of men finding gold and getting rich. Their small plot of land was grand enough for her. If she wanted grandeur, she would have married some New York dandy, but she had chosen Robert, and the life of a farmers wife.

Elise sighed, her day had been less than productive: she’d fed the animals, picked eggs, and did what little she could out in the field. Still, it was not enough. Robert was used to hard labor, while Elise could hardly more than a few hours of field work. He had attempted to teach her the ways of the harvest, yet she still remained clueless. What she had completed was less than half of what he did per day, though she never heard him complain and for that reason she would not say a word on her aching bones. “I’m well, my love. I only missed seeing your face today.”

[elisemccrary]

Your kitchen maid? 

[elisemccrary]

 Dearest Mama,

Forgive me for taking so long to update you on our present condition. I’ve hardly a moment to spare in the past few months. Robert only finished building our new home a few months ago, insisting on doing it himself, naturally, it took a longer time than I expected. I busied myself by planting what I expect will be a wonderful garden, once the flowers bloom, though I doubt it will ever match yours, mama, back home. Everything here—from the great green landscape to the beautiful rolling hills —  remind me of home, but no matter how similar it is, it will never truly be Scotland. Have you spoken with James?  Tell him he must take good care of our dear farm or he shall be hearing from me, no matter how long it takes to get a letter to Scotland. 

The west is far more barren and lonely than I could have ever expected. There are grim days where the fog is so thick you can hardly see your foot as you take a step. It is on days like those that I miss you the most. Robert is often away for trading and the silence is almost unbearable. It is my greatest wish that you and papa might one day visit me. Papa will say he is old, his bones too weary to handle another long journey, but I do not think that is so. He is always complaining of the noise in the city; you need only bring up the idea of coming west and I’m sure he would agree. 

I’m afraid that’s all I have to say for now, mama. I promise I will update you more frequently from now on. I miss you more than words can say, but you do not need to worry about me. Robert takes good care of me. He is a better husband than I could ever possibly ask for. I hope all is well with you and papa. 

Love,

Elise,

Elise sighed, pushing herself away from the wooden desk, giving the wet ink a moment to dry on the paper. A cool draft came in through the window above her, causing her to pull her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Outside, the sun was beginning to descend below the horizon, the light of the day slowly fading. The nights here were cold, no matter what season it was. She turned to look at the fireplace casting long shadows over the rug, bought in some market someplace between New York and their current location. The flames curling and swaying, flicking this way and that, crackling as they burned the dry wood. She watched in hypnotized joy, holding her hands out to get just a little more of the gentle heat. Her breathing slowed, feeling truly calm in that moment, a first for Elise in months. 

Her eyes were beginning to feel heavy, every muscle in her body ached. A hard days work would do that. With Robert gone for the day, the daily duties had fallen to Elise: feeding the horses, picking eggs from the chicken coup, pulling weeds from their crops, the list going on and on. How Robert did this every day, she was not sure. After all that, she tended to her garden. Even a missed day would ruin her flowers, no doubt. The day they bloomed would be a day of great joy for her, for their poor little house in what seemed to be middle of nowhere would no longer look so sad and unfriendly, maybe even attracting a visitor or two every once in a while. 

A loud crack coming from the fire brought her back to reality. The letter, waiting to be folded and sealed, still sitting atop the desk. She wondered if it was even worth sending. It would take over a month for the letter to arrive at her parents’ small New York apartment. There was so much that could happen to a small letter on the long journey. The cost would take a toll on them too. It was not cheap sending a letter across the country. 

Lifting herself from the chair, Elise decided she would not give the letter another thought tonight, being far too tired to think of such things, such matters could be left until tomorrow morning, when she would feel much better. Dinner still had to be made. Robert would surely be hungry when he returned. Making something complicated was out of the question, deciding upon a stew that took more time than she cared to give to tonights dinner. It would be simple and rather bland, but it was all she could muster with what little food they had left in their stores. Perhaps the Smith’s had been generous and fed her husband before he left. Nevertheless, Elise began on the stew, cutting carrots, potatoes, and bits of beef, before dropping them all into a pot of already boiling water. The only choice left to her was to wait on dinner to be done and on her husband to return.

[elisemccrary]

Why “as you may know”? Why should she think we would know?