Letters and Love

Chapter Twenty-Four: Noah

Elizabeth's request for a serious conversation was entirely reasonable, even if I hadn't expected her to be so straightforward about it. But I really should have known she would be. She had seldom beat around the bush in her letters and it was reassuring to see that she was just the same in person.

Winston trailed behind us as I showed off my small barn. He eyed Elizabeth with curiosity, but didn't quite have the courage to approach her. So much for him being the friendly greeter on the place!

Once inside my home, Elizabeth's expression became much more animated as she took it all in. Naturally, she wouldn't be as curious about the barn animals, even if she had gone to a family member's farm to learn all she could.

"Something smells good," she commented, stepping towards the cast-iron stove I had invested in a couple of years previously.

"Just some potatoes and ham cooking for supper." It was an easy meal to throw into a pot and set to simmer all day. Having a hot meal to look forward to was sometimes all the motivation I needed to get through the day.

"You cook?" Elizabeth turned towards me with one eyebrow raised.

I couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Of course. Out here, if you don't cook, you don't eat. I'm not saying I'm the world's greatest cook, but I get by." It hit me then that I ought to have planned something for lunch. I was the host, after all. "Can I pour you a cup of coffee?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you." Elizabeth took a seat at the table, pulling her floral bonnet off. She ran her hand over her hair as if to make sure it was still in place. "It looks as though you've built up a nice place."

"Thanks. I'm proud of it." I poured out coffee, the other pot I kept on the stove every day. I set the two tin cups on the table and my mind went blank. How had she taken her coffee the day before? "Sugar? Milk?"

"Neither, thank you." She reached out and took one of the cups. "I'm not sure my brother even knows how to make coffee."

"Really? Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I don't think my father did either." I hadn't thought about my father in a long time and I didn't want to start now. Clearing my throat, I sat down. "So. Where do you want to start?"

"You've told me about your journey west, but you haven't told me why you came to Wyoming," she said immediately. "Why did you do it alone? From what I've read, most people make the journey with their family."

"Well, my family had no interest in leaving Georgia." Would it be enough to leave it there? No. I had to be honest with Elizabeth. "I can't say that I blame them. They had a good life."

"A good life?" she repeated. Her nose wrinkled slightly. Disdain? "What kind of good life?"

Given the kind of life had been considered good in the South, I could understand the revulsion in her expression. "My father owned a large plantation," I admitted. It had been years since I'd admitted to that truth to anyone. "He owned quite a few slaves as well to keep things running."

The revulsion I'd thought I had seen in her eyes vanished but that only made it impossible to read what she was thinking. There were several moments of silence. Should I keep going? What could I say? Everything that came to mind seemed like excuses, and I wasn't about to excuse anything my family had done.

"How many slaves did your family own?" was her question when she finally spoke.

"I don't know." And it was only right that I felt shame about that. "Maybe twenty? Or it could be more. Personally, I knew the names of five of them. My mother kept me away from the slaves while I was growing up. She thought they would be a bad influence on me."