UNBROKEN PROMISE

~40~Why are You Here?

The parlor had never seemed so small as it did with Uncle Ezra and Aunt Clara seated on the couch, their presence commanding a weighty formality that felt out of place in the cozy farmhouse.

They looked every bit the city folk Ezra's tailored suit looked stiff and expensive, though it was ill fitted for his slender frame. His wife, Clara, sat primly beside him, dressed in a high-collared gown that seemed entirely impractical for the heat of the day. She held a lace hand fan, moving it rhythmically to cool herself, her eyes scanning the room with thinly veiled judgment.

Oma stood awkwardly for a moment, stealing a glance at Logan, who leaned casually against the doorway with his arms crossed, his broad shoulders and quiet intensity making Ezra seem even smaller by comparison. When Logan caught her eye, he raised an eyebrow in a silent question. She gave a hesitant shrug, unsure of what to do, before stepping forward.

"Can I get y'all somethin' to drink?" she offered politely, her voice soft but steady.

Clara raised her fan and waved it dismissively, her expression neutral. "Lemonade, if you have it," she said, her tone cool.

Oma nodded, turning toward the kitchen. Logan straightened from his post and followed her, his boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. She glanced at him over her shoulder as they entered the kitchen.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice low.

"I'm fine," she replied quickly, though the tension in her voice betrayed her nerves. "Just... tryin' to figure out what they want."

Logan grunted, his jaw tightening. "Don't let 'em push you 'round, Oma. You don't owe them nothin'."

She offered a faint smile, appreciating his support even as her mind swirled with uncertainty. Logan fetched a tray and placed two glasses of lemonade on it while Oma straightened her apron and smoothed her skirt. Together, they returned to the parlor, where Ezra and Clara were sitting in stiff silence.

Logan set the tray down on the low table in front of them, his movements deliberate, as if to remind them of his strength. "Here ya go," he said gruffly, stepping back and crossing his arms again.

Clara picked up her glass delicately, taking a small sip before nodding in approval. "Thank you," she said curtly, though her eyes flicked briefly to Logan, a flicker of unease crossing her face. Ezra simply muttered his thanks, his focus already shifting back to Oma.

Oma clasped her hands in front of her apron. "If y'all don't mind waitin' a bit, we were just finishin' up lunch. I'll be with you shortly."

Clara opened her mouth as if to protest but closed it when Ezra placed a hand on her arm. Oma turned and walked back to the dining table, her steps measured even as her heart raced.

At the table, the family exchanged glances, their expressions questioning. Megan raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching as if she were about to say something, but Jacob gave a subtle shake of his head, silently urging her to stay quiet. Oma kept her eyes on her plate, her appetite fading with every passing moment.

Logan, who had followed her back, sat down beside her, his broad shoulders tense. He didn't say a word, but his presence alone was reassuring. He reached for his plate and began eating, his movements slow and deliberate. Oma couldn't tell if he was genuinely calm or if he was holding his emotions in check.

Meanwhile, Mama Becca quietly took Caleb, who had suddenly developed a fever, and carried him upstairs to his room. She whispered softly to Cookie, who wagged his tail in understanding, before ruffling his fur. "Stay close, boy," she murmured. "Let us know if anything's off."

Cookie lay down near the foot of Caleb's bed, his ears perked and his gaze alert.

Back at the table, Megan leaned closer to Oma, her voice barely above a whisper. "What do they want?" she asked, her curiosity evident.