The Edge of Misery: The Mitchel Brothers Series Book Two

19

The only bright spot—almost—that emerged the following week at the end of October came with Emerson's announcement after examining Wren's ankle one morning was that she no longer had to use the hateful crutches.

"Do I burn them in a fire or—" she began with a scowl directed at the two pieces of padded walking equipment.

"Ya should put 'em in the barn," Eldon chirped beside her, his hands on his hips and thumbs hooked in the belt loops as he rocked on his heels, "'cause yer bound to need 'em again, ain't she, Uncle Em?"

"What the boy lacks in tact, he makes up for in wisdom," Emerson chuckled as he patted Wren on her shoulder before moving the crutches out of reach and walking to the kitchen door. "If you don't need them, someone else here will."

Wren grunted and cautiously stood, then walked from the kitchen table to the stove and back again, relieved when there was only a slight twinge in her ankle.

"This mean you're gonna start sleepin' upstairs again now?"

Wren frowned as she stared at Eldon, "Did Declan tell you to ask that?"

He shook his head. "I don't like ya bein' down here by yerself."

"It's better for me down here," she mumbled, walking back to the stove and cracking the oven door open to check her bread. Then gasping in delight, she threw it wide, snatched a towel and oven mitt, and quickly removed her three perfectly golden brown loaves. "I don't believe it," she whispered in awe.

"You burn the bread again?"

"A miracle has happened," she giggled, choking back tears and trying to ignore the overwhelming and unwelcome desire to hunt down her husband to show him the evidence of her success. "Come and look."

Eldon shuffled over to stand beside her and stared in amazement, "Did Emmaline switch loaves or somethin' when we wasn't lookin'?"

Wren playfully nudged him in the shoulder, then brushed his curls aside and kissed his forehead, "Maybe we should take one of 'em over and ask."

"What if they only look good," he frowned, "but they're all raw inside?"

Wren's smile fell. "Then I guess we better cut one open and find out first, huh?"

With her heart in her throat and her stomach twisted into so many knots she feared she'd be sick all over her freshly washed floors, Wren picked up the bread knife, bit back an elated cry when all three loaves turned out of the pans onto the cutting board without sticking, and held her breath as she cut through the middle of the first one.

"It's uneven," Eldon announced, clearly as unimpressed with her cutting skills as he previously was with her cooking.

But she didn't care because as she turned each half over to inspect and press on the steaming insides, a new rush of tears stung and blurred her vision. "It's perfect."

"We prolly oughta taste it," Eldon murmured, licking his lips, "to be safe."

Wren nodded and cut two slices that were more uneven than her first pass with the knife. "Get the butter—can't have fresh bread without butter," she whispered, her hands shaking.

Eldon hurried and grabbed the butter still on the table from breakfast, then stared as she slathered both slices before offering him the thicker one.

"You first, little man," Wren rasped, her heart racing in dread as he picked it up, brought it to his lips, and took a tentative bite. "Well?"

He swallowed and pursed his lips, then took a bigger bite, chewing with a thoughtful expression on his face before he grinned at her, "Ya done good, Wren."