Year of Jubilee by Peggy Trotter Page B

bread. Trust me. No big deal.”
    She continued to hover at the back door, her
fingers worrying her skirt in a circle.
    “Please come and sit down.” When she
hesitated, he returned to his bench and eased his body down. He
couldn’t feel less like eating now, but he’d stuff this food in his
mouth nonetheless, to show her everything was fine.
    He retrieved the knife, wiped it clean, and
quickly severed off the charred section of the biscuit, then
buttered the cut side. After a bite, he tried to chew, ignoring the
awful tumble in his stomach at her violent reaction. Somewhere
along the way she’d learned physical punishment accompanied burnt
food. Stoically, he forked a wad of egg into his mouth and waited
for her to return to the table. She did, and even sat down.
    Jubilee picked up the fork and poked at the
meal without actually eating. Her head stayed down.
    Rafe tempered his next words with an extra
soft tone. “Remember what I promised you before we got
married?”
    “Yes.”
    He took a deep breath. “I’m not going to
break that promise.”
    Rafe stared at the top of her head,
waiting.
    “Jubilee. Look at me.”
    She raised her head and met his eyes.
    “Whether you burn the biscuits, or drop a
dozen plates, or destroy the garden, I’m not gonna hurt you.
Understand?”
    Her head bobbed.
    “Do you believe me?”
    He took in her perplexed face, her eyes
glistening with tears. Finally she gave that one-shouldered
shrug.
    Rafe placed his hands on either side of his
plate and leaned forward. “Jubilee, you can take my oath to the
bank because whether you trust me or not, I’m gonna keep it like I
said.”
    And with that he rose, excused himself, and
left the cabin.
    * * *
    Anger drove Rafe to work harder than ever,
and planting the last field didn’t take long to finish. Oh, what he
wouldn’t do to Colvin if that dag-burned idiot hadn’t gone and got
himself killed. She was no bigger than a child. The scene at the
table repeated through his mind, ending with her at the back door,
arm up to fend off blows. And her eyes, her huge, pleading eyes.
The incident made him sick.
    Finally, he threw himself on the new grass
that ran along the fencerow. Shielding his face from the sun, he
prayed. Oh, God, let Jubilee heal. Help her forget the meanness
and be able to forgive.
    He groaned, but a peace entered him, and he
realized it was the first time he’d really prayed since he’d lost
Rosemary. He sat up. Praying hadn’t felt awkward. He hadn’t
double-thought the process or anything. The prayer had just come as
natural as his prayers had before he’d been jilted. He sighed. I’m sorry God. I shouldn’t have quit praying.
    He recalled Pastor Barnett and how he’d
promised they’d try to attend the morning service. Here, some four
weeks later, they’d never once darkened the church door. Rafe bowed
his head and rubbed his hot neck. Maybe now was time to keep his
promise, not only to Pastor Barnett, but to God.
    * * *
    Jubilee was in a jumble. She was an idiot.
An idiot. Why did she leap across the room for such a simple thing
as a knife dropping to the floor? She swallowed around the lump in
her throat as the tears filled her eyes. Why, if she burned the
biscuits when Colvin had been home, she’d left his meal and
disappeared into the woods until he was gone. But this wasn’t
Colvin. This huge man who now occupied a place at the table was
hard to read.
    Rafe was quiet. He was calm. Or at least he
appeared to be. Jubilee knew only time would prove whether he
really possessed these qualities. He seemed honest, he even
appeared…godly. If only he weren’t so large. If he decided to, he
could tear her apart. And that was, plain and simple, why she had
such a difficult time letting go of her fear.
    She took a shaky breath and scrubbed the
frying pan harder. Trust . The words entered her mind like a
wisp. Her movements ceased. Had this been her own thought? She
shook her head. It didn’t matter. Trusting Rafe