“You aren’t going to try,” Scully said flatly. “You’ll spend the night here.” He realized then that they were faced with the same problem as when Mr. Murdoch visited, and blushed again.

Evangeline laughed, in spite of her own discomfort, and Jacob’s low chuckle resounded in their ears.

“I can make my bed in the barn,” Jacob said. “I’ve slept in many a colder place in my time.”

He would not be dissuaded by any argument—and it did seem that Scully argued rather too persistently against the idea—but he was more than ready to accept a home-cooked meal. Even in the short time he’d been away from the station, Jacob allowed, he’d come to miss June-bug’s vittles mightily.

“She all alone there?” Scully asked, brows knitted. That had plainly just occurred to him, but Evangeline was in no position to criticize the oversight. She hadn’t thought of it, either.

“Trey Hargreaves blew in yesterday; he’s there waiting for a stage.” Jacob let a slow grin spread across his time-worn face. “Don’t you worry none, though. Miss June-bug will protect him.”

They all laughed at that, and Evangeline set herself to warming up a plate of stew and some cornbread, left over from the midday meal, to serve to Jacob. They’d have the grouse for supper, with boiled potatoes and butter and some of the canned green tomatoes Scully had bought from Mr. Murdoch.

Jacob offered grace, even though he was the only one eating, bowing his head and folding his gnarled and calloused hands. Evangeline, who had lost much of her faith during the war, was impressed, not by the man’s piety, but by his humility. She would have liked religious people better than she did, she reflected to herself, if more of them were like Jacob and June-bug McCaffrey.

After the meal, the men went out to fetch water and do some of the other chores, and Abigail trailed behind, taking both Hortense and the wooden horse along for the ride. Left alone, Evangeline cleared the table, washed up the dishes hastily, and got out her sewing. She was making a brown woolen shirt for Scully, to present to him at Christmas, and she tended to work on it whenever he was out of the house.

When she heard the returning voices in the door-yard, she put the nearly finished shirt away again, hiding it in the trunk, and set water on to boil so she could dip the grouse and pluck them. It was a most distasteful job, but she didn’t think to question that it was hers to do. Food was food, the stuff of life, something to be grateful for, never to be scorned. Still, the smell made her slightly nauseous, all the same.

Scully and Jacob blew in just then, with a chilly but refreshing wind, Scully carrying Abigail on his hip. The kitten, grown much larger even in the brief time since Abigail had claimed it for her own, squirmed out of her arms and leapt to the floor, tail twitching indignantly.