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He had kept quiet so it wouldn't be so obvious.
    The worst part had been when she had stood and walked from the table. No plain clothes could hide the curves of her figure as her skirts swayed when she glided into the living room. Once again Bruce had lost his tongue. Flora Saferight was no longer the annoying brat he remembered, but a woman with a power she didn't yet understand—an attraction that tugged at him like the current in a raging river.
    Bruce left his room and made his way downstairs, his footfalls resounding on each wooden step, announcing his arrival. The aroma of fresh-baked biscuits and sausage milk gravy drifted through the air as he made his way to the kitchen. Low voices rumbled in conversation.
    The warmth of the kitchen welcomed him, as did the smiling faces of his family as they paused in conversation to look up and greet him. Silas shoved in a huge bite, while his father pushed his empty plate aside and sipped his coffee.
    “Just in time for a fresh plate of warm biscuits and gravy.” His mother poured two large spoonfuls over steaming biscuits.
    “There's coffee left in the pot and some cool milk in a pitcher.” Father nodded his head toward the gray container on the table.
    “I'll take the coffee.” Bruce walked over to the counter, grabbed a clean cup, and poured the hot brew. “Everything smells delicious.”
    “Then eat all of it.” His mother beamed as she handed him his plate. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. He grinned and took his place at the square oak table. Bowing his head, Bruce prayed over his food. He cut into his biscuit and speared his first bite.
    “I told thy mother what Pastor John asked of thee last night.” His father raised a gray eyebrow. “Has thee made a decision on what to do?”
    To keep from answering right away, Bruce shoveled in his food and enjoyed the savory taste of his mother's good cooking. The soft milk gravy and buttery flakes of bread softened the sting of the spicy sausage, giving it a nice flavor. He swallowed, well aware of his father's hazel eyes watching him, waiting in patience.
    “Eli, let the boy eat,” Mother said. “He just sat down.”
    “Sure is good,” Silas paused long enough to say. “Think I'll have another plate.” He winked at Mother, standing up to help himself.
    A year younger than Bruce, Silas had dark brown eyes and sandy brown hair. With an oval face and an olive complexion that was darker than Bruce's, he was the real charmer in the family. He favored their older sister, Deborah, while Bruce, with his reddish-blond locks and green eyes, took after their two older brothers.
    Bruce picked up his black coffee and sipped the warm beverage, enjoying the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. After a few moments, he cleared his throat. He couldn't avoid answering his father forever.
    “I hope I don't live to regret it, but I've decided to try and talk some sense into Flora Saferight. Pastor John seems convinced he needs her midwifery skills and there isn't another midwife young enough for the rough travel. Maybe I'll approach her next Sunday at Meeting.”
    “That's very sensible.” Father nodded. “I'm proud of the decision thee made, son. I know things have been difficult with Flora in the past, but thee must admit that part of the blame falls with thee.”
    He didn't need reminding.
    “Yes, all the times thee called her Beaver Face kind of branded her among all the kids.” Silas sat down with another plate piled high. Bruce wondered how his brother managed to stay so thin. “Thee even had the other girls calling her that.”
    Setting his coffee down, Bruce rubbed his eyebrows, a sudden headache coming on. “If only that was all I was guilty of. Yesterday morning I called her foolhardy.” Bruce rubbed his temples. “How could I help it? Before I went on my last mission, I caught her walking in the snow without a proper cloak. If I hadn't given her a ride to shorten her trip, she would have frozen to