In a dozen words he had laid the story before her. She listened with intent eyes, her fingers plaiting the edge of her apron in tiny folds. When he had finished, the apron dropped from her fingers and she smoothed the pleats one by one.
“He’s been a hard man to us, Johnny.”
“Yes.”
“But I ’ll do it for ye.”
“I knew you would.” It came from a full heart, and she smiled a little to him as she gave a final, smoothing touch to the apron. “He sent us the check, and it was bitter bread we bought wi’ it. But the bread I bake for him will be sweet,” she said.
“Thank you, Ellen.” He held out his hand. “It ’s good in you to do it, and what money can pay for—you shall have, you know.”
“Money won’t pay for the bread I shall bake him, Johnny,” she said slowly. “But he’s welcome to it and may the Lord bless it—to him.”