"Blair," Jim said kneeling down next to his son. "I'm riding over to the west corral to do some repairs."
"Okay, Papa. I'll saddle Ceylon." Blair's bright voice made his next words harder.
Jim put a hand on the boy's arm as he tried to move towards the barn. "Son, you have chores to do here, and I'm not going very far. I'll be barely a half mile from here."
The message sank in quickly judging by how fast Blair stiffened and wailed, "But, I want to go with you!"
Calmly, Jim said, "It will be all right, Little Bit. I've checked the valley and we're the only ones here."
"You checked?" Blair's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How did you do that?"
The words of his spirit guide echoed in his head. Tell Blair the truth. Jim took a deep breath and let it out as he ran a hand over his face. If the old shaman was wrong about this, there'd be hell to pay. "I listened and looked. I have very good hearing and sight."
The boy nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I know. But, Papa--"
Jim silenced him by moving a hand to cup the boy's cheek. "Blair, you don't know." When he was certain he had the child's attention, he continued. "Let's try something." Jim stood. "You stay here and I'm going to walk to the barn. When you see me there, I want you to turn your back to me and say anything you want in a whisper. Okay?"
"Okay," Blair agreed with a confused look as Jim trotted over to the barn. When he reached the barn door, Blair turned around to face the river.
The boy's very softly whispered words floated up to him. "I don't want you to leave without
me, Papa. Not so much because of that dumb ol' Kincaid, I know he can't hurt me anymore, but
because I like to help you. I am big enough, Papa. I can help." When Blair turned back
around, Jim returned to him at a lope.
Jim motioned for Blair to come to him. Jim sat in the rocker on the cabin porch and pulled Blair over to rest against a thigh. He held his son in a loose embrace. "I know you don't want me leaving you here alone. And I'm glad that 'dumb ol' Kincaid' doesn't scare you anymore. It's because you're big enough that I think you can stay here by yourself to do your own work. That would be a big help to me."
Blair turned in his arms, excitement lighting his face. "You heard me!"
His son's reaction made the rancher smile. That was the Blair he knew. "Yes, I did. I don't understand the whole thing myself, Little Bit, but..." Jim searched for a way to explain. "I can.taste slight differences in flavors--"
"That's why you don't salt your food!"
Jim nodded his head indulgently at the interruption and continued. "Yes, that's probably right. Wait here." He went into the cabin and returned with his spy-glass. Handing it to Blair, Jim said, "See that tree across the river? The one with the low branch that you like to climb on?" Jim waited until Blair nodded. "Use the spy-glass to focus on that branch. Got it?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good." Jim unloosened the knot and focused on the branch until he could see the leaves on a twig. "Now look along the branch until you get to the first clump of leaves. I see seven. How many do you see?"
After a long pause, Blair said, "Hey! I see seven, too." The boy turned back to his father, eyes sparkling with excitement. "All your senses are like this?"
"Yes." He paused to gage Blair's reaction to all this information. Seeing that Blair still hung on his every word in amazement and delight, he went on. "And when I focus too hard on any one of these senses, I--"
"Have a spell!" Blair blurted out, bouncing on his toes.
"Yes, Little Bit. I have a spell."
"That's what Seeks The Waters helped you with, isn't it?"
"Yes. He...and my spirit guide."
"Spirit guide? Running Doe told me about those. I'm glad you have one to help keep you safe. What's it like?"
Jim pulled the beaded necklace from beneath Blair's shirt. "He looks like this some times."
Blair's eyes were wide. "The black cat! I dreamed about him last night. You were there, too, and
then he turned into an old Indian man and...it wasn't a dream was it, Papa?"
"No. It wasn't. We were there together."
"Wow!! I can't wait to tell Justin. He'll--"
"Blair, we can't tell anyone. Not even our friends. Is that clear?" Jim said firmly. The last thing he wanted was to cause problems for their friends. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Justin, or Choate because they knew about his abilities.
"But why?"
"You remember when we read about the Salem witch hunts in the encyclopedia?" Blair nodded. "Sometimes people fear what they don't understand. It could be dangerous for us and our friends if this got out. It's to protect them as much as ourselves. This is a big secret I'm asking you to keep, Son."
"I won't tell, Papa. Not anyone. I promise," he said as Jim drew his son in for a big bear hug.
"Okay, we have work to do, young man, and we best get to it."
"But I still want to go with you, Papa. What if you have a spell?"
"I'll tell you what, I'll keep my hearing tuned to you while I'm away. I can hear you from that distance. That way I won't have a spell, and if there's any trouble, and I doubt there will be, I can come running. How's that?"
"Well, okay. You sure you can hear me that far away?"
"Yes, Little Bit. I'm sure. I found you in that mine after all."
Blair sighed dramatically. "Guess I better get to my chores then."
"And I best get to mine, too." Jim smiled, giving Blair's hair a tousle before they headed off in
different directions.
~~~
Jim finished the repairs to the far west corral and chuckled at Blair's prattling in the garden almost a half mile away.
Stupid weeds. They're even stupider than the stupid greens! Oops. Sorry, Papa, but they are. Greens, I mean. It's not fair that I have to take care of something I don't even like! The carrots are good though. Corn, too. Maybe we could grow more of those and forget the greens?...
He was glad he told Blair the truth, and sure his spirit guide looked down on him, gloating. No
matter, as long as Blair was happy.
Can we have corn for supper? Well, with supper really. Ummm, I can smell the stew from here.
When you comin' home, Papa? You've been gone awhile now. Don't worry, I'm not scared or
anything, just wondering.
"I'm coming home now, Little Bit," he said aloud as he swung up into the saddle.
Maybe we could have an apple crisp for dessert. That'd be--
The way Blair stopped mid sentence sent a tingle up his back and he unloosened the knot further
trying to pick up what had happened.
Papa, there's a rider coming. I don't know him. Hurry home, please.
The panic-filled whisper filled him with dread and Jim spurred Sentry into a gallop.
~~~~
Blair continued to work in the garden, enjoying the feel of warm, damp soil between his fingers. Another idea popped into his head and he said it aloud, confident he'd be heard by the intended recipient of the message.
"Maybe we could have an apple crisp for dessert?" he said, mouth already watering at the remembered cinnamony, sugary spiced-apple treat. "That'd be..." He froze, heart pounding at the site of a strange man riding up the road. The stranger was almost to the gate! Blair grabbed Nemo and, clutching her to his chest, he ran to the cabin. He whispered under his breath, "Papa, there's a rider coming. I don't know him. Hurry home, please."
A few more steps and he made it to the porch. He could hear the rider getting closer as he fumbled with the doorknob, not wanting to put Nemo down. With a final twist, he opened the door and stumbled into the house, slamming the door behind him. The sound of spurs jingling reached him. Blair collected himself enough to let the dog go so he could close the shutters on the windows and lock them. He got a glimpse of the man stepping onto the porch as the last stutter slammed shut. All Blair could see was a long dark duster and a beaten dark hat pulled down so he couldn't see the face. He backed away from the door to stand in the middle of the room.
The hard knock at the door started Nemo barking in angry little yaps. Blair startled and began his whispered mantra, "Papa's coming. Papa's coming."
"Boy? Open up, son. This is hardly neighborly." The thick, rich southern-accented voice reminded Blair of Kincaid.
"What do you want, mister?" He tried to keep his voice sounding calm while he looked around the cabin for a weapon.
"I'm looking for a man."
Blair spied his father's spare Colt revolver in its holster on the peg by the door. "My Papa will be home soon. You can ask him," he said as he lifted the gun from the leather and resumed his position in the center of the room.
"I've come a long way, boy. I'm a might parched. Could I trouble you for a cool drink?" The man seemed friendly, but Blair remained cautious. He raised the gun, both hands wrapped around the butt, a thumb on the hammer.
"There's a pump on the trough by the barn. Help yourself," Blair said, not able to completely keep his rising fear from showing. He whispered quietly, "Please, Papa. Please come home right now."
The still friendly, but impatient tinged voice came through the door again. "Now, is that good manners, boy? I'm not going to hurt you, chi--"
Blair frowned and tried to hear what was being said. He lay the gun down on the little table next to the armchair before putting his ear to the door.
~~~~
Jim rode up behind the barn and stealthily made his way around back of the cabin as the distracted man pounded on his front door. He could hear the frantic beat of Blair's heart and the panic in the boy's voice.
At the side of the building he drew his gun before stepping from his hiding place, taking the stranger by surprise.
"Now, is that good manners, boy? I'm not going to hurt you, chi--"
"You got that right, stranger. Raise your hands slowly and back away from the door," Jim commanded icily.
The stranger did as Jim bid and turned to face the angry rancher. He tilted his head up showing his face clearly, stunning the rancher completely.
"Steven?"
"Jim." The other man smiled roguishly and spread his arms wide. "I was hoping for a better reunion, but..."
Jim holstered his gun, still shocked to find his brother here, and came around to greet him. A plaintiff, "Papa?" cleared his head.
"It's all right, Little Bit. You can come out." Barely finished issuing the command, the door flew
open and Blair rushed to his father.
Jim easily scooped the boy up into his arms, ignoring his brother's arched brow and stunned
expression.
He hugged his son and rubbed soothing circles against the boy's back. "It's okay now, Blair. Settle down. I want to introduce you to someone."
When he heard the boy's heart return to its normal rhythm, and felt the trembles stop, Jim set him on the ground. He kept a protective arm around Blair's shoulders as he made the introductions.
"Blair, this is my brother Steven, your uncle. Steven, this is my son, Blair."
On hearing who their visitor was, Blair perked up. He bounced forward to shake his uncle's hand as his father had taught him.
"Pleased to meet you, Uncle Steven. Sorry about before." Blair looked sheepishly over to his father before smiling back at his uncle.
"That's all right, nephew. I wouldn't let me in without an introduction either." That got a giggle out of Blair.
"Your chores finished yet, Blair?"
The question sobered the child and he whined. "Aw, Papa."
Before Blair could organize his protests, Jim fixed him with a stern look and said firmly, "You run along and finish. There'll be time for visiting later."
With a moan, Blair did as he was told, Nemo trailing behind him.
Jim listened as his son muttered complaints under his breath about grown ups all the way back to the garden before turning back to his estranged brother.
The rancher kept his expression neutral as all his past conflicting feelings for this man with the wiry grin came rushing back with a vengeance. He fought to keep it hidden and asked flatly, "Why are you here, Steven?"
"What kind of greeting is that after not seeing each other for almost nine years?"
The bile rose in his throat at the joking tone of the younger man. He clenched and unclenched his jaw. Jim coldly answered the flip question. "As I recall I was disinherited and told never to return. You shook my hand, said good-bye and never gave me another look as you walked back up the veranda. You're right. What I should be asking is, what the Sam Hill do you think you're doing scaring my boy that way?"
Steven chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Easy Jim. I didn't mean your brush colt any--"
The insult barely uttered, Jim could take no more. He slammed Steven into the cabin wall with a rage that surprised himself. "It's only because I don't want to explain your dead body to my son that I don't rip out your throat. Not that it's any of your affair, but Blair's adopted. I couldn't love him anymore if he were of my blood, and if you hurt him in any way you won't be able to run far enough."
Steven fought to regain the breath that had been knocked from his body. When he finally spoke much of his earlier cockiness had vanished. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was uncalled for. I made a poor assumption. I'd never hurt your boy, regardless of his origins. Just because I wore the gray instead of the blue doesn't make me a monster, although many would disagree. Maybe even you."
Weariness that comes from too many battles fought, the sight of too many young men dead, and too many families torn apart, overtook Jim. His anger dissipated although the hurt of his family's rejection remained, as well as the inability to forgive.
"Why are you here, Steven?" he asked again, not bothering to hide his fatigue.
"I came to forgive and to be forgiven." The younger man paused and looked down for a moment. "We've gotten off to a bad start, Jim. I don't want to fight with you. I took your letter as a sign you wanted the same."
Jim chuckled humorlessly as he rubbed a hand over his face. The audacity of his brother, this stranger before him, amazed the rancher. "I wrote you about buying a horse. A horse you sold me for a fair price. I have the bill of sale."
"I sold her to you at cost," Steven replied with a twinkle in his eyes.
Jim's countenance was stone. "Bull. You made a nice profit off that sale."
Steven ducked his head then looked up shyly. "Well, I couldn't have Father turning over in his grave, now could I?"
The news didn't stun Jim as he thought it would. In his heart, his father had died fifteen years ago when his father spat in his face after Jim told the elder Ellison he would be fighting on the Union side. "So, he's dead."
"I'm sorry, Jim." Steven's sympathy seemed legitimate. "That's right, you wouldn't know. Hell, I didn't even know you were alive, or where you were, until I received that letter."
They stood awhile in an awkward silence looking each other in the face. Jim's cold and set in stone, Steven's pleading.
Jim finally sighed heavily. "Look, Steven, it's getting late. Let's get your horse taken care of. You can sleep in the barn tonight. Supper's at seven."
"My, how gracious."
At Steven's sarcastic response, Jim moved to stand over his shorter brother. He stood so close that Steven stepped back only to back up against the cabin wall again. Jim put his face less than an inch from his brother's, coldly saying, "You're lucky I don't throw you off my land the way you and the old man threw me off our farm."
"Point taken," Steven said tightly.
Jim showed his brother to the barn, showing him where he and his horse could bed down. He left the barn as quickly as he could, not wanting another confrontation, and headed for the cabin to finish getting supper ready.
Moving about the cabin, tidying up and trying to get his conflicting feelings under control, Jim
spotted his spare Colt lying on the little table next to his armchair. When did he leave it there?
That was dangerous leaving it out where Blair might--A chill went up his spine, raising the hair
on the back of his neck. Letting the knot loose on his sight, he saw smudges of dirt sticking to
the gun butt. He opened the window next to the fireplace and called for Blair to come inside.
Waiting for his son to arrive, Jim took several deep breaths to calm himself.
The door opened and Blair came bounding inside. "Yes, Papa? Is it time for me to wash up and get the table set? I'm starved!"
"Soon, Blair. Come here, I want to show you something."
Jim waited until the boy came to his side before asking calmly, "Do you know anything about my gun being here?"
The smile fell from Blair's face immediately. With a sigh, and meeting his father's eyes, he said clearly, "Yes, sir."
"Care to tell me about it?"
Blair looked to the floor. "Not really, but I guess I gotta." He raised his head, looking up at his father with sorrowful, big blue eyes. "I was scared whoever was out there was up to no good and so I got your gun out so if he came in, I could protect our home. I didn't know who he was. I'm sorry, Papa."
Jim guided Blair around to the front of the armchair before having a seat. He noticed, but didn't acknowledge, the way his son stood next to him with both hands shielding his bottom, eyes bright with unshed tears and lower lip slightly quivering. Jim plucked Blair up and sat him in his lap, an arm loosely over his shoulders. He brushed a few stray curls away from the boy's eyes, making a mental note to trim the unruly curls soon.
"Do you have permission to touch my guns?"
Blair slowly shook his head. "No, sir."
"What have I told you about guns?"
"I don't know," Blair said, sinking into his father's chest a little further.
Jim tightened his embrace and gently ruffled the curls resting against his shoulder. "Does this sound familiar? You're not old enough. When you're thirteen, and I think you can handle it, I will show you how to use a rifle for hunting. Maybe a pistol, as well." Putting his hand under Blair's chin, Jim lifted the boy's face so they made eye contact. "Do you remember now?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, but I was afraid he mighta broke the door down!"
"Where did I tell you to go if a stranger comes calling and I'm not here?" Jim sternly asked.
Blair looked away and said in a small voice, "I don't remember."
Jim closed his eyes for a moment and mentally counted to ten while trying not to think about the number of times he'd repeated what he was about to say again. "Go into the cellar and out the tunnel. Make sure to close the door after you."
"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry, but I didn't want him to get Nemo. I can't go down the ladder carrying her."
Even more sternly, Jim said, "Nemo's a smart dog. She can take care of herself."
"But, Papa!"
"No arguments, imp. You hightail it to the cellar and out the escape route. Period, or else. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Blair replied meekly as he nuzzled back into his father's chest. "I'll remember next time. Promise."
"Good. To help you do that, you are to write out one hundred times each, 'I will not touch Papa's guns without permission', and 'I will go to the cellar and escape if a stranger comes when Papa's not here.'"
Blair loudly groaned his displeasure at his sentencing.
"Want to make it two hundred times each and a spanking?"
"No, sir," Blair said emphatically while vigorously shaking his head.
"Didn't think so. Also, no dessert for a week." Jim waited to see what reaction that got, and pleased that Blair stayed quiet, he continued. "And if you touch a gun again without permission, you won't sit easy for quite awhile either. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right. Go wash up and get the table set. Use your best manners tonight, we have company." Jim gave his son a squeeze and kissed the top of his head before letting him off his lap. Watching Blair scamper out to do his bidding, Jim was surprised to see Steven standing in the doorway, an amused grin on his face.
"What?" Jim asked, exasperated.
"Nothing," Steven said, grinning even wider before walking out of the cabin leaving Jim glaring after him.
~~~
"Why do you hate Uncle Steven?" Blair asked while toweling the last plate dry before stacking it with the others.
"I don't hate Steven," his father said absently.
Blair looked over to where his father knelt by the fireplace, adding wood to the dying flames.
Supper had been almost unbearably tense. He spent the entire meal trying to clean his plate so
he could be excused as quickly as possible. The few times he did look up to steal a quick
glance at the two men he sat between he saw his father and uncle glaring at each other. "But
you're real put out with him?"
"We have some things to workout that don't concern you," his father replied wearily.
"Oh." Blair watched his father stare into the fire, a faraway expression on his face. "What did he do?"
"Blair, I told you--"
He cut in, the irritation in his father's voice a clear indication of another blessing-out on the way. "I just want to know so I never do it. I don't want you to not love me anymore the way you don't love Uncle Steven."
An uncomfortable silence fell between them. It continued for several long minutes while Blair racked his brain for the right words to say. Before he could, his father smiled sadly and opened his arms wide.
"Come here, Little Bit," he said in the familiar comforting tone.
Blair hurried over and threw his arms around his father's strong neck, relaxing into the embrace that enveloped him. As usual, the feeling of complete safety and contentment filled him while being held in his father's arms.
"I do care about my brother, child. And I will always love you, no matter what. Never doubt that."
"Okay, but you are real sore at him and it seems he's not too happy with you either."
Jim laughed dryly. "You're right, Little Bit. I'm not on his good side either. Don't you fret over it though. He and I will work it out."
Blair tried to settle himself into a more comfortable position, but his father gently pushed him away. He turned to protest, but stopped when his father said, "Speaking of work, don't you have some lines to write, young man?"
With a grumbled, "Yes, Papa," Blair got his paper and pen out and wrote until bedtime.
~~~~
In the early morning, just as the sun began to rise over the mountain peaks, Jim made his way to the barn to feed the stock -- and to try to make some sort of peace with his brother.
After putting Blair to bed last night, Jim sat by the fire thinking about how he'd behaved toward the man who used to be the happy-go-lucky younger brother he'd been so protective of in his youth. That boy vanished when the war broke out, and when it was over, Jim didn't recognize the beaten down man blocking his entrance to their home. Looking back, it was hard to even recognize himself. He'd been so bitter and disillusioned by the war's end. This past year proved to him how much people could change if given the right motivation. Jim tried to put the past aside so he could get to know the man who now slept in his barn, and maybe find his brother again.
The creak of the barn door, and sliver of light the opening produced, drew Steven's attention from feeding the animals. At the hesitant smile he gave his older brother, Jim gave a small smile in return.
The younger man turned back to his self-appointed chore. "Just thought I'd help out a bit--to repay your hospitality and all."
"Thank you," Jim said quietly, noting the lack of sarcasm from the previous day. He began to feed the horses a few stalls away. "Tonight I'll fix bedrolls up so Blair and I can sleep by the fire. You can have the bed."
"I don't want to put you out, Jim. I'd be happy to sleep by the fire. That's a pretty well-built little place you got there." Jim looked up from his task to see his brother standing against a stall with a lopsided grin on his face. "I'm surprised you could construct such a sturdy house considering you're the only one I know who actually built a birdhouse so ugly it scared the birds away."
They both chuckled over the memory of the pathetic little wooden structure that hung in the big shade tree outside the back porch. It lasted two days before falling apart bit by bit.
Jim scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, well, my carpentry skills haven't improved any. The buildings were here when I bought the place. Since Blair arrived it's been getting a bit cramped, but I'm struggling with how to add on without---"
Steven's sudden burst of laughter interrupted his train of thought. His younger brother braced himself against the stall door for support as he doubled over in uncontrollable mirth.
With an arched brow, Jim asked gruffly, "What's so funny, runt?"
Steven got himself under control enough to get out, "Do you remember that fort you made for us under that old Magnolia tree? I'll never forget when we spent the night in that thing and that storm blew in. At the first gust of wind the sides collapsed and we ran to the house just as the rain started coming down in sheets!"
Jim shook a finger at the chuckling man before him with mock sternness. "Now you know why I'm not putting my boy in any structure I make myself. I need to hire some help."
"Definitely. I'd help you myself, but unfortunately, I have the same lack of woodworking knowledge."
"Father raised us for other things," Jim said somberly, turning back to his work.
Steven's good humor evaporated as well and he grew more serious. "Yes, he did. I'm sorry for
the way I treated you when you came home, Jim." He paused, running a hand through his thick
hair. "Hell, I'm sorry about the cold shoulder I gave you before you left to join the North. I
came here for several reasons, but the most important one was to set things right with you. With
Father gone, you're all the family I've got left."
"How'd it happen?" Jim asked without a shred of emotion in his voice.
"I think it was his heart. He died in his sleep last year."
An uneasy silence permeated the barn. Jim was so lost in his conflicting thoughts about his father that he almost missed what Steven said next.
"I see you have The Blue Lady displayed on your mantle. Mama would've liked that. She would have loved your Blair, too."
At the mention of his son, a genuine smile came to the rancher's face. "That little imp's pretty easy to love."
"I'd like to spend some time with him while I'm here. Get to know him better before I have to be moving on."
Jim stopped his work to look Steven in the eye. "What do you mean, 'move on'? Aren't you headed home from here?"
Steven looked away from Jim's penetrating stare. "That was one of the other things I needed to tell you. I tried writing it in a letter, but I just couldn't. Jim, I lost the farm."
"You what?! How'd the Blazes did that happen?" Jim ranted as he began to pace, running a hand over his hair. "When did this happen?"
"Carpetbaggers. Supposedly back taxes. A bad year. It all began to fall apart shortly before you wrote."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"What was I supposed to say, Jim?! Write you, 'Dearest Older Brother, it's been years since we've seen each other. In spite of our past differences, please accept this Morgan as a token of my regret over our falling out. Also, I must inform you, sadly, that our family home is being taken over by northern scalawags. You might recognize some of the names as comrades-in-arms so I have enclosed a list! Very sincerely yours, --"
Jim cut off his brother's bitter recitation by slamming him back against the stall post.
"That's enough," he hissed, shaking the other man to drive his message in. Both men glared at each other until Steven finally looked away.
Jim released him, weariness flooding every limb. The war had been over for nine years, why couldn't they let it be? "Steven, I don't want to argue about the past. There's nothing we can do about it anyway."
The younger man adjusted his jacket, avoiding Jim's eyes. With a heavy sigh, he looked up. "Agreed."
"Let's finish up here so we can get some breakfast. Blair makes a pretty good cup of coffee. We can talk about this later."
The roguish, lop-sided grin was back. "All right."
****
Blair had the coffee on and the last of the hated lines written by the time the men came in for breakfast. After checking Blair's work, Jim whipped up a batch of his cinnamon flapjacks and the three sat down to eat a much more pleasant meal than the previous evening's.
Steven entertained Blair with stories from their childhood, some of which Jim wished he hadn't shared. No doubt his sibling was trying to get even for Jim's rough treatment in the barn. Then the stories began to be about his experiences in the war.
"--We saw a unit from Tennessee stealing eggs from a hen house and when--"
"Mr. Brown says the confederates were just a bunch of no-account Johnny Rebs," Blair interrupted off-handedly before continuing to stuff his mouth with his last pancake.
His son's ill-chosen words sent a flush to Jim's cheeks. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room and he hissed, "That's enough, Blair."
Innocent of his faux-pas, Blair tried to explain. "But, Papa, you remember Mr. Brown said--"
"I know what he said," Jim replied firmly. "You shouldn't be repeating it. I see your plate's clean, you're excused from the table. Get to your chores."
Throwing his father a confused and hurt look, he said meekly, "Yes, sir," and took his plate to the sink before leaving the cabin.