Despite her troubles, Emma slept soundly that night and awoke to the smell of fried bacon. Her room was bright and sunny and brought her some cheer. She thought that perhaps, after all, Brush could well turn out to suit her fine.
Emma had overslept. When she entered the kitchen, the breakfast table was crowded with plates and bowls, cups of coffee and glasses of milk. She sat down in the only vacant chair at one corner, sandwiched between her girls who had already been organised by their cousins, and watched as the Harms family dove into eggs, bacon, muffins and hunks of dark bread, along with hominy grits and bottled fruit in bowls. Finding herself hungry again after the long journey, she joined in the feast. The coffee was good and strong. There was much chatter and clatter, unlike the
