Chapter 26: “Wife, I Was Wrong…”

Dinner was ready when Ryder came running over to call Clara and the others to the old house for the meal.

"Grandpa, Father—my mother cooked a big bowl of twice-cooked pork! We're having meat today!" Ryder shouted excitedly, even more thrilled than he had been on New Year's.

Because this time, the portion of meat was even bigger than what they had during the New Year.

Grandma said it was all thanks to Third Aunt today, so they could eat to their hearts' content—just this once.

That's why Mother had cooked nearly half a pig's worth of pork—an entire heaping bowl of it! Just thinking about it had Ryder drooling uncontrollably.

He was terrified that if they went late, Adam and Ben would gobble it all down first, so he urged his father and grandfather to hurry.

Old Man Liew turned to Clara. "Clara, let's go have dinner. Let the eldest stay behind and watch over Lester, and after you're done eating, you can come back and switch."

Clara shook her head. "No need, I'll stay here and keep watch. You all go ahead. Just have Adam and the others bring me a portion when they're done."

As she spoke, she fetched a bowl from inside and handed it to Ryder to give to Adam so he could bring the food over later.

Old Walter Liew thought she was being sentimental and dutiful, completely unaware that Clara simply had a decent appetite. If she went over, she wouldn't be able to eat her fill, but if she ate too much, there wouldn't be enough for the others. She'd rather stay home and make her own pot of food and eat well.

Martha Liew had managed the household for over a decade and was a master at portioning rice. She knew exactly how much everyone ate daily and how much rice and vegetables each person should get per meal—just enough to keep everyone about 70% full.

During the busy farming seasons, those working in the fields would get a little extra.

Now, this skill had passed to Doreen, who was even more precise—she wouldn't even let a single rice crust go to waste.

On Clara's first night in the house, she had eaten at the old home with Lester and already learned the drill.

Seeing that Clara was firm on staying behind, Old Walter didn't press her further. He called his sons, set aside the medicine they got from the doctor, and reminded Clara to change Lester's dressing twice a day before heading back.

Finally, the noisy house fell into silence. Clara let out a soft sigh of relief and rolled up her sleeves to get to work.

She fetched one of the new oil lamps she had bought, lit it, and placed it on the stove. Then, she began cooking.

She made a pot of thick, creamy rice porridge. The fragrance was faint at first, but as the fire grew stronger, the smell of sweet rice began to waft through the house, creeping into her nose and making her stomach grumble.

Clara adjusted the fire by removing a log, allowing the porridge to simmer slowly. While it cooked, she moved the six sacks of grain she had bought from the side room to the main house. Then, she redid the bedding for the four children.

The old straw was tossed outside to be used as kindling later, and the musty, stiff bedding was dragged out and left on top of the straw pile outside.

She took out one of the new palm-fiber mats she had bought and laid it over the bedboard, then spread a second-hand bedsheet over it and topped it with a thick new quilt. The bed now looked fresh and inviting.

There was still some space in the side room, and Clara hesitated between sleeping there or squeezing into the main room, which now served as the dining room, living area, and storeroom—not exactly private.

And with a man still lying there recovering, Clara decided to make herself a bed on the floor of the side room.

She brought the straw back in and laid it neatly in a corner by the wall, layered a palm mat over it, spread a sheet, and added a cotton quilt—simple, but comfortable.

Once the beds were set, Clara folded the extra quilts and stacked them on the bed to be used once furniture and renovations were completed.

She grabbed one of the thinner quilts and brought it to the main house, tossing it over Lester without a word.

Lester, who had been freezing to death, was overjoyed and quickly pulled it over himself.

The clothes he had worn earlier had been taken by Billy Lin and the others—he had arrived wrapped in a torn hemp robe. After Brandon helped wipe him down earlier, he had put the ragged robe back on.

Clara's old bedding, which he had been using, offered no warmth and was heavy like a sack of bricks. Already injured, the weight nearly suffocated him.

In the past, he would've already been moaning like a grandpa, but now he kept his mouth shut. Even as the smell of rice porridge drifted in and his stomach growled, he dared not make a sound.

He was terrified Clara would remember him, and with no family or brothers around, she might just finish him off.

Clara glanced at his swollen, herb-smeared face and coldly warned, "You'd better not dirty my new quilt."

The blanket that had been pulled up to his neck was obediently dragged back down. His swollen face coated in medicine revealed only a pair of bright, alert eyes—pitiful and wary as they looked at Clara.

Just as she was about to step out, a trembling voice suddenly called out:

"Wife… I was wrong."

Clara paused and turned slowly, eyes narrowing dangerously as she scrutinized the trembling man on the bed.

Under her intimidating gaze, Lester had to dig his fingers into the wound on his leg to distract himself with pain, just to keep from lowering his head.

Staring at her with his one still-pretty pair of peach blossom eyes, he earnestly declared:

"Wife, I truly realize my mistakes now. I swear, from now on I won't loaf around anymore. Once I'm healed, I'll find honest work, earn money, support you and the kids, and give you all a good life."

Clara raised an eyebrow with a mocking smile. "You sure about that?"

Lester nodded like a bobblehead. "I, Lester Liew, swear to the heavens—if my wife tells me to go west, I won't even glance east. If I break this vow, may I be struck down by lightning and die a miserable death!"

Seeing that Clara's gaze had softened slightly, he hurried to add, "Wife, I heard you risked your life hunting in the mountains to earn money and—"

Clara cut him off flatly: "You're thinking too much."

Lester froze, then stammered on, "I was such a bastard before. I didn't appreciate you. I wronged you. From now on, I'll treat you well. All the hard and dirty work—leave it to me. You can just rest—ow!"

He had gotten too excited and tugged at the wound on his face. The sharp pain made him suck in a breath, tears springing to his eyes.

Clara clicked her tongue. "You'd better remember what you just said."

Then, she added with a cold glint in her eye, "But I recall Billy Lin mentioned you called me a venomous shrew?"

Tears of pain filled Lester's eyes instantly, mingling with his terror. "Wife, you wrong me! My heart is pure for you—heaven can attest! I'd never speak ill of you—it must've been Billy setting me up!"

He shouted so loudly that more wounds started to hurt, and his face, streaked with tears and herbal paste, looked downright pitiful and ugly.

Clara waved her hand with disdain, signaling him to stop whining. Her sharp eyes already saw right through him. "Spill it—what do you really want?"

Lester swallowed nervously, his eyes drifting instinctively toward the kitchen.

As Clara walked out, her voice trailed behind her: "Starting now, every bite of food you eat, every item you use, including the 38 taels I repaid Billy Lin today—"

"I'll be recording it all in a ledger."

"When you're healed, you'll find a job and pay me back. Every. Last. Coin."

She especially emphasized the last sentence, repeating his own words back to him.

She came back shortly after with a bowl of fragrant rice porridge, sprinkled with a pinch of sugar, and placed it in front of him.

The smell alone made Lester forget his pain. He sat up despite his wounds, grabbed the bowl, and began eating.

Mouth full, he mumbled, "Whatever you say, Wife—whatever you say."

He slurped down two mouthfuls of hot porridge. It burned, but the sweetness of the sugar made it irresistible. He sucked in air while gulping it down.

In his mind, he thought—once he was full, he'd sleep and then pretend he forgot everything he promised.

But little did he know—Clara had already seen right through him.

And if he really dared "forget," she had plenty of ways to jog his memory.

(End of Chapter)