Rose had pulled two chairs out on the back porch. She had wrapped herself in a big woolen shawl and was stretched out on the two chairs, with her feet up. Byron as usual was right at her side. The feeble afternoon sun warmed her face as she stared across the yard at the remaining aspen leaves.

"There won't be many more afternoons like this," she thought. "But what difference does it make. Even if there are, I won't be here to see them.

Rose had made up her mind that if Jack did not come home today, she was going to leave. For somewhere, anywhere. But she would not stay here. She had not forgotten what he had said about his mistake in marrying her. But on the other hand, she had tried to blame him for her pregnancy. How could they have tried to destroy each other like that? Could things ever be the same?

She took a deep breath and thought about her day. Once she had gotten up, she had come downstairs and started cleaning up the mess from last night. It really hadn't taken her that long. She had done the dishes, finished the ironing and with some small amount of optimism, set the table for dinner.

"It's a shame I had to throw out that scorched shirt. Oh, well. I guess I learned about irons getting too hot. I guess I learned a lot of things," she sighed.

Her beautiful teapot was broken. That more than anything made her realize how fragile love can be. She had managed to find some glue and now it was held together enough to stand on the table filled with dry flowers.

She had gone out to the store and bought a whole chicken and some potatoes. And now they were slowly roasting in the oven. It smelled good enough that even Byron had been casting looks at the oven door.

The whole problem with yesterday was that she had tried to make a fancy dinner that failed while trying to catch up on a week's worth of ironing. Then when Jane had come a little unprepared for her lessons, the whole situation had exploded out of control. And Jack just happened to walk in the door.

"Maybe he was tired too. Why did I say those things?" she thought, still berating herself twenty four hours later. "I wonder if Jack will even take me back. I must have looked like a shrew to him."

Rose looked down at Byron whose nose was twitching at the smell of the chicken.

"Oh well, Byron, you might have a nice dinner all to yourself, if Jack does not come home."

She closed her eyes, put her hands on her stomach and leaned back into the chair. When she held her baby like that from the outside, she felt a calmness and serenity that was almost indescribable. In a few minutes she was sound asleep.

Jack walked up the front steps of the house. As he stood in the hallway, he could smell food cooking, but heard no sounds from either from Rose or Byron. Was she even here? But she must be. Rose wouldn't leave the house with the stove on. He continued into the kitchen. Last night it had been a disaster. Now something was in the oven, everything was tidy and the table was set for two. His heart skipped a beat. Could he hope that she would take him back?

He set the flowers down on the table, along with the little brown bag from Lum's. Then he peered through the screen door that led to the back porch. There sound asleep was Rose. He put his finger to his lips as if to tell Byron to be quiet, then noiselessly opened the door.

He sat down on the railing and watched her while she slept. Once or twice he thought he saw her hand move involuntarily. And he was in awe to think that was their baby doing that. Moving inside of her. He wasn't sure what Rose wanted, but for that baby, he was willing to do anything.

Even with her eyes closed, Rose could tell that someone was watching her. She could often sense when Jack was staring at her. Could it be him? Almost afraid to see if it was, she opened her eyes.

He sat across from her, with a serious and intent expression on his face. His usually bright, sparkling eyes yielded no clue as to his feelings. They looked at one another silently for a few moments. Each one was waiting for the other to speak.

Unable her control her emotions any longer, Rose began to cry and as she did, Jack came to her side and put his arms around her. She reached out to him awkwardly, clutching his sleeve, his arm, anything she could grab onto. He was barely able to understand what she was saying through her sobs.

"Oh, Jack, I am so sorry. I said such awful things to you."

She looked up at him to see if she could tell what he was feeling. But his face was still blank.

"I was so worried about you. Jack, please, I didn't mean it."

And she leaned against his chest, soaking his shirt with her tears. Slowly she felt his hand smoothing her hair and she felt his mouth against her head as he began to kiss her there.

"Shhh, Rose. I don't know what happened last night either. I know don't know why I said the things I did. You have to know I love you."

It took a great deal of courage to look at her, but Jack did. He had to convey his sincerity. He took hold of her shoulders and gave her a piercing gaze.

"I didn't mean what I said about not marrying you. I didn't mean any of it. Oh Rose," he whispered, crushing her against him.

For several minutes they held each other, rocking back and forth, comforting their bruised hearts. Jack leaned down to kiss her and in that instant their pain was forgotten. Through her sniffling, Rose smiled at Jack.

"Jack, I was so scared that you wouldn't come back," she croaked hoarsely, wiping away her tears.

"I wasn't sure you wanted me back," he said in between kisses.

"Jack, I love you."

He looked at Rose with her tousled hair and tear streaked face and thought she had never looked lovelier to him. Finally he grinned at her.

"You look beautiful Rose. I will never stop loving you. Ever."

She buried her face against his wet shirt relishing these moments of their renewed love.

"Help me up, Jack. I made some dinner."

He helped her out of the chair and together they went into the house, with Byron following hopefully behind. On the table, she saw the flowers and the brown bag from Lum's.

"What's this?" she asked, mystified.

Jack hung his head and looked at her from under his shaggy hair.

"A sort of peace offering," he said sheepishly.

"They are beautiful," she said, as she unwrapped the flowers and reached up on the shelf for a vase.

"What's in there, Jack," she wanted to know, looking at the brown bag.

"I brought you some dinner. So you wouldn't have to cook," he added wistfully.

"Oh, Jack. That's alright. Byron can eat the chicken. He's been eyeing it all day anyway."

Jack laughed at that and bent down to scratch Byron.

"Looks like neither one of us is in the dog house today, eh boy," Jack chuckled, as Byron switched his tail against the floor.

Then he saw the broken teapot.

"I'll get you another one."

"No, Jack," said Rose, with a serious tone in her voice. "Jack, I thought about a lot of things today."

"And what's that?" he said pulling her into his arms.

"When I was mending the teapot, I thought that we should keep it like this. As sort of a reminder of what happened last night."

Jack looked into her eyes.

"Rose, I think that is a very wise thing. I think we both learned something from last night. But now we've done enough thinking about teapots. Let's think about something else."

And without giving her a chance to answer, he pressed his lips to hers and drew her even closer to him. At least as close with her pregnant stomach as he could get for right now.

That teapot sat on the kitchen shelf in every place that Rose and Jack lived. There were sometimes short words between the two of them, but never again was there a night of such sadness and anger. That broken teapot was the only reminder they needed.