The fish stew was tasteless, which in a way was an accomplishment with fish. Rose was painfully aware of it. She had tried to solve the problem by adding salt, but then it had turned out too salty, and so she had added water and now... it was watery and tasteless. 

She was close to tears. 

Andrew pretended to like her food, but Rose could tell that he suffered through, rather than enjoyed, the meals  and she worried that his patience would run out and he would regret marrying her. Perhaps he already did.

Oh the pasty puddings! She had shaped them, but then she had forgotten them when the stew was boiling over. She quickly shoved them in the oven, dropping two on the ground in her rush. She groaned, picked them up and put them in the oven with the others. As if it would make a difference in taste... What bothered her more was that they wouldn't be ready for another twenty minutes. Andrew would be home any time. The whole house smelled of fish but her stew was tasteless and her pasties were uncooked. Oh... and the kitchen was a mess. She walked over to a chair and sank down into it. She was a terrible wife!

He came home after a long day at the bakery, particularly tired and having had to deal with pricks, he was not in a good mood. He would never take it out on Rose, of course, because that just wasn't Andrew. But he didn't want to eat her food... not that night anyway. He would suck it up, but he just didn't want to. The smell of cooking fish permeated the air and promised for a good time, but he knew better. Oh did he know better? He curled his upper lip and scraped lightly at it with his bottom teeth, then swallowed heavily.

After girding his loins, he went to the kitchen, only to find his wife in a state of slight duress and the kitchen a mess. He frowned, "What's wrong, love?" he asked softly, pretending to ignore the mess as he approached her and knelt down so he could look into her eyes. He very well knew it had something to do with the food. Maybe she was on to him that he didn't enjoy her cooking.

Rose tried to get up when she noticed Andrew entering the room, but she sank back down when she realized he had seen her distress. She covered her face for shame when he knelt down in front of her. "Oh Andrew. I'm so sorry. I'm such a bad wife. Tea isn't ready yet!"

A mere delay of execution.

"Nonsense, ye're not a bad wife," he reached out and touched her face. "Nay, lass, don't hide yer pretty face from me now, just because ye had a bad day doesn't mean ye're a bad wife, love." He tried to gently pull her hands down so he could look into her eyes.

Rose let him pull her hands down, but she looked at him hopelessly. "Me da' used to say if I didn't learn to cook better, I'd never find a husband... Do ye... I know I ain't a good cook. Do ye regret marryin' me, Andrew?" She looked as if her whole world was about to scatter.

"No, no," he said honestly and then pulled her into a hug. "I can feed the both of us iffin ye want ta give up cookin', darlin'. I didn't marry ye for yer cookin', I married ye because ye're a good woman and I enjoy bein' around ye." He rubbed her back softly, hoping she didn't take it as a demand for her to stop cooking, but rather presenting it as an option.

Rose hugged him back, actually seriously considering that option. Did Andrew have enough money to hire a maid? She'd love to boss someone around. But it would be a humiliation to admit that she needed help cooking. "I suppose..."

She was interrupted by a bubbling and sizzling noise coming from the kitchen range. She pulled back and rushed over. The pot with stew was boiling over.

"Oh... No, I..." She took the pot from the stove, burned her hands, shrieked, dropped it, and suddenly there was fish stew all over the floor.

She began to cry.

He went after her when he saw what happened. He took her by the wrist, careful not to touch the burn, and guided her to the sink where he immediately began to pump cold water onto the burn. "Shhhhh, hush now, lass, it's alright." He kissed the top of her head and said, "I'm not goin' anywhere... Ye're alright." He knew she needed the reassurance more than she needed to be soothed when it came to the burn. "Sit down now and I will clean up this mess. Then I will cook ye some vittles. Alright?" He didn't mind doing the cooking, he didn't like seeing her upset because she couldn't though.

More than anything, Rose was ashamed. She let Andrew help her cool the burns and managed to stop crying, but she shook her head wildly when he offered to clean and cook. "Oh no. You've worked all day. I'll clean up while ye cook. Ye can still use t' puddings. They're in the oven. Oh I am sorry." She pulled her hands away from the water, found a cloth and began to mop up the stew. She had occasionally dropped things at home and wasted food. At least Andrew didn't shout at her for being stupid like father did. But she feared that if she messed up too often, he would stop loving her, and that was worse.

"At least let me help," he said softly, getting down to her level, grabbing a rag and mopping up the remnants of what he was supposed to eat for dinner but very glad not to have to, for he knew without a doubt that it was a blessing that it dropped. "It's alright. Ye keep me house tidy, and I'll bring ye home some vittles. How does that sound?" He was trying his best to soothe her, knowing she was stubborn.