Epilogue
SIX YEARS LATER .. .
A crash sounded from the kitchen.
Charlotte dropped her broom and ran from the front hallway to the rear of the small house. The door to the pantry stood open, and a tiny head topped with dark curls peered out—and then disappeared again.
“Mama here,” little Matthew’s voice said in a loud whisper. At three, he followed his older sister around everywhere. And five-year-old Lillian had a penchant for trouble.
Steeling herself for a mess, Charlotte crossed the room. Inside the pantry, she found one little boy playing with flour as if it were the sand by the river—and one little girl covered head to toe in white.
Lillian looked sheepishly down at the flour jar, which was mostly empty but thankfully unbroken.
“Lillian?” Charlotte perched her hands on her hips and waited for an explanation on how dusting turned into the flour jar on the floor.
“It wasn’t my fault,” she said in her most angelic voice. “I was dusting it and it fell down.”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows. It would take more than a swipe with a dust cloth to knock that jar off the shelf. “Are you certain? Because I’m not.”
Lillian glanced down at her little brother. Sensing she was in trouble, she pulled Matthew back from the flour and held one of his little hands. “I may have dusted too hard. Or I moved it, maybe a little. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
Charlotte nodded. “All right. Mistakes happen. You need to clean up the mistake though. After you help Matthew wash, you’ll find the broom in the front hallway. And then the floor will need a good scrubbing. I’ll bring the water in for that.”
Looking like a pair of little ghosts, the children left through the back door, just as Mark entered.
“Dare I ask?” His eyes—of which Lillian’s were a perfect copy—followed the children as they walked down to the well.
“Lillian dusted the flour right off the shelf.” Charlotte swiped a hand across her forehead. “If I survive that child, it will be a miracle from God himself.”
A sly grin crossed Mark’s face as he reached for her hands. “You do know she’s just like you?”
“Please don’t remind me.” Charlotte shook her head, this time in empathy for her mother and the string of nannies who’d helped raise her. She’d have to write Mama about this incident. It had taken some time for her parents to adjust to the idea of her remaining in Colorado—and marrying a man whose last name they’d never heard of. But from the moment Lillian was born and Charlotte had sent a photograph taken at Harper Photographic Studio back home to her parents, their letters hadn’t ceased.
It was nice to have her family in her life again.
“She’s good at finding trouble, just like a certain woman I know,” Mark said.
“I don’t find trouble anymore,” Charlotte said with a mock indignant expression.
“Hmm.” Mark looked her up and down. “Have you already forgotten about the church social?”
“Thatwas because Sissy insisted she would organize the food, even though she’d already taken over the planning for the band and the dances. And you know how badly Mrs. Joliet wanted to be in charge of food, and I wasn’t about to let Sissy simply take charge ofeverything!” Charlotte raised her chin. “That was not finding trouble. It was standing in defense of a friend’s mother.”
“And I had to hear about it for a week. I call that trouble.”
“I’ll show you trouble.” And with that, Charlotte stood on her tiptoes and gave him one serious, long, and troublesome kiss.
“Oh, I like that kind of trouble,” he said the second she broke away.
“Did Mama do something wrong?” Lillian’s voice sounded from behind Mark.
Charlotte turned in his arms to face her daughter. Both Lillian and Matthew were dripping wet. “Of course not. I’m your mother.”
Mark covered his laugh with his hand. Charlotte shook her head.
“Why don’t you two wait outside and I’ll bring you dry clothing?” she said, ignoring her husband.
The children obeyed, but before she could leave to retrieve a pair of towels and some clothing, Mark caught her hand and pulled her back to him.
