Keturah’s hands balled into fists as tension sizzled between them. Who was he to think the pig would respond to him over her? Not only did he know not a thing about pigs, but this entire ordeal was his fault. Still, they had little other choice, given the circumstances.
After turning on her heel, she trudged over to the barn aisle. Opening the stall door wide, she placed herself in the opening between the stall and the other side of the barn. Daniel whipped the branch up and down behind the pig, and Gilly took off again, straight toward Keturah. She bent, widening her stance, and waved her arms in the air. Then, as she yelled at the top of her lungs, she witnessed a miracle. The pig ran right into her stall without a moment’s hesitation. Keturah paused only a second before she leapt forward and slammed the gate behind her. After ensuring it was properly locked, she turned and leaned against the stall door.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Gilly was safely back in her stall. Thanks to Daniel. Keturah’s middle tightened. An apology was in order. But when she opened her eyes, her husband was nowhere in sight.
Anger rippled through Daniel as he stalked back to the house. Yes, the pig’s escape was his fault—there was no denying it. But the look his wife had given him when he stated he would herd the animal back to her stall…as though he was an imbecile, incapable of even the simplest task. He had seen such utter disdain before. Had dealt with it within his own home before. But thus far, it had seemed life could be different with Keturah.
Daniel marched across the porch and through the cabin door, only to stop in his tracks. His shoulders sagged as he entered the dimly lit interior. He trudged over to the rocking chair beside the hearth, the fight gone from him. Scamper lifted his head and gave him a tongue-out, tail-wagging grin. The greeting caused the corners of Daniel’s mouth to lift a little.
He settled in the rocker, and Scamper jumped up, placing his paws on his knees. My, how the pup had already grown. “Can you imagine what would have happened if you had been a part of the chase?” Daniel chuckled. How comical it would have been had the dog been allowed to help chase the pig. They likely never would have returned the animal home.
Light poured into the room as Keturah came inside. Her curls were all askew, and pieces of leaves clung to her hair while her ripped petticoat dragged along the cabin floor, peeking out from under her top layers. Herexpression was somber as she approached, and he braced himself for what she might say.
“Thank you.” The words were barely audible.
Daniel blinked up at Keturah. “For what?”
“For gettin’ Gilly back in her stall.”
“Oh.” Daniel nodded, his gaze dropping to the brown-eyed puppy face that stared up at him. While he appreciated the thanks, the nature of it chafed. Did it have to seem so difficult for her to express gratitude? Especially after she had displayed such contempt earlier. “’Twas the least I could do.”
Keturah attempted a smile, but her lips wobbled and her eyes glistened. Then she walked away and began to gather the flour and supplies for baking bread.
Daniel’s brow furrowed. What an odd encounter with his normally spirited wife. Did a simple apology truly drain so much from her?
CHAPTER 10
August 19, 1782
Keturah groaned and dropped her sewing onto her lap. Her seam was crooked…again. She leaned her head back against the rocking chair as tears formed in her eyes. Why could she not get this right? She may not have the talent of a seamstress, but her sewing skills were perfectly adequate, and this was nowhere near her first time forming her own clothing. But for some reason, she could not seem to make the fabric of her father’s tartan work with her. She had ripped the seams out and redone them more times that she could count. And still, it was not ready to be worn over her petticoats.
She blew out an exasperated breath. Perhaps she should visit Daniel and Scamper outside. Her husbandhad finally found an opportunity to work on their bookcase, and though Keturah attempted to be productive as well, her efforts had failed. Better to breathe in the fresh air than to wallow. Yet, wallowing was all she felt she had energy for. It was quite unlike her. So she rose and went to the door, poking her head outside.
At least the heat was not as stifling as it was indoors. Keturah stepped out onto the porch and fanned her face with her hand. Maybe that had been her first mistake, attempting to work the wool in the dead of summer. ’Twas no wonder she could not focus.
Still, she felt…off. Her emotions had been all over the place for nearly a month, it seemed. Keturah left the porch and moved over to Daniel’s side. His dark hair poked in every which direction as he hammered in the last nail on the bottom shelf. When he straightened, Keturah ran her hand through his sweat-dampened locks to restore order. “I should draw ye a bath before I prepare the meal.”
Daniel took her hands into his. “No. There is no need for you to trouble yourself on my behalf. The creek shall be more refreshing on a day such as this, anyway.”
Tears formed in Keturah’s eyes as she peered up at her sweet husband.
His brow puckered. “Keturah, what is wrong, my love?” He drew her into him as she shook her head.
“I dinnae know. I suppose ’tis nice to have someoneconsider me.” She shrugged a shoulder. “To lighten me load rather than add to it. Father always needed me to do somethin’ to makehislife easier. Always.”
Daniel hugged her tightly. “No more, my dear. No more.”
Keturah squeezed her eyes shut and took solace in her husband’s comforting embrace.Thank Ye, Lord.Though she had doubted God’s presence in her life, His hand in it was now evident. Daniel had proved to be anything but the naïve, bumbling dandy she once worried he was. Instead, he completed her and provided the support she had never before received.
Still, that did not explain her sudden propensity for tears.
August 26, 1782
Keturah sighed contentedly as she stirred the stew in a pot over an outdoor fire. The day was gorgeous, with warm sunshine overhead and a gentle breeze rustling through the valley. Scamper laid stretched across the grass several yards away, positioned between her and Daniel, basking in the glory.
Daniel sat propped against a tall red maple, whittling a stick. Well, it was more than a stick.The piece of wood he had chosen to work with was nearly as big around as her wrist. Her lips pulled into a smile, and she gave the food another stir to keep the bits of potato and carrot from sticking to the bottom. Perhaps her husband would be talented at woodcarving, considering how he had taken to construction with ease.
She glanced at his profile again, at the sweep of his dark hair over his forehead. His lips pressed together as he concentrated on the task at hand, chipping away at the wood with a knife. What would he create? Would it be something she could sit upon the mantel as a token of his talent and a reminder of the man who had stolen her heart?
