Travis looked up at Josie, giving her a soft smile. She looked back at him, returning the same expression. He looked away, not allowing his glance to be a moment longer. Travis lifted Lillian off his knee. “Now go help Josie with the flapjacks.”
Lillian squealed as she slid off his lap. She scurried to the stove and wrapped her arms around Josie’s legs.
Aunt Polly joined Travis’s side and patted his back. “I’m proud of you, Travis.”
Travis nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting in what he hoped was reassurance. Maybe a baby would bring happiness back into their home. But despite the hopeful thought, doubts circled his mind like vultures, refusing to leave him in peace. Something in his gut felt amiss, but he couldn’t decide what it was.
Was it his fear of being a father again? Or maybe it was Josie—what if he’d never learn to trust her again?
Chapter Nineteen
Willow Grove, Montana; Early August 1872
Thefireplaceacrosstheroom roared while Josie sat at the kitchen table with Ivy in her lap, her eyes scanning the child’s needlework. The afternoons were nearly as hot as the flames, but when the sun hid behind the clouds, the nights grew chilly, especially in a drafty cabin. Josie carefully guided Ivy’s hand as she stitched through a white piece of fabric. The child had found it in Aunt Polly’s scrap pile in her cabin and rushed back, asking Josie to help her make a nightdress for the baby.
Josie had learned to sew at an early age, focusing mainly on cross-stitching and embroidery. She never mastered the art of creating dresses until after the war and her marriage. When exposed to the extreme poverty in the Negro community, Josiefelt a strong urge to give away her old clothes and take on the task of making dresses for little girls. With Marcus controlling her finances, she found it more practical to work from home, always in secret, worried that he might discover her efforts.
It didn’t take long for Marcus to discover that she was teaching and making clothes. In retaliation, he took everything she owned, ensuring she wouldn’t receive a single penny, even in death. Stripped of her possessions, she was left with nothing but the name “Mrs. Wellington,” after her father had already passed on, unable to help. Marcus soldBelle Vallée,wielding his authority as her husband to abuse her.
Josie looked down at Ivy. After an hour of Josie observing Ivy’s hand, the child was doing well with keeping her stitches straight and even. She cherished this time spent with her stepdaughter, especially considering that a month ago, she had feared such moments would never come.
Ivy was almost nine years old, and Josie had been just seven years older than Ivy was now when she was given in marriage to Marcus. Josie ran her fingers through her stepdaughter’s thin reddish-brown hair. She was so innocent, so oblivious to the cruel world around her. Josie longed for the days of her youth, wishing she could reclaim the innocence that shielded her from the world’s wickedness and the true nature of men. The war had changed everything, stripping away her carefree existence and replacing it with pain and hardship. It took everything from her, leading her to a life she loathed—one filled with sorrow and struggle instead of the warmth and security she once knew.
Josie peered up to see Lillian enter the living area, clutching the scraps of fabric that were removed to shape Ivy’s piece into a nightdress.
“Josie, can I try?”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “You can’t make anything with that. It’s scraps.”
Lillian’s head hung low and poked out her lip. “Oh.”
Josie gently tapped Ivy to encourage her to sit up before approaching the disappointed Lillian. Crouching to meet the child at her level, Josie touched Lillian’s hand, which still clutched the scraps of fabric.
Josie smiled, opening Lillian’s palm. “I think we can make something out of this. Follow me.”
Lillian trailed Josie to the room’s left corner, where the scissors still laid next to the kitchen stove. Josie picked them up and carefully cut the sides of Lillian’s scrap to create a ribbon-like piece. She placed it around Lillian’s head, tying the ends together at her crown.
“Now you have a headband. You look very stylish if I say so myself.”
Just then, the sound of the door closing interrupted their moment as Travis and Jonas walked in. They had been loading grain to take to the mill the next day. Josie and the children had been winnowing for weeks. It was one of the few things Josie felt she could manage without overexerting herself
“Pa, look!” Lillian exclaimed, spinning in her little blue calico dress.
Travis smiled and picked Lillian up. “My my, you look like a little princess.”
Lillian pointed to her headband. “Josie made this for me.”
Travis looked up at Josie, his head giving a little nod. He still hadn’t fully adjusted to her true identity, despite it being two weeks since he learned the truth.
“Thank you, Josie,” he said. He put Lillian down and Ivy approached him with her needlework in hand.
“Pa, look what Josie is helping me make.” She held up the half-made gown.
Travis stiffened for a moment. Josie anxiously awaited his reaction, her fingers nestled tightly together. Travis’s flattenedlips curved. “It looks nice, Ivy.” Travis leaned closer to Josie. “I thought I’d come in and tell the children goodnight.”
Warmth flooded through Josie, swirling in her stomach. It was the first time since June Travis came inside at night, wanting to put the children to bed. He only came inside to eat, and even then, he rushed, hardly saying a word. The only time he interacted with the children was when they were outside and Josie wasn’t around.
“Of course. The children would be delighted.”
