Barbara resisted the urge to correct his grammar as they weren’t in the schoolroom, but it was hard.
Once the last jar had been safely stowed away, Barbara found her ma seated on a crate.
“Ma, I can’t thank you enough for this,” Barbara said. “It means more than you know.”
“Barbara, you did what was right for you. That’s all a mother can hope for her child.” Her ma’s voice was firm, but Barbara knew it was filled with unconditional love.
“Pa doesn’t see it that way,” Barbara murmured, worrying the hem of her apron.
“Your pa’s set in his ways. But I’ll work on softening his heart. I’ve been working on him for more than thirty years now.”
Barbara chuckled softly. “I suppose you have at that.”
“Besides,” her ma added, “I’m not about to let anything—not your pa’s stubbornness nor the biggest blizzard this little town has ever seen—stop me from seeing my youngest girl.”
“Even if she is a Bedwell now?” Barbara asked, half teasing, half seeking reassurance.
“Even so. Family’s family, no matter the name you carry. And you will always be mine.”
“Thank you, Ma. For everything.”
“Let’s not dwell on troubles, now. In a few weeks, you’ll have us all over for supper, and your pa will be so happy to be eating someone’s cooking besides my own, he’ll forgive anything.”
Barbara dismissed her last pupils for the day. A small cloud of dust kicked up under the children’s boots as they scampered away, leaving her standing at the doorway. The stillness of the moment settled upon her shoulders like a shawl, and within it, an unbidden thought emerged, quiet but insistent—had she made the right choice in marrying Harvey?
Barbara shook her head as if to dispel the doubt, yet it clung to her like burrs on a woolen sock. She had been so sure that joining her life with his was a step toward building something substantial, something real in this untamed land. Squaring her shoulders, she resolved not to let uncertainty cloud her first steps as Harvey Bedwell’s wife.
As she approached the wagon waiting outside the schoolhouse, Harvey was already there, exchanging jests with some of the younger Bedwells who’d noticed his wagon.
“My ma brought some of the fruits and vegetables we grew and put up together this summer. It’s all in the coat room.”
“What did your pa think of her bringing it to you?” Harvey asked.
“She didn’t say, but she said she’s working on him. I did half the work on these, and all the cooking that was involved, so he really couldn’t put up much of a fight,” she said.
Harvey lifted the first of the baskets, his muscles flexing as his siblings hurried to help. Barbara watched for a moment before jumping in to help.
“Ready to head home?” Harvey asked once the wagon was loaded.
“Home,” she echoed, tasting the word, its newness still foreign on her tongue.
“Yeah, our home,” he affirmed, climbing up to the driver’s seat and extending a hand to help her up beside him.
They didn’t offer to drive his siblings home, but soon their wagon was filled with not only fruits and vegetables but the chattering voices of children. “I’m just driving you to my house, and you can walk from there!” he called back to them.
Harvey reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. The solid warmth of his grip offered comfort, a silent promise that whatever doubts lingered in the corners of her mind could be weathered together.
“Tomorrow,” Harvey said as the homestead came into view, “we’ll tackle the south field.”
“Tomorrow,” Barbara repeated softly.
Barbara stood at the woodstove, her apron dusted with flour from rolling out the dough for pie. The warmth from the fire blended with the heat of the late afternoon sun filtering through the window, casting long shadows across the rough-hewn floorboards of the cabin. A pot of stew simmered beside a skillet filled with cornbread.
The door creaked open, and Katie Bedwell stepped inside. She closed the door behind her with a soft thud, a barrier against the encroaching chill of the evening.
“Barbara,” Katie began. “I came over as soon as I could. I heard about the wedding, such a surprise it was to us all.”
Barbara glanced over her shoulder, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes, it all happened so fast. But here we are now.” She turned back to the stove, her hands resuming their work with the dough.
