“Is there anything you need, anything at all?” Katie asked, stepping closer.
“Thank you, Katie,” Barbara said. “I’m still settling in, but I think we’re managing all right.”
“Harvey is a good man, strong and capable,” Katie affirmed. “You’re not alone, child.”
Barbara was touched by the kindness in Katie’s words. “I know, and I do appreciate it. It’s just…everything is so different now. The days are long, and the work never seems to end.”
“Such is a woman’s life,” Katie mused. “And you’re still teaching. I don’t know how you’re going to do that and keep up with the house.”
“It helps that I don’t have little ones.” Barbara looked around. “Speaking of which…”
“When the little ones get big enough, they can be left with the smaller ones. It works well.”
“Well, I’m glad to feel welcomed into the family by you. I’m afraid Harvey isn’t receiving the same treatment from my father.”
Katie shrugged. “So you build. A home, a family, a life. You and Harvey will be happy, and soon, your father will forget what he was upset about. You’ll thrive here, I can see it.”
“Thank you, Katie. That means a great deal, coming from you,” Barbara said. She looked around the cabin, at the life she was building, and felt a flicker of something warm and solid in her heart.
“Let me help you with that pie,” Katie offered, rolling up her sleeves. “And then you can tell me all about how you plan to tame those wildflowers outside.”
Together, they worked in silence before Katie made the walk back home. Barbara felt better. Maybe she had made the right decision after all.
Chapter Five
Barbara stumbled through the doorway, her arms laden with slate boards and textbooks. She set the items down on the table with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the week’s labor.
Her gaze swept over the room—dust had settled on surfaces she was certain she’d cleaned not two days before, and the pile of Harvey’s farm-soiled clothes mocked her from the corner.
“Harvey?” Barbara called out, her voice more a whisper than she intended
Barbara began the nightly rituals of preparing supper. As she chopped vegetables for the stew, she caught sight of Harvey through the window, who was repairing a hole in the barn wall.
As the knife sliced through a carrot, Barbara realized with a pang of loneliness that she barely knew her husband. They had spoken of dreams and hopes, but words were different than deeds. She knew the curve of his jaw better than his thoughts on what filled the pages of the books she loved.
The door creaked open, and Harvey stepped inside, his presence filling the small space. He removed his hat, revealing dark hair damp with sweat. His brown eyes met hers, carrying a flicker of something unreadable before he busied himself with washing up at the basin.
“Supper will be ready soon,” Barbara said, trying to mask her fatigue with a smile she didn’t quite feel.
“Smells good, Barb,” Harvey replied. Barbara sensed a chasm between them, widened by unspoken expectations and unfamiliarity.
They sat down to eat, the clinking of cutlery against plates punctuating the silence. Barbara watched Harvey as he ate, wondering what was going through his mind.
“Katie would have cooked it simpler,” she ventured, hoping to learn something about him.
“Katie is a good cook,” Harvey acknowledged. “But I think I’m fond of your cooking.”
The compliment settled warm in her belly, but still, she wondered if pleasing Harvey’s palate was enough. She wanted to be more than the woman who kept his house and filled his plate. “My ma is the worst cook in all of Oregon Territory,” she said softly. “My sisters and I always cooked at home because no one wanted to eat what she made.”
“I didn’t know that!” he said with a grin. “I’m sure I’ve eaten her food at church socials.”
“Ma makes the best jerky around, but it’s all she can cook. If you had jerky at a social, then it was made by my ma. Anything else our family took was made by one of my sisters or me. Or Henri,” she said, referring to her brother Roy’s wife.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t take after your ma where cooking is concerned. I enjoy what you fix, and I know you’ll get better with time as well.”
Harvey watched as Barbara washed the dishes, the dim light from the lantern casting a soft glow on her tired features. She had been quiet since supper, lost in thought, and he couldn’t help but feel a tug of concern. He’d seen the weariness in her eyes, deeper than the sort that comes from a long day. It was the weariness of carrying a burden much too heavy.
“Barbara,” he began, his voice low, searching for the right words. “I know we’ve got ourselves a rough start. I can see you’re worn out, and it’s weighing on me.”
