She looked up at him then, her gray eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and something akin to relief. “Harvey, I… Yes, it’s been hard, but I want to make our life here work.” She felt it was hard to talk to him about most things. He simply didn’t understand her.
“Tell me then,” he urged, shifting closer on the wooden bench they shared at their modest kitchen table. “What is it you’re wanting? I know I’m not the easiest to talk to, but I’m here, listening now.”
Barbara hesitated before speaking, choosing her words with care. “Back East, women are starting to do more than just tend to the home. They’re making contributions in ways they never could before. Here in Clover Creek, look at the Jensens and the Prewitts. They work side by side, running businesses. It’s not just about survival, Harvey. It’s about thriving together.”
Harvey mulled over her words, feeling the tight hold of tradition loosen ever so slightly. The Jensens did have a thriving store, and the Prewitts’ boarding house was always full. Yet, the idea of Barbara working alongside him was new terrain, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it.
“I suppose I hadn’t considered it that way,” he admitted, scratching at his jawline, a gesture of contemplation. “The trail taught me that surviving alone is a fool’s errand. Maybe…maybe we can find our own way, different from my pa, different from what we both knew.”
“Could we?” Her voice was tinged with hope, her eyes searching his.
“Let’s take it one day at a time,” Harvey said, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. “But yes, let’s try.”
Barbara nodded. As they sat there, the silence between them no longer felt like it was because there was nothing to talk about. It was just that they hadn’t taken the time they needed to get to know one another. What she’d been certain was love had been something else, perhaps just a longing for a husband.
*****
Barbara turned to Harvey, who was leaning against the doorframe, his brown eyes fixed on the horizon. The land stretched out before them, rugged and untamed, much like the life they were trying to build together.
“Harvey,” she began, “I’ve been thinking more about what I mentioned last night. About working side by side.”
He pushed off from the doorframe and took a step toward her, his hands finding the small of her back. “Barbara,” he said, “as the man of this house, it’s my duty to provide for us. Your place is here, caring for our home. That’s how things are done.”
A flicker of anger sparked behind Barbara’s gray eyes. “Harvey, I respect your sense of duty, but I can’t abide by the notion that my only worth is to cook and clean,” Barbara replied, her words carrying the weight of her conviction. “My ma taught me that a woman’s voice should be important in a marriage. That we have more to offer than silent obedience.”
The look in Harvey’s eyes softened slightly, but his stance remained unwavering. “I know you’re strong, Barbara. Stronger than most. But I know as a man, it’s my job to guide you in the right direction.”
“Then let me stand beside you, not behind,” she countered. “ Women and men can be equal partners.”
“The people who do that are exceptions, not the rule,” Harvey insisted, though the shadow of doubt had crept into his voice.
“Maybe they’re examples of what the future could hold,” Barbara persisted. “We left so much behind, faced death and uncertainty on the trail, to find a new way of living. Can’t we forge our own path now that we’re here?”
Harvey looked out across the land once more, the expanse mirroring the breadth of possibilities that lay before them. His upbringing warred with the love and admiration he felt for the fiery woman before him.
“Barbara,” he said finally, “we’ll try to find balance. But remember, I’m the head of this household.”
“Harvey, just remember,” she replied, “a head is no good without a heart to guide it. And a woman’s heart has a voice that ought to be heard.”
*****
On Saturday, Barbara stood at the basin, her hands working a stubborn stain out of Harvey’s shirt. Her knuckles were red and raw from the lye soap, her back aching from bending over the washboard since dawn. The sun beat down with relentless heat, and she could feel beads of sweat trailing down her spine.
Harvey stood behind her, working on getting the door fixed so that it would be easier to open and close and block the wind. Winter was coming, and she was worried they would be much too cold if it wasn’t taken care of.
“Harvey,” she began, her voice firm despite the fatigue that clung to her. “I’ve been thinking—”
“Thinking can be dangerous,” he interrupted.
“Perhaps,” she conceded, pausing to catch her breath. “But it seems we’re building this life together yet living worlds apart.”
“Barbara, you know I work from sunup to sundown to provide for us,” Harvey replied, leaning against the door frame, his brown eyes watching her scrub.
“I appreciate that, truly, I do. But there are other ways I can help, ways beyond cooking and cleaning,” Barbara pressed on, her gray eyes full of a plea for understanding.
“Your place is here, in the home. I’m allowing you to keep your word and teach until Mrs. Thompson comes back, but once she’s back, I expect you to stay home,” Harvey said, his voice taking on an edge of finality.
“Harvey Bedwell, I am more than a cook and a maid!” Barbara snapped. “Back East, women are starting to work alongside men, making real contributions. If I’m willing to work, doesn’t it make sense for you to let me?” Even when she quit teaching, she hoped she could at least take in some sewing or washing to help out with their finances. It would be so nice to have picture windows, and they cost money.
