His hands moved over her body, enjoying the softness of her skin. Underneath the simple cotton of her nightdress, her skin awakened to his touch.
As they moved together on the bed, she found the pleasure in his embrace that her mother had promised would come. Harvey was truly the man she wanted to spend her life with, and she was glad to be his.
As their rhythm slowed and the world outside faded into insignificance, Barbara felt the weight of the week’s hardships lift from her shoulders. The stern faces of the congregation, her father’s cold disapproval, the tension-filled dinner—they all paled in comparison to the sanctuary she found in Harvey’s embrace.
He held her close, his breaths evening out as sleep claimed him, strong arms a barricade against any lingering specters of doubt.
Yes, the week had been hard, but as she nestled into the crook of Harvey’s arm, Barbara knew beyond a shadow of a doubt why she had married him. It was for moments like these—quiet and unremarkable to the outside eye.
And as she fell asleep, their bodies entwined, Barbara knew that despite the trials of the week, this was where she belonged. In Harvey’s arms.
Chapter Seven
Harvey Bedwell wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of a calloused hand, leaving a smudge of dirt on his tanned skin. The sun beat down unforgivingly upon his broad shoulders, as he heaved another load of hay into the trough for his small herd of dairy cows. He straightened up for a moment, flexing his aching back, surveying the fruits of his labor that stretched across the modest expanse of his farm.
He sauntered over to the wooden fence that bordered his property, eyeing the warped boards with a critical gaze. One by one, he set to work, hammering nails and bracing posts. Each strike of the hammer echoed through the open air.
As Harvey worked, his thoughts drifted to Barbara, his eyes softening at the image of her dark hair and those curious gray eyes. She was still at the schoolhouse now, imparting knowledge and guidance to the young minds of Clover Creek, but not for much longer. Soon she’d be here with him full-time, and he couldn’t wait. A wife’s place was in the home, not in the schoolhouse.
He imagined her beside him in the fields, her skirt hitched up as she milked the cows or laughing as she tried her hand at helping mend the fences. Or perhaps she’d prefer the sanctuary of their home, filling it with the scents of her cooking, the fragrance of fresh bread, and the sweet tang of her latest concoction. Harvey knew the choice was hers; it mattered little to him so long as she was home where she belonged.
His mind wandered to the evenings they would spend side by side on the porch, watching the stars emerge like shy sparkles against the blanket of night. It wouldn’t be an easy life, but it was theirs. With Barbara’s intelligence and his strength, they would build a farm their family could be proud of.
*****
The wooden door to the one-room schoolhouse creaked open, ushering in a cool draft that stirred the chalk dust motes dancing in the slant of sunlight. Barbara glanced up from the arithmetic problems she was correcting, the slate grey of her eyes alighting with recognition and warmth as her mother entered.
“Ma,” she greeted. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever be allowed to speak to me again.”
“Barbara,” her mother replied, “I thought we could have lunch together and talk.”
“Of course,” Barbara assured her, setting aside her work and rising gracefully from the small desk. They stepped outside where the children played during their lunch hour.
“As you know, your pa and George had words again,” her mother began without preamble, tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind Barbara’s ear. “I swear, your father can be as stubborn as a mule.”
“Pa’s always been set in his ways,” Barbara said. “But surely they’ll come to an understanding soon?”
“Those two?” Her mother snorted with a humor that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll not let it linger much longer. Family shouldn’t stay at odds, especially here where we all depend on each other to survive.”
Barbara nodded. “I don’t worry much about him arguing with George. But it would be good if Pa and Harvey were able to see eye to eye.”
“Speaking of which,” her mother continued, “we’re coming to supper Saturday night. Your pa needs a good meal to soften him up, and he’s always liked your cooking best.”
Heat rose to Barbara’s cheeks at the praise. “What would you have me make?”
“Jelly rolls,” her mother declared, her voice imbued with the certainty of one who knew the direct path to a man’s heart. “Your pa loves them so. Makes him remember better times.”
“Jelly rolls it is, then,” Barbara agreed. She’d need to get the filling just right, but she had experience making them for her pa.
“Make enough to fill his belly and maybe his heart will follow,” her mother advised with a wink before turning back toward home.
As she rang the bell, summoning the children back to their lessons, Barbara felt a surge of resolve. She would create a feast for her parents, and perhaps her pa’s heart would soften toward Harvey.
Barbara’s steps hastened as the schoolhouse door closed behind her. She clutched a small bundle of lesson plans to her chest as she ventured towards the place she now called home. The sun was slipping lower in the sky, casting elongated shadows that seemed to reach for her as she navigated her way through Clover Creek.
“Harvey!” she called as she approached the modest homestead where Harvey was likely still at work. His form soon came into view. He paused, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a dirt-streaked hand, and turned to greet her with a smile that never failed to set her heart aflutter.
“Barbara,” he said, “you’re home.”
