“Mr. Bedwell,” she replied.
“Would you honor me with your company for a drive?” His question hung between them like a dare.
She glanced back at the family clock ticking away on the mantle, each second a step closer to defiance. “I think I would,” she said.
They set off. Harvey’s presence was a balm, and she found herself stealing glances at his profile. They spoke of simple things—the changing color of leaves, the upcoming harvest.
*****
Much later, Barbara stood rigid in the parlor.
“Barbara,” her father began, his voice as stern as the lines etched upon his brow, “you’re playing with fire, spending time with that Bedwell boy.”
The words struck her like flint to tinder, sparking a defiance that surprised even her. “Pa, Harvey’s not his father. He’s kind and hardworking. You can’t judge a man by his family.”
“Kind doesn’t plow the fields or put food on the table.” Her father’s hands clenched at his sides. “And those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. Why can’t you be like your sisters?”
“Love doesn’t grow from fear,” she whispered. “It needs light, not shadows.”
“Enough!” he thundered. “I won’t have you stepping out with that boy again!”
She flinched but held her ground, her heart hammering like hooves on rocky terrain. “I am not a child anymore, Pa. My heart’s my own to give.”
Her father’s eyes softened for a moment. “Barbara, I just want to keep you safe. That’s my duty.”
“Pa,” she said, “please let me choose my own path.”
He shook his head, turning away. “You’re too much like your mother—headstrong and willful.”
Taking it as a dismissal, Barbara retreated to the kitchen where her mother was washing dishes.
“Ma,” Barbara ventured, “Pa doesn’t take kindly to me and Harvey.”
Her mother paused. “Your pa’s seen things go sour before. It scars a man. But you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Barbara. And if this Harvey makes you happy, then that’s no small thing.”
“Pa thinks I’m being foolish, following my heart.”
“Your pa wants to protect you, but he forgets—you’re made of tough stock. We crossed plains and mountains to get here, didn’t we?” Her mother smiled gently. “A Williams woman knows her mind. Trust it.”
“Even if it goes against family?”
“Family’s important, but so is love.” She wiped her hands on her apron, her gaze unwavering. “The trail taught us that much.”
“Thank you, Ma.” Barbara’s throat tightened with gratitude.
*****
After her family was in bed, Barbara went out to the barn. With each creak of the floorboards, she expected her father’s voice to shatter the silence and send Harvey fleeing into the night. But Harvey was there, just as he promised, his brown eyes glinting with that same determined spark that had first drawn her to him.
“Thought you might not come,” she whispered.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Harvey murmured back, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a half-smile. “You said you wanted to show me the foal?”
“Yes,” Barbara replied, leading him to the stall where the young horse lay curled like a question mark on straw. “Born just yesterday.”
They watched in companionable silence as the foal struggled to its feet, legs wobbling. It was a dance of life they’d both seen before, yet it never ceased to amaze.
“Imagine us, Barb,” Harvey began, “with land stretching far as the eye can see. Cattle grazing on our land... kids running wild as mustangs.”
