“That sounds lovely,” Elaina mused, picturing the scene in her mind. “My family was simpler in celebration, but one thing we never missed was making a wreath from the evergreens around our property. My father would lift me onto his shoulders so I could place it right above the door. I miss that.”
They continued to share stories, the threads of their past weaving together to form the tapestry of a shared future.
“Perhaps this year, we can blend our traditions,” Elaina suggested. “Create new ones for our own little family.”
Steven reached across the table, his hand covering hers, rough and warm. “I’d like that very much,” he said.
After supper, they moved to the small living area, and he brought up the holidays once again. “Elaina,” Steven began, the firelight casting shadows across his strong features as he turned toward her. “I’ve been thinking about Christmas coming up. Makes me wish you could meet my family back in Massachusetts.”
His voice held a wistful note, and she tilted her head, curious. Steven spoke often of the ranch, the cattle, and the land, but mentions of his family were few and far between.
“Your mother,” she ventured, “what’s she like?”
A fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Strong, like you. She’d take to you straight away—I’m sure of it. Her heart’s big enough for the whole town.”
Elaina nodded, a warmth spreading through her chest that had little to do with the fire before her. It was a connection, however distant, to the man who sat beside her.
“Tell me more about your siblings,” she said, eager to know the people who had shaped the man she married.
Steven chuckled, a sound that rumbled deep in his chest. “Well, we were quite the brood—sixteen of us—and all but the oldest four had a penchant for mischief.” He leaned back, his gaze growing distant as if he could see the rolling hills of his childhood right there in the flickering flames. “There was this one time we painted the neighbor’s horse bright blue. Nearly gave the poor man a heart attack.”
Elaina’s laughter filled the room, clear and genuine. “Blue?”
“Blue as the summer sky,” he confirmed with a nod. “Took weeks to wash out. And then there was the incident with the apple pies... Ma was making pies for a church bake sale, and my brother and I replaced all the sugar with salt. The church was trying to raise money to pay for new windows, and we liked the old ones.”
She listened, laughing at the tales of youthful rebellion, each story painting a picture of a life so different from her own, yet somehow familiar in its undercurrents of love and camaraderie. Steven’s family, it seemed, had been a force to be reckoned with, and she could easily imagine him as the ringleader of such chaos. “Were you the oldest?”
He shook his head. “No, I was third from the youngest.”
As he recounted the tales, his face animated with the retelling, Elaina saw past the broad shoulders and the strength they promised. She saw the boy who had never truly left the man—he was still so amused with his youthful pranks.
“Sounds like you were quite the hellions,” she finally said, the word feeling strange yet fitting on her tongue.
“We were,” he admitted, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “But we looked out for each other. Always. That’s why when a letter asking for a groom arrived at my sister’s house, she sent me.” He shook his head. “I hope our children have that type of loyalty for one another—the kind I have for my siblings, and you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, not entirely sure what she was thanking him for—the stories, the honesty, or perhaps the hope that their child would know such bonds.
“Always,” Steven said, knowing it was true.
“Steven,” she began, her voice steady but laced with a hint of nostalgia, “my father raised me with a firm hand. He believed that discipline and hard work were the cornerstone of character.” She paused, her piercing green eyes searching his face for understanding. “I think I want our children to know that same strength.”
Steven nodded. “I respect that, Elaina,” he replied, his voice carrying the calm assurance that had first drawn her to him. “It’s important, raising kids with a sense of right and wrong. Means they won’t have to wander far to find themselves—or a spouse—when it’s time.” He shook his head. “Only two of our family were able to stay in the same area to marry. Our reputation as the ‘demon horde’ had everyone in the area reluctant to allow their children to marry into our family.”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile, relief flowing through her at his agreement. It was one thing to marry out of necessity, another to find common ground where it truly mattered.
Just then, Steven stood and strode across the room with purpose, revealing a large, wrapped object that had been hidden behind the settee. Elaina watched as he carefully unwrapped a phonograph.
“Remember that night we danced in the barn?” he asked, a boyish grin spreading across his face.
Elaina nodded, feeling a warmth that wasn’t from the fire.
“Well,” Steven continued as he placed a round disk on the turntable, “I thought it was high time we danced to some actual music.” His fingers were gentle, yet assured, as he wound up the phonograph and set the needle down with a soft crackle.
Music blossomed into the room, a lilting waltz that felt both foreign and familiar. Steven extended his hand to her, an unspoken invitation hanging in the air as the music wove its spell.
Elaina rose and took his hand. They found their stance, close enough to feel each other’s breaths. As the first notes enveloped them, they began to move, slowly at first, then with more confidence.
Elaina stumbled slightly, her foot catching on the hem of her skirt as Steven’s hand steadied her with a firm grip. A laugh bubbled up from her throat, unfurling in the warm air of the parlor as they clumsily found their rhythm once again. Neither was a particularly good dancer, and their constant missteps caused them to laugh at themselves constantly.
