Joel’s face lit up like the Fourth of July. He took a bite, and his eyes closed in appreciation. “Erna, you’ve outdone yourself,” he murmured, savoring the taste.
“Thank you” Erna replied, watching him with a mixture of pride and affection. This simple act of baking felt like an extension of herself, a way to nourish both body and spirit within their home.
As they sat down at the old wooden table, Joel’s expression shifted. The jovial light in his eyes dimmed as he traced the grain of the wood with his finger, gathering his thoughts.
“Growing up without a real family was tough,” he started, his voice lower now. “I didn’t have much, didn’t have anyone to teach me about... well, anything.” Joel paused, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of those memories bore down on him even now.
“Must have been real lonely,” Erna said softly, reaching across the table to lay her hand over his. Her touch was gentle, meant to soothe as much as to connect.
“Lonely doesn’t quite cover it,” he admitted, looking at their intertwined fingers. “But I learned to make do. To be strong.”
“And you are,” Erna said earnestly. “Strongest man I know.”
“Strength isn’t just about muscle, though,” Joel said, a wistful note creeping into his voice. “It’s about having someone who cares whether you come back at the end of the day. Someone who bakes you a cake just because.”
Erna squeezed his hand. “You’ll always have that now, Joel. You’re not alone anymore.”
He looked at her then, really looked, and whatever walls he’d built around himself seemed to crumble just a bit. “Thanks to you, Erna.”
“I’m your wife. I do what any loving wife would do,” she replied, meaning every word.
ERNA HELD A SKEIN OFcolorful yarn in her hands, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the wooden porch where she sat. Joel watched her with a mix of curiosity and admiration as she began to weave the strands together. “Now, you see,” she explained, “you gotta start with a simple knot like this.”
“Simple for you, maybe,” Joel chuckled, taking the yarn she handed him. His large, calloused fingers fumbled slightly with the delicate thread.
“Here, let me show you.” Erna’s voice was patient as she guided his hands, tying the first knot. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
Joel studied their joined hands. “I think you could make just about anything with those hands of yours,” he said, genuinely impressed.
She laughed, a light, easy sound that made the corners of his eyes crinkle with delight. “Just wait until you see the finished product. It’s all about practice.”
“Then I’m in good hands, aren’t I?” Joel said, attempting another knot and succeeding this time. He looked up at her with a boyish grin.
“Very good hands,” she confirmed, returning his smile.
As the day melted into evening, they sat side by side on the creaky porch swing, a half-finished woven basket between them. The sky shifted from blue to softer shades of pink and orange as the sun dipped toward the horizon.
“Would you look at that sunset,” Erna murmured, leaning back against the swing, the project momentarily forgotten.
“Never gets old, does it?” Joel replied quietly, his gaze fixed on the painting unfolding in the sky.
“Feels like God’s just showing off sometimes,” she said with a gentle laugh, tilting her head to rest against his shoulder.
“Maybe so,” Joel agreed, his voice a low rumble next to her ear. “But I reckon he’s got every right to.”
ERNA PACED THE DUSTYground, eyeing the horseshoe in her hand with a mixture of determination and mischief. Joel stood opposite her, leaning against the wooden post that marked the pit, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Ready to admit defeat?” he called out, his voice laced with playful challenge.
“Ha! I never admit defeat,” Erna shot back, her eyes sparkling with competitive spirit. She swung her arm and released the horseshoe, watching it arc gracefully through the air and land with a satisfying clink around the stake. “Beat that!”
Joel pushed off from the post and strode over to take his turn, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He picked up a horseshoe, weighing it thoughtfully in his hand before mimicking Erna’s stance. With a flick of his wrist, the horseshoe spun toward its target, landing neatly beside Erna’s but not quite encircling the stake.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a game,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice for her skill.
“Seems so,” Erna agreed, her lips curving into a triumphant smile.
They continued in rounds, laughter echoing across the ranch as each tried to outdo the other.
