“You should come stay with me, and we’ll be anxious together,” Erna said, her thoughts drifting to Joel’s safe return. She couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for the hard work and dedication he showed, just as she knew Faith felt for Kane.
“Time enough to fret when they set off,” she said finally. “For now, let’s just enjoy this lovely evening.”
Erna and Joel stepped out into the cooling air, her hand finding its place in his. Their shadows stretched long on the dusty path leading home.
“Faith’s quilts were something else, weren’t they?” Erna said, her voice carrying the warmth of the afternoon well spent.
“Sure were,” Joel agreed, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Makes me think we ought to show off your baking next time. Have them over.”
Erna’s laughter tinkled like wind chimes in a soft breeze. “You just want another one of my apple cakes.”
“Can’t blame a man for having good taste,” he teased back, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth.
THE FIRST LIGHT OFdawn cast a golden hue over the countryside as Erna and Joel prepared for their early venture into town. The dollhouse sat majestically on their table, the miniature world crafted by their hands ready to find a new place. Erna adjusted the tiny chest filled with figures clothed in scraps of fabric that had once been dresses and shirts.
“Look at this little fellow,” Joel said, picking up a miniature cowboy. “Reminds me of my first time herding cattle.”
With a fond smile, Erna replied, “Maybe he’ll inspire someone else’s dreams, just like you did.”
“Could be.” He placed the figure gently back into the chest.
“Did you remember the curtains?” Joel asked, glancing around for the final touch Erna had painstakingly added to every window of the house.
“Of course,” she said, patting the small bundle wrapped neatly beside the chest. “Two sets for each window. We want it to feel like home, don’t we?”
“Nothing less,” he nodded, pride evident in his voice.
Together, they carried their creation out to the wagon. The drive to the store was made mostly in silence, each of them excited about the beautiful house they’d made.
“Ready?” Joel asked as they approached their destination, the general store where all manner of goods changed hands.
“Ready,” Erna affirmed, her heart fluttering with anticipation. This was more than just a dollhouse—it was a piece of their life together, a shared dream taking form.
Joel’s arms cradled the dollhouse with care, and Erna trailed just behind, her own trunk of handmade treasures gripped firmly in her hands. The bell above the general store’s entrance announced their arrival, a cheerful jingle that matched Erna’s hopeful heart.
“Morning, Mr. Haskins,” Joel greeted as he maneuvered the miniature home onto the counter.
“Goodness gracious!” the store owner exclaimed, his eyes widening at the sight of the intricately crafted dollhouse. “Erna, did you do all this?”
“Joel helped quite a bit,” Erna said, unable to suppress her smile. “It was a joint effort.”
Mr. Haskins ran a worn hand along the shingled roof, peering into the tiny windows. “Well, I’ll be,” he murmured before straightening up. “I’ll give you twenty dollars for it—no, I can’t rightly sell this. My daughter would never forgive me if I let such a treasure slip through my fingers.”
“Twenty dollars?” Erna’s voice was barely above a whisper, but her eyes sparkled like the morning dew on prairie grass.
Joel’s firm nod sealed the deal, and with Mr. Haskins making a note on his ledger, giving them a credit for whatever they needed, the transaction was complete.
“Let’s get our provisions, darling,” Joel said, the corners of his mouth turned up in a rare, easy grin.
As they filled their basket with flour, sugar, and other staples, Erna’s spirits soared. She was more than Faith’s twin, more than the girl who cut hair or baked the town’s favorite pastries. Today, she was a contributor, a true partner in their little enterprise.
Stepping out into the street, groceries in tow, Erna couldn’t contain her joy. Her hand found Joel’s, their fingers intertwining naturally.
“Seems like we make a good team, Mrs. Trinity,” Joel remarked, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Seems like it, Mr. Trinity,” she agreed, grinning. Together, they set off toward the life they were building—one tiny, lovingly crafted piece at a time.
ERNA’S BOOTS SCUFFEDthe dirt path leading to their homestead, her heart light as a cotton cloud in the Texas sky. Joel’s silhouette against the setting sun was that of a diligent man, his posture speaking of unspoken promises and a future as vast as the ranch they tended.
