Chapter Fourteen
Erna sat across from Joel. Their chairs were pulled close, shoulders almost touching, as they leaned over a mess of papers that told a grim tale: bills unpaid, loans coming due, and the very real possibility of losing the ranch.
“Joel,” Erna’s voice broke the silence, tinged with worry yet threaded with an undercurrent of resolve. “We can’t let them take the ranch. There’s got to be something we can do.”
Joel rubbed a calloused hand across his stubbled jaw, eyes scanning the numbers that refused to add up in their favor. “I know, Erna. We’ll think of something.”
Erna reached out, her fingers brushing against his as she tapped a column of figures. “I could bake cakes, cookies... pastries even. Everyone always says they like my treats best when I take them to church socials.”
Her eyes shone with a mixture of excitement and pride. Baking was more than just a task for Erna; it was an art she had honed since she was knee-high to a grasshopper, watching her mother stir and measure in this very kitchen.
“Your baking does have a way of making people smile,” Joel conceded with a nod, the corners of his mouth inching upward. “Sell them at the market, you think? There’s a market twice a month near the church. We could do that and see what happens.”
“Exactly!” Erna clapped her hands together. “And not just any cakes, Joel. The best darn cakes in Texas. Our neighbors can’t get enough of them. Imagine what strangers will think!”
The idea seemed to spark something in Joel, a glint of enthusiasm in his keen eyes. “Strangers with full wallets,” he mused, allowing himself a moment to picture the ranch free of debt, their future secure once more.
“Then it’s settled.” Erna’s words felt like the first drop of rain after a long drought. “I’ll start first thing tomorrow. We’ll show that bank we’re made of sterner stuff.”
“Fort Worth won’t know what hit it,” Joel agreed, and for the first time in weeks, the kitchen was filled with laughter instead of sighs.
Joel leaned back in his chair and studied Erna. “Erna,” he began, his voice steady with resolve, “your hands don’t just craft magic in the oven. What about those little dolls you make? The ones Faith’s always fussing over?”
Erna’s brows lifted at the suggestion. A smile, quick and genuine, broke across her face. “The dolls?” she echoed, her hands instinctively smoothing the apron that bore witness to her culinary exploits.
“Yes,” Joel said, enthusiasm building in his tone. “They could sit pretty next to your pastries. Folks love things crafted with care and attention. It’s personal, like.”
“Handmade dolls and pastries...” Erna mused, picturing the array of colorful fabrics and the scent of sugar and spice mingling together. If you’ll carve the dolls, I’ll paint them and dress them.”
“All right then,” he said, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. “Let’s figure this out.”
Together they hunched over the table. Erna sketched out simple designs for the dolls—each with a unique dress and tiny features—while Joel listed the materials they’d need: wood, fabric scraps, yarn, and ribbon.
“Can’t be too pricey,” Joel pointed out, tapping the ledger with a calloused finger. “We need to turn a profit if this is gonna save the ranch.”
“Of course,” Erna agreed readily. She chewed on the end of her pencil, a habit from her school days when a problem needed solving. “But we want them to feel special, too. Each doll will have its own story, something to give it character. And each will come with three dresses and a nightgown. One for Sundays and two for every day.”
“Stories sell,” Joel nodded approvingly. His smile was rare, but it warmed Erna’s heart more than the setting sun ever could. “And your treats speak for themselves.”
“I’ll use the leftover fabric from Cassandra’s projects. She constantly has pieces that are too small for a real dress. I can make good use of those pieces. Though I may have to fight Faith for them!”
“Good thinking,” Joel said, pride lighting up his eyes. He reached over and squeezed Erna’s hand briefly. “And I say we set fair prices but leave room for haggling. Makes people feel like they’re getting a bargain.”
“Perfect.” Erna scribbled down a few numbers, her mind already racing ahead to the market day. The gentle clink of their wedding bands touching was like a bell of agreement.
“Let’s shake them up at the market, Erna,” Joel said, standing up to stretch his long legs.
ERNA TIED HER APRONstrings in a neat bow at the back and set to work. Joel watched her for a moment with an unreadable expression before slipping out to gather supplies.
“Flour, sugar, eggs... and love,” Erna muttered to herself as she measured ingredients with practiced ease. Her hands moveddeftly, sifting, stirring, and pouring, each movement a step toward their salvation. The oven’s heat couldn’t rival the fire in her spirit.
“Smells like heaven in here,” Joel’s voice rumbled from the doorway, his arms laden with fabrics and threads.
“Wait till you taste it,” Erna said, sparing him a quick smile before turning her attention back to the mixing bowl.
Joel leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“Flattery won’t get you a free sample,” she teased, although the twinkle in her eye said otherwise.
