Page 36 of She Autumn Be Mine

Tied

Jake

Lunch at Mom’s table materialized quickly. By the time Autumn came back from getting Stetson into a fresh diaper, the back porch table had disappeared under a spread of cold fried chicken, potato salad and all the fixings, goat cheese with a drizzle of Jamie’s honey, and a pumpkin pie standing off to the side, waiting on its moment.

“Looks great. I’m starving, Mom.” I came to stand beside Autumn who stared at the table like it had performed a magic trick. Watching her discover my family, one wonder at a time, had become my favorite thing I’d done all year.

She gestured at all of it, helpless. “How did you manage to put this out so fast?”

Mom shrugged off her apron. “You never know who’s going to stop by, so I’m always prepared. Sit and eat. Mr. McCall, retrieve the old wooden high chair from the basement. We have company finally worth dragging that thing back upstairs.”

“That old thing?” Jamie exclaimed, exchanging a glance with me. We’d both eaten our first birthday cakes in it, and Mom had refused to part with it through four garage sales and one basement flood scare. Watching Dad carry it up the stairs and set it at the table for Stetson did something to my throat I had to swallow around as I dusted it off.

Over lunch, my family informed Autumn about the whole operation, showing off the way McCalls do. The Double M ran close to two hundred goats: the dairy does, the meat herd, and Macho, who contributed nothing and was retired on full benefits. Mom’s soap and goat milk business filled a separate barn now, with a few employees, and she and Dad had worked a standing booth at the Lewistown farmers market every weekend, spring to fall, going on eleven years.

Autumn listened to all of it, leaning in with her chin on her hand, while I fed Stetson tiny morsels of food. He ate it all and wanted more. I happily obliged.

This was home—even better with the two of them at the table beside me.

Mom regaled Autumn with family stories. Jamie let her in on inside jokes, making her laugh. Even Dad popped out a smile or two.

Jamie served up plates of pie. “People drive from all over for Mom’s goat milk soap. I’ll give you a bar to take home and try. It’s rich in fats and good for your skin. Even safe for Stetson because it’s all natural.”

“I’m sold,” Autumn giggled.

“Don’t let Jamie fool you. Her honey products are also well-regarded. She’s one of the best beekeepers in the state,” Mom bragged.

“Mom has a seasonal waiting list for her pumpkin spiced goat soap. That one’s popular every fall with brides ordering it for wedding favors,” Jamie explained.

Brides. Wedding favors. Autumn and I shared a glance. Oh yeah—we had yet to tell them our news. Her look said it plain: your people, your move. Fair enough.

I found her knee under the table and squeezed. She jumped a little—only because my hand found new territory for both of us—but then her hand came down and covered mine and stayed. That small weight steadied me more than she’d ever know.

My mouth had never gone this dry before.

I cleared my throat. “Think you could make about a hundred of those wedding favors by next weekend, Mom?”

All conversation and eating—and practically breathing—stopped. Forks froze in the air. Every pair of eyes at that table zoomed in on the two of us.

“Dada, bah, bah.” Stetson chose the silence to stand up on the seat of the high chair and take a nosedive into my arms. He yawned against my chest, in a full-belly stupor, eyes already drifting closed. “Dada, na, na.”

“Dada? Wedding favors?” Mom whispered.

I watched it all register on her face, like the sun dawning over a mountain. Then she jumped up so fast her chair crashed over onto the wide pine floorboards, and the baby startled right back awake.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Stetson—but what are you saying, Jake?” She held her chest.

I grinned at Autumn, and let myself say the best sentence of my life.

“I’m saying I asked this lovely woman to marry me. And if you’re not busy next weekend, I hope you’ll join us for a wedding at the ranch.”

The screams between the two McCall women shook the house to its footings. They nearly hurdled the table getting to us. Stetson cried. Mom cried harder. The hugging women took over the porch.

I caught my father patting his eyes with a napkin, which made three times in my life I’d ever seen that happen.

“Now wait right here.” Mom disappeared down the hall. I had an inkling what she was after.

“Son.” The first word my father had spent all day, and he put his hand out with it. We shook, and his grip said the whole speech. Then he ruffled Stetson’s hair and took him off my hands, carrying him over to the porch rail where his whittled animals stood in a patient row. Stetson picked one up and put it straight in his mouth, and Dad let him, which told me everything about how this grandfather thing was going to go.