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“I’ll bring it if your wife lets you wash your shirts into rags.”

“Laurel has excellent judgment.”

“She agreed to marry you.”

Eden laughed. Mama did too, though her eyes were wet.

Mama reached into her apron pocket and produced a packet tied with blue thread.

“I made these for you.”

Inside lay three handkerchiefs edged with tiny blue stitches.

Eden ran her thumb over the neat hem. “Mama, they’re beautiful.”

“One for the journey. One for when you arrive.” Mama touched the third. “One to remind you there’s a home waiting if you need it.”

Eden pulled her mother close.

Josiah cleared his throat. “I contributed nothing useful, but I hid lemon drops in your basket.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Laurel says I’m improving.”

“Laurel’s judgment is already in question.”

The back door swung open, and Laurel entered carrying ribbons for the arbor.

“I need Eden’s opinion before my mother makes the whole thing look like a harvest wagon.” She stopped when she saw their faces. “Oh, dear. Have I interrupted something?”

“Only Mama threatening to lock me in the house,” Eden said.

“I can help with that,” Laurel replied. “I know where she keeps the spare key.”

Josiah laughed and offered his hand. Laurel took it. He shifted his weak leg before rising to kiss her cheek, and she waited without reaching for him.

Eden had spent years anticipating every movement her brother might struggle to make. Laurel gave him time to manage it himself.

“I found his wedding shoes,” Eden said.

Laurel faced Josiah. “Again?”

“It happened once.”

“It happened Tuesday.”

“That was a boot.”

“Which you needed.”

He appealed to Eden. “This is why I’m marrying her. She remembers everything.”

“So do I,” Eden said. “Unfortunately for you.”

Laurel drew up a chair. “You’re still leaving in the morning?”

“Yes.”