Page 62 of Call It Love

Pleased she didn’t pull her hand from mine, I led her past her cabin, keeping to the edge of the woods.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

This time, I didn’t feel the need to fill the void with talk. The quiet between us wasn’t as heavy now.

Eventually, we came to a creek that meandered with soft curves through the untamed meadow. The afternoon sun glinted off the water with a silver sparkle. Butterflies fluttered among the tall grasses, pausing to rest on colorful wildflowers.

Her eyes lit with surprise. “I didn’t know this was here! It’s beautiful.”

I grinned and winked at her. “Silly, did you think we hadCreekin the farm’s name just for kicks?”

“I never really thought about it,” she admitted with a wry grin.

“It’s full of mica, which makes it sparkle, a little like silver. Hence, the full name of our farm.”

We followed the creek’s edge. Jack chased after a dragonfly or two, only to give up and come back minutes later. The banks grew a little steeper as we approached an old wooden footbridge. Its planks were weathered gray, and moss edged the handrails.

“Is it safe?” she asked dubiously when I took a step toward it.

“Do you trust me?” I countered.

She didn’t bat an eye as she nodded. Still, she followed me quickly, as if she wasn’t entirely convinced the old wood wouldn’t give beneath her.

On this side, the grass was taller. Purple and yellow wildflowers dotted the undeveloped meadow. A few yards farther, the grass thinned out, giving way to a clearing where an old wooden building stood nestled in a curve in the creek.

Anna slowed, her eyes widening with curiosity. “What is that?”

“It’s the original grist mill. It’s been here since the early 1800s. It’s what the town formed around.”

I guided her to a large circular stone embedded in the dirt. Its surface was cracked with age, but still whole.

“This was one of the millstones used inside the mill,” I explained. “Settlers brought their wheat or corn here to have it ground into flour.” I pointed to a wooden paddle wheel, moss-covered but amazingly intact. “Water would pour into those buckets, causing them to turn the wheel and power two of these stones inside to rotate in opposite directions. The grains between them would be crushed.”

The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a soft golden glow around her as she silently studied the scene for several minutes. “How did I not know this was here?” she asked in a hushed voice, as if we would disturb the ghosts of those who came before us.

“It’s mostly a part of forgotten history these days. It was the original Allen, my ancestor, who built it.”

“Do you know his story?”

I gestured for her to sit on the stone. “That’s why I wanted to bring you here.”

I sat on the stone next to her. The creek trickled in front of us.

“He was a Revolutionary War soldier,” I began. “The new country didn’t have enough money to pay all the soldiers, so they offered free land instead—huge stretches of wilderness on the western edge of civilization. He took them up on it. Came out here with a few other men to carve out a home. Several of their descendants are still here.”

She listened intently, her eyes never leaving mine.

“The legend is that after some time, he wanted to start a family. But so few women lived here, and those who did were already married. So, he put an ad in the newspaper back east looking for a bride.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Get out,” she exclaimed. “A mail-order bride?”

I nodded. “That’s what the stories say. Only, I think they called themtobacco bridesthen. She came from Ireland and made the journey with her sister, who I assume was also answering an ad.”

She shook her head. “They must have been incredibly brave to leave their home for the unknown wilderness.”

“I agree,” I said. “Sadly, only one of them made it here. The story goes that my many-times-great-grandmother arrived with a baby in her arms.”

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