Page 234 of Conveniently Wed
“Not a problem. Do you need anything else?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Then I’m going to look around and see what needs to be done. I’ll take Donny and Blossom with me if that meets your approval.”
“It does. Thank you.” Seems she was saying that a lot. “Dinner will be ready in an hour or so.” She smiled as she turned her attention to making the meal. It felt good to have someone to share the work with.
She put a mixture of vegetables to cook for soup and heated water, thinking to make tea for Aunt Mary, but when she glanced in the doorway, the woman was asleep.
It was too late in the season to plant a garden, but perhaps a few things had come up on their own. She couldn’t wait to check. She slipped from the house and paused to fill her lungs with the joy of being back in her own place. The mountains rose to the west, blue and green layers of majesty. The river flowed nearby, far enough away to not be a danger to the children. She couldn’t see the water, but the line of green trees marked its passage. Kade had planted oats and wheat in her tiny fields, and the crops were about to head out, giving the green crops a silvery tip. Bruce stood at the edge of the wheat field, Blossom in his arms, Donny talking to him.
She watched them a moment. It pleased her to see the children so taken with Bruce. For the moment, she wouldn’t worry herself with thoughts of him leaving and how that would affect them all. For now, he was here, and that was all that mattered.
She continued to the little fenced plot where she’d grown a garden for two years. Even before she opened the gate, she saw rows of potatoes, carrots, beets, and beans. Kade and Flora had planted a garden here. They hadn’t mentioned it. Had they done it for her or themselves? The latter didn’t make any sense. They would have a garden at their place. They had to have done it for her. How generous and kind of them.
She examined the rows. It wasn’t a large area, but not a weed existed. They had put far too much work into a garden for her, but she surely did appreciate it. She would add beet greens to the soup. She broke off a handful of leaves before she left the garden.
The first year here, she had planted raspberries next to the garden fence. Perhaps there would be berries on them. A few hard, unripe berries clung to the bushes but otherwise, they were picked clean.
“Strange,” she murmured. Perhaps a bear had enjoyed the fruit. She glanced around even though she expected the noise of their return would have frightened off any animal. Seeing nothing to concern her, she studied the ground. The grass had been trampled, but she couldn’t make out any prints to indicate a bear. An object in the grass caught her attention, and she bent to pick it up. A bit of leather with beads arranged in a colorful pattern. She recognized it as something natives made. Had they been here? Were they still here? She squinted as she scanned the surroundings. Her nerves tingled with uncertainty. She’d always felt safe on the farm even after Frank died, but this little object made her wonder if she should be concerned.
Of course not. She pocketed the decorated piece of leather. One or more of the natives had ventured by, discovered the place empty, and enjoyed the berries that were going to waste. Then they had moved on.
But she couldn’t help glancing in every direction, her gaze lingering on the horizon. The skin on the back of her neck prickled. Was someone out there somewhere, watching her every move?
6
Bruce went from the field of wheat to the oats. Both looked good. There should be enough to feed her stock—though he didn’t even know what that consisted of—and provide flour for the family. From what he could tell, it was a prime piece of land. The soil was rich, the fields level, good grazing nearby with the river close enough to shelter and water cows. Stella’s husband had either picked it out with an eye to the possibilities, or he had been fortunate.
He looked at the prairie next to the oats. One furrow had been turned over. Looked like Frank had planned to break this piece of land. Bruce would now be the farmer who did it. As soon as he got a horse or oxen to pull the plow.
“Papa did this.” Donny kicked at the sod that lay with its roots up. “’Fore he got sick.”
Bruce squeezed the boy’s shoulder but said nothing. What could he offer in way of sympathy? Except—“My pa died when I was eight. I still miss him.”
Donny kicked the sod again and again. Unyielding before his onslaught. Just as life was in the face of death and disappointment. “Donny, we have to keep on living. Accepting what is. Trusting God to hold us and guide us.”
Donny sank to the ground, perched on the turned-up soil like it was a backless sofa. He sniffed. “Papa would want me to be brave.”
“And so you are.” Bruce sat beside the boy, knowing that words were unnecessary and sometimes even pointless and annoying.
“Your pa meant to plow this piece, didn’t he?”
“Said we had to break more land to provide what we need.”
“Guess you and I’ll have to do it for him.”
Donny perked up. “He’d want us to.”
“Then it’s settled. Anything else he wanted done?” It was a question he’d ask Stella. Together, they would make plans.
“He wanted to get more cows.” Donny stood and waved toward the river. “Said it was a great place for them.”
“More cows it is.” Blossom sat in a patch of grass humming quietly. He called for her to join them, and they made their way back to the house.
The door stood ajar, and Stella stepped out. “Dinnertime,” she called.
The children ran toward her.
