Library

Epilogue

Home of Key and Adela Bristol

Three Years Later

Mid-November 1898

"Well, that's finally done," Key announced, coming into the parlor to find Adela at her desk. "Who knew it would take nearly as long to build a two-year-old's doll house as it did this big home."

"You've hidden it in the attic?"

"Yes, behind the stack of steamer trunks you couldn't seem to part with."

"It was those trunks that brought me from Boston to you. They're a memory."

He kissed the top of her head and ran his hand across the slight bulge in her belly. The thought of having two children under the age of three terrified him. Yet, Adela seemed to be taking it all in stride.

"I thought I was never going to get the parapet right," he commented. "Not to mention those curly things on the porch trim. Like I said, it was harder than building a real house."

"Don't forget, when it came to building our home, you hired half the town to help and get it done in less than two months. The doll house was a solo project."

"I had no choice when we built this place. I was anxious to marry you and set up housekeeping."

"Housekeeping? That's why you were anxious."

He shot her a broad smile. "Among other things."

She glanced down to the same bulge he'd caressed only moments before. "And look where those ‘other things' have gotten you."

"Exactly where I want to be." He tilted his head to take a better look at the papers Adela was working on. "Another column for the paper?"

"Yes, Mister Overbee's increased output from two days per week to three. I thought I'd do a column on the upcoming holiday. Ever since President Grant declared Thanksgiving an official holiday, it's become one of my favorites. Not quite the pomp of Christmas, but a chance to celebrate with our loved ones."

"I take it you've invited half the town like last year."

"No, this year, it's only us, the Bailey sisters, and the reverend and his wife. I figured that would be enough since I'm the one doing the cooking."

"You? What about Missus Dalton?"

"I gave her the holiday off to be with her family. Not to worry though, she's going to prepare a good portion of the meal ahead of time."

Purposely, Key sighed with relief. "Thank goodness."

Adela narrowed her gaze, training it on him. "Are you saying you don't like my cooking? I thought the purpose of hiring Missus Dalton was to help with the cleaning and occasional cooking."

"She is a good cook," he reasoned.

"And I'm not. Is that what I'm taking from this conversation?"

"You have so many, many other skills that you excel at, darling. It seems a shame to waste your talents slaving over a hot stove."

A smile lifted the corners of her thoroughly kissable mouth. "I am a very good mother," she conceded. "And I'm told, a good writer."

"You're a wonderful mother. And the women of Comstock love your columns."

"But not a good cook?"

"Well…" he hedged. "Let's just say, man cannot live on sweet pea salad alone."

The End

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