Epilogue

Today is bakingday so the whole cabin is filled with the warm scent of fresh bread. It hits me strongly as I come in from using the outhouse, and the familiar smell makes me happy.

Feels like home.

The newly baked loaves are cooling on the counter, and the kitchen is neat and clean. The windows are open to let in a breeze because it's always stuffy in the house in July when I use the stove. I'm about to collapse on the couch with a book for a little while when I hear soft fussing from the nursery.

Sammy must have woken up from his nap.

It's only been an hour, and he usually sleeps for at least two in the afternoon. I was hoping for another hour of rest. I wait for a minute to see if he settles himself back down to sleep, but when his fussing turns into crying, I walk into his small room and pick him up.

He takes after his father. He's a big chunk of a fella with chubby cheeks and sober eyes that were gray at first but, at five months, are starting to shift to brown.

He babbles cheerfully when I carry him to the couch. Also like his dad, he's always hungry and easy to make happy.

I'm wearing one of Jimmy's cotton button-up shirts because it's easy to open for breastfeeding. When I free my right breast and arrange Sammy in my lap, he latches on and begins sucking with more enthusiasm than grace.

I was terrified after I gave birth that I'd have trouble with nursing. It's not like formula is readily available in this world, so if I couldn't produce enough milk, then I couldn't feed my own baby. One of the deepest reliefs of my life has been having a plentiful supply for Sammy and very little discomfort and frustration with the process.

Once the initial stress passed, I've actually enjoyed feeding him. The closeness. Being able to provide what my child needs in such an intimate way.

I've felt weak and needy for so much of my life that it's genuinely satisfying. Sammy relies entirely on me, and I'm capable of giving him what he needs.

I'm wiping dribble off his chin when a noise from the back door makes me glance over. Jimmy has come in from outside smelling like summer air—a mingling of dirt and herbs and pine trees.

I smile as he washes his hands and face in the kitchen and then wanders over to slouch down on the other side of the couch.

He grins at us endearingly. "Kind of early for snack time, isn't it?" We've worked hard to get Sammy on as regular a schedule as possible, and Jimmy knows it as well as I do.

"He woke up. Sometimes food is more important than sleep."

"I can sympathize."

"I know you can. Pretty soon he's going to be competing with you in emptying his plate. He's already acting interested in our food."

"So when should we start him on regular food?"

"Well, I don't know for sure. You're mom suggested around six months, so he might still have another month. But she said that when he's trying to reach for our food, then it's reasonable to get started."

"Well, he was sure grabbing for my eggs this morning."

I giggle at the memory of Jimmy's feigned outrage over his breakfast being poached by the baby. "Get anything from the garden this morning?"

"Yeah. Some tomatoes and a bunch of greens. Not too bad."

Since Sammy has finished eating, I wipe off his face and my chest and then close my shirt and rearrange him in my arms so I can pat his back.

Jimmy watches with interest and offers his congratulations at the loud burp Sammy produces.

I cuddle the baby afterwards, and Jimmy leans over to kiss me and then kiss our son. "Guess I should find some more work to do."

"Do you have anything important?" July isn't the busiest time of the year—that will start next month—but he doesn't have a lot of free time in the summer. At least this week he's been able to stay home, and I want him to have as much downtime as possible while he can.

"Not really. The shed's gotten to be a mess, so I was thinkin' 'bout straightening it up."

I shrug. "Maybe that can wait. Sammy's about to go back to sleep."

Jimmy doesn't know what I'm hinting at. His brows pull together as he peers at me.

"If he's taking a nap," I add lightly, "then maybe we can have a nap too. Or something else nap-related."

At my words, Jimmy perks up visibly. "Oh. In that case, the shed can definitely wait."

I laugh again, feeling relaxed and affectionate and excited that both of us are finally feeling more like ourselves.

Jimmy was a nervous wreck for the entire third trimester of my pregnancy, since that was when Mary and their baby died. Eventually, he would barely leave my side and jumped at any stray twitch or groan I made. We got in quite a few arguments—far more than is normal for us—because he was hovering so incessantly.

Labor and delivery went as well as we could have hoped for. It was terribly painful—with no hospital or medication—but there were no complications, and I didn't even have extra tearing to deal with afterwards since Sammy's positioning was perfect, and Greta and Amelia's mom were so experienced as midwives.

But I was incredibly sore afterwards, and it was a few months before I was comfortable with penetration again. I gave Jimmy plenty of blow jobs, but it's only been the past month or two that our sex life has returned to something like normal.

For a while, I was afraid I'd never be as excited about sex as I used to be, but that's definitely not the case.

After a few minutes, when Sammy falls back to sleep, Jimmy carries him to the nursery, changes his diaper, and settles him in for the rest of his nap.

Then he returns to the couch and climbs on top of me, smiling and nuzzling my neck. His beard tickles my skin.

I giggle and wrap my arms around him. He's still big and warm and strong and gruff and so tender at the heart of him. And he's mine.

All mine.

"I love you, Jimmy," I tell him as he sucks on a sensitive spot at the base of my throat. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me. You know that, right?"

He lifts his head, evidently understanding that I'm being serious. He meets my gaze, and I see in his eyes everything I've ever needed to know about his love and trust and commitment and absolute devotion. "I know," he mutters with a lot of gravel in his voice. "I feel the exact same way 'bout you."

He does. I know it for sure. I'm needed as much as I need him. Loved as much as I love.

For a moment, the emotion is so pure and strong that I'm afraid I might cry, but I manage to hold it together. Instead, I give him a teasing smile. "And I'm happy to have sex with you right now, but please remember to pull out. As much as I love Sammy, I'm not ready for another one yet."

He chuckles and kisses me. "Got it. I'll pull out. But just for now, right? Cause we're just getting started, and we got a lot more babies to make."

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