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Chapter Fourteen

E rna sat across from Joel. Their chairs were pulled close, shoulders almost touching, as they leaned over a mess of papers that told a grim tale: bills unpaid, loans coming due, and the very real possibility of losing the ranch.

“Joel,” Erna’s voice broke the silence, tinged with worry yet threaded with an undercurrent of resolve. “We can’t let them take the ranch. There’s got to be something we can do.”

Joel rubbed a calloused hand across his stubbled jaw, eyes scanning the numbers that refused to add up in their favor. “I know, Erna. We’ll think of something.”

Erna reached out, her fingers brushing against his as she tapped a column of figures. “I could bake cakes, cookies... pastries even. Everyone always says they like my treats best when I take them to church socials.”

Her eyes shone with a mixture of excitement and pride. Baking was more than just a task for Erna; it was an art she had honed since she was knee-high to a grasshopper, watching her mother stir and measure in this very kitchen.

“Your baking does have a way of making people smile,” Joel conceded with a nod, the corners of his mouth inching upward. “Sell them at the market, you think? There’s a market twice a month near the church. We could do that and see what happens.”

“Exactly!” Erna clapped her hands together. “And not just any cakes, Joel. The best darn cakes in Texas. Our neighbors can’t get enough of them. Imagine what strangers will think!”

The idea seemed to spark something in Joel, a glint of enthusiasm in his keen eyes. “Strangers with full wallets,” he mused, allowing himself a moment to picture the ranch free of debt, their future secure once more.

“Then it’s settled.” Erna’s words felt like the first drop of rain after a long drought. “I’ll start first thing tomorrow. We’ll show that bank we’re made of sterner stuff.”

“Fort Worth won’t know what hit it,” Joel agreed, and for the first time in weeks, the kitchen was filled with laughter instead of sighs.

Joel leaned back in his chair and studied Erna. “Erna,” he began, his voice steady with resolve, “your hands don’t just craft magic in the oven. What about those little dolls you make? The ones Faith’s always fussing over?”

Erna’s brows lifted at the suggestion. A smile, quick and genuine, broke across her face. “The dolls?” she echoed, her hands instinctively smoothing the apron that bore witness to her culinary exploits.

“Yes,” Joel said, enthusiasm building in his tone. “They could sit pretty next to your pastries. Folks love things crafted with care and attention. It’s personal, like.”

“Handmade dolls and pastries...” Erna mused, picturing the array of colorful fabrics and the scent of sugar and spice mingling together. If you’ll carve the dolls, I’ll paint them and dress them.”

“All right then,” he said, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. “Let’s figure this out.”

Together they hunched over the table. Erna sketched out simple designs for the dolls—each with a unique dress and tiny features—while Joel listed the materials they’d need: wood, fabric scraps, yarn, and ribbon.

“Can’t be too pricey,” Joel pointed out, tapping the ledger with a calloused finger. “We need to turn a profit if this is gonna save the ranch.”

“Of course,” Erna agreed readily. She chewed on the end of her pencil, a habit from her school days when a problem needed solving. “But we want them to feel special, too. Each doll will have its own story, something to give it character. And each will come with three dresses and a nightgown. One for Sundays and two for every day.”

“Stories sell,” Joel nodded approvingly. His smile was rare, but it warmed Erna’s heart more than the setting sun ever could. “And your treats speak for themselves.”

“I’ll use the leftover fabric from Cassandra’s projects. She constantly has pieces that are too small for a real dress. I can make good use of those pieces. Though I may have to fight Faith for them!”

“Good thinking,” Joel said, pride lighting up his eyes. He reached over and squeezed Erna’s hand briefly. “And I say we set fair prices but leave room for haggling. Makes people feel like they’re getting a bargain.”

“Perfect.” Erna scribbled down a few numbers, her mind already racing ahead to the market day. The gentle clink of their wedding bands touching was like a bell of agreement.

“Let’s shake them up at the market, Erna,” Joel said, standing up to stretch his long legs.

ERNA TIED HER APRON strings in a neat bow at the back and set to work. Joel watched her for a moment with an unreadable expression before slipping out to gather supplies.

“Flour, sugar, eggs... and love,” Erna muttered to herself as she measured ingredients with practiced ease. Her hands moved deftly, sifting, stirring, and pouring, each movement a step toward their salvation. The oven’s heat couldn’t rival the fire in her spirit.

“Smells like heaven in here,” Joel’s voice rumbled from the doorway, his arms laden with fabrics and threads.

“Wait till you taste it,” Erna said, sparing him a quick smile before turning her attention back to the mixing bowl.

Joel leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Flattery won’t get you a free sample,” she teased, although the twinkle in her eye said otherwise.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He chuckled, setting down the materials on the nearby table before rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll earn my keep.”

As the day wore on, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon wove through the air, mingling with the earthy tones of the ranch. Cookies lined the counters in disciplined rows, cakes cooled on wire racks, and pastries waited their turn to be filled with sweetened fruit.

“Looks like we’ve got enough to feed an army,” Joel observed, admiring the spread.

“Good,” Erna replied, brushing flour off her hands. “We’ll need all the help we can get if we’re going to save this place.”

“Erna, we’ll never back down from a challenge.” Joel’s question hung between them, not needing an answer.

As evening approached, the kitchen transformed into a production line of delectable treats.

“Tomorrow, we show Fort Worth what we’re are made of,” Erna declared, her eyes shining with determination.

JOEL CLEARED A CORNER of the sitting area of the house. With careful hands, he arranged the tools and materials Erna would need: spools of thread, scraps of colorful fabric, the wooden block which he would start with.

“Never figured I’d be any good at this,” Joel mused aloud, securing a workspace with sturdy planks of wood that had seen better days.

“Your hands are capable of more than you give them credit for,” Erna called from the kitchen. “Maybe we should sell a few of your animals on the mantle. I love them all, but you can always make more.”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” he replied with a grin, testing the sturdiness of the makeshift table before him.

Erna emerged from the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour, and inspected the newly established workshop with an approving nod. “Perfect. We’ll make quite the team, you and I.”

Together, they sat down, Erna’s skilled fingers guiding the cloth as Joel’s steadier ones carved the dolls’ bodies, ensuring each one was made just right to withstand the eager clutches of children. They worked in comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional soft chuckle.

As the evening wore on, they turned their attention to packaging. Joel watched as Erna wrapped each baked good with the same tenderness she afforded the dolls. She chose paper and ribbons that complemented the colors of the cookies and cakes.

“Let’s add labels,” she suggested, her eyes bright. “We’ll give them names, make them special.”

“Sweet Sally for the cinnamon swirls?” Joel offered, his handwriting steady as he inked the tags.

“Perfect,” Erna laughed, sticking the label onto the package. “And for the dolls?”

“Brave Beatrice,” he decided, affixing a tag to a doll with a crooked grin. “Looks like she’s ready for adventure.”

“Much like us,” Erna agreed, sealing another package with a bit of adhesive. Their products, a collection of love and labor, sat ready for the world to see—their beauty far more than skin deep.

With each treat and toy they prepared, their bond seemed to deepen, their resolve to save their ranch solidifying with every ribbon tied, every label pressed into place.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to make a difference,” Erna said, stacking the last of the packages neatly.

THE FIRST RAYS OF DAWN crept over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow on the weathered boards of the barn. Erna Brown, apron tied neatly around her waist and a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, carefully placed the final batch of Sweet Sally cinnamon swirls into a woven basket. Beside her, Joel secured the last of the Brave Beatrice dolls atop a pile of packages in the back of their wagon. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. It was still hot and it was already November!

“Joel, do you think we’ve made enough?” Erna asked, her voice laced with both excitement and a hint of concern.

“Let’s hope it’s more about quality than quantity,” Joel replied with a reassuring smile, admiring the array of homemade goods that represented not only hours of labor but also their shared dreams.

With everything loaded, they climbed onto the wagon, the leather reins familiar in Joel’s calloused hands. The wooden wheels creaked as they rolled down the dusty path toward the market.

Upon arrival, they found their designated spot—a cozy corner that seemed to welcome them with open arms. Joel unfolded a table with practiced ease while Erna draped a checkered cloth over it, transforming the simple setup into a charming display.

“Looks like home,” Erna said, placing the baskets of baked goods at the front.

“Better. It looks like hope,” Joel countered, standing back to admire their handiwork. Together, they arranged the crafts, the handmade dolls peering out at passersby with eyes full of silent stories.

“Think they’ll like Brave Beatrice?” Erna teased, her laughter light as the morning breeze that played with strands of her hair.

“Who wouldn’t?” Joel quipped back. “She’s got character, just like us.”

They worked side by side, each treat and trinket positioned with care, inviting curious glances from early shoppers. Erna’s cheeks flushed with pride, and Joel couldn’t help but share in her infectious enthusiasm.

As people began to meander over, drawn by the allure of fresh pastries and unique crafts, Erna leaned close to Joel. “This is it,” she whispered, a twinkle of anticipation in her eyes.

“Yep,” he whispered back, his hand finding hers for a brief, comforting squeeze. “We’re ready.”

Erna smiled at the cluster of customers gathered around their booth. “Y’all have to try my pecan pie cookies,” she said, her voice as warm as the oven that had baked them. “They’ve got a bit of the ranch in every bite.”

“Is that so?” one matronly woman asked, her eyes twinkling with interest as she accepted a sample.

“Sure is,” Erna replied, her hands deftly arranging the pastries on a platter. “Pecans picked right from our trees. And this here’s Missy,” she continued, lifting a doll dressed in a tiny apron. “Each one’s got its own name and story, and comes with two dresses and a nightgown.”

“That’s precious,” another customer chimed in, her fingers brushing against the doll’s yarn hair.

Joel, standing sentinel by the cash box, couldn’t help but let a small smile grace his lips at the sight. He took the money handed to him, offering back change with a nod. “Appreciate it,” he said, his voice firm but friendly.

Their stall became a hub of laughter and chatter. Joel’s efficient management kept the line moving, while Erna’s anecdotes about her creations wove a spell over the crowd.

“Never knew you could tell tales as well as bake,” an elderly gent commented, a chuckle escaping his weathered lips as he pointed to a craft.

“Got lots of practice telling stories to the dog while baking,” Erna confessed with a playful tilt of her head.

The community buzzed around them like bees to a hive, each person drawn to the honest charm of home-cooked treats and hand-sewn crafts. The air was thick with the scent of sugar and fabric, the sounds of commerce and companionship intermingling under the unforgiving sun.

“Seems like they can’t get enough of your pies and dolls,” Joel observed during a rare lull, his gaze sweeping over the dwindling stacks of goods.

“Or your handy work,” Erna countered, her eyes alight with gratitude. “Couldn’t have done it without your help, Joel.”

“Likewise,” he said.

Erna smiled as another satisfied customer walked away, biting into a slice of apple pie that was just this morning a part of the rolling hills of golden dough in her kitchen. Joel, his hands adept at collecting coins and making change, nodded in approval at their coordinated dance of labor.

“Need more cinnamon twists out here,” Erna called over her shoulder, already turning back to the boxes they’d brought packed with treats.

“Got it,” Joel replied, stacking coins with a rhythmic clink. He reached into the wagon, his sturdy arms pulling out the requested pastries with ease.

“Here you go—fresh from the oven,” she said with a smile, handing a twist to a little girl whose eyes sparkled at the sight of the sugared treat.

“Thank you kindly, ma’am!” the child beamed, skipping away.

“Keep them coming,” Joel encouraged, watching the line of customers ebb and flow like the nearby river.

“Can’t believe how fast they’re selling,” Erna marveled, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Feels like Christmas came early.”

“Your baking’s better than any holiday,” he said, earning a blush and a laugh from Erna.

As shadows lengthened and the sun dipped low, signaling the day’s end, the crowd thinned out. Erna and Joel sat side by side on the tailgate of their wagon, counting the day’s earnings. Coins shone like bits of hope in Joel’s calloused palms.

“Look at this, Erna,” he said, voice tinged with disbelief. “This is more than I make in a month.”

Her fingers, still dusted with flour, danced over the bills and coins, tallying up totals that exceeded even her most optimistic estimations. “It’s enough, Joel. It’s enough to keep the bank at bay,” she whispered.

Joel met her gaze, the sharpness in his eyes now softened by the amber glow of twilight. “All thanks to you, your baking, and those crafts of yours,” he said, his voice steady and sure.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” she returned, her hand finding his. Their fingers intertwined, a tangible sign of their unity. “We make quite the team, don’t we?”

“More than quite,” he agreed, a half-smile playing on his lips.

ERNA FOLDED THE LAST of the unsold linens, her hands moving with practiced ease. Beside her, Joel carefully placed the remaining dolls into a wooden crate, his movements deliberate and gentle.

“Seems like these will be ready for the next market,” Erna said with a hopeful lilt in her voice, eyeing the small pile of goods they hadn’t sold that day.

“Sure does,” Joel replied. “And maybe some new ones too, if your hands can keep up with your spirit. I think the Brave Beatrice and the Sweet Sally were our two best sellers. We’ll have to focus on those for next time. And I can eat everything that didn’t sell. I do have a hankering for your baking!”

“Flatterer,” Erna chided with a mock sternness that quickly melted into warmth. “But thank you. It means the world to me, seeing people enjoy my treats.”

“Deserved praise, not flattery,” Joel corrected, his tone earnest. “You’ve got a gift, Erna.”

Together, they secured the goods, ensuring nothing would shift during the ride home. The market square around them buzzed with the sounds of other vendors finishing up for the day, but Erna only had eyes for the man beside her—the man who had become her partner in every sense.

“Look at all we’ve accomplished today,” she said, gesturing to the nearly empty wagon. “We’re really doing it, Joel. We’re saving our ranch.”

“I really believe we will,” Joel said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

“Your belief made it real,” she countered, squeezing back.

With the wagon packed, Joel offered his hand to help Erna up onto the seat. They settled in, side by side, the leads lying comfortably in Joel’s grasp.

“Ready to head home, Mrs. Trinity?” he asked, the title still fresh and cherished between them.

“Ready, Mr. Trinity,” Erna replied, a contented sigh escaping her lips. Erna leaned into Joel’s side, her head coming to rest against his shoulder.

“Tomorrow’s another day,” she murmured, her voice filled with optimism. “More baking, more crafting... more dreaming.”

“More living,” Joel added, his voice steady as the horizon line.

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