Chapter Six

E rna stood before the woodpile, her gaze lingering on the rough-hewn logs and planks stacked haphazardly against the wall.

“Wouldn’t this make the sweetest dollhouse?” she murmured to herself, recalling the delicate structure she and Faith had once admired at Emily’s home. A pang of sadness tugged at her heart as she remembered the day they were turned away, their status as orphans like a scarlet letter barring them from play.

But that was then, and this was now. Erna’s hands itched to create something beautiful, something that would bring joy to another child’s life. With a determined nod, she began sorting through the wood, selecting pieces that whispered promises of tiny rooms and miniature furniture.

Her chores for the day had been done swiftly, the floors swept until they shone, and the bed made, crisp and clean.

“And I made a cake,” Erna said out loud, though there was no one around to hear. “A good, sweet end for supper.” She allowed herself a small smile, knowing well that dessert was her own brand of magic. Amy was a wonderful baker as well, but Erna made the best cakes around.

Erna set to work. Her fingers moved skillfully over the wood, each piece finding its place as if guided by an unseen hand. She saw it all in her mind’s eye: the welcoming front door, the cozy parlor, the little kitchen where countless imaginary feasts would be prepared.

“Like it’s been waiting just for me to bring it to life,” she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. It felt right, this project, like a piece of her was coming alive with every nail hammered and every board set into place.

As she worked, the dollhouse began to take shape, each line and angle a testament to her vision and dedication. It wasn’t just wood and nails; it was hope and dreams crafted by caring hands—a future gift that held the promise of laughter and love.

“Supper won’t make itself, though,” she reminded herself, glancing toward the house where the cake sat, fragrant and golden. But as she stood, looking at the burgeoning dollhouse, she knew it would be more than worth the effort.

“Tomorrow,” Erna decided, “I’ll find paints and wallpaper. It will be the prettiest little house anyone ever did see.” Her heart swelled with anticipation. Erna felt certain that this dollhouse would bring joy not just to a child, but to her own spirit as well.

Erna’s fingers danced over the miniature wooden beams, her mind adrift in a sea of shavings and sawdust. She was so engrossed in fitting the tiny rafters of the dollhouse attic that the rumble of her empty stomach barely registered.

“Land sakes, it’s nearly suppertime,” Erna muttered to herself, reluctantly setting aside her tools. She brushed the curls back from her forehead, leaving a smudge of sawdust on her fair skin. The cake, while a sweet treat, wouldn’t do for a full meal, and her thoughts turned to what she could whip up quickly.

With purpose, Erna rose to her feet, her gaze lingering on the skeleton of the dollhouse. It was coming together just as she had imagined; each wall stood sturdy and ready for the adornments she’d envisioned. A little money from her last job before leaving for Texas still nestled in the corner of her trunk, enough to buy pots of paint and rolls of delicate wallpaper to breathe color into the tiny home.

She smiled, picturing the finished product: the pastel walls, the windows framed with lace curtains fluttering in an imagined breeze. “It’ll be a sight to behold,” she promised the unfinished structure. She thought it would be good to ask her sister Cassandra to start saving tiny bits of lace that went on her dresses. She wanted to put as little money into the project as possible.

In the kitchen, Erna moved with practiced efficiency, lighting the stove and fetching the necessary ingredients. As she peeled potatoes and seasoned them alongside a chicken destined for frying, her mind wandered back to the dollhouse. The thought of it, complete and vibrant, sitting in the hands of a child filled with delight, warmed her heart like the oven’s growing heat.

“Soon,” she said aloud, “I’ll make it fit for a princess.”

Even as she busied herself with supper preparations, the vision of the dollhouse, resplendent in its imagined glory, stayed with her, a steady beacon guiding her through the evening chores. And though the work was far from done, the joy of creation, of bringing a dream to life, made every moment, every choice, feel like a step toward something beautiful.

Erna hummed a soft tune as she stood by the stove, the sizzle of chicken filling the air with a mouthwatering aroma. She flicked her wrist, turning the pieces in the pan with a practiced ease, and glanced over at the pot where potatoes bubbled away, soon to be mashed with butter and love.

The front door creaked open, and Joel’s dusty boots thumped against the wooden floorboards. He removed his hat, a day’s labor etched in the lines of his face, but his eyes twinkled when the scent reached him. “Well now,” he said with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes, “how’d you know fried chicken’s my favorite?”

“Call it a lucky guess,” Erna replied with a playful shrug, spooning out the golden-brown chicken onto a platter.

They sat down at the table, the evening light casting a warm glow through the window. Joel’s gaze wandered, landing on the wooden frame taking shape on the sideboard. “What’s this you’re making?” he asked between bites, nodding toward the dollhouse skeleton.

Erna’s eyes lit up. “It’s going to be a dollhouse.” She took a sip of water before continuing. “When I was younger, Faith and I had a friend, Emily. Her mother let us play with her beautiful dollhouse just once.” A shadow of sorrow crossed her face at the memory. “After she found out we were orphans, she wouldn’t let us near her daughter.”

Joel’s expression softened, his fork pausing mid-air. “That’s rough,” he said gently. “But look at you now, making your own. It’s gonna be something special, Erna.”

“Thank you, Joel,” she smiled, the warmth returning to her cheeks. “I hope it will bring joy to another little girl someday.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, a satisfied look on his face after the last bite of supper. “A dollhouse, huh? That’s a fine idea,” he said. “Tell you what, I can whittle a little dog and a family to go with it.”

Erna’s face brightened at the thought. “Really? Oh, Joel, that would be wonderful!” She pictured the tiny wooden figures, her creative mind already envisioning their painted clothes and smiling faces.

Just then, Prince, Joel’s loyal mutt, sauntered up and nudged Joel’s knee with his snout, eyes beseeching. Joel grinned and slipped a small piece of chicken under the table. Erna tsked, wagging a playful finger. “Don’t spoil him, or he’ll never learn.”

“Can’t help it,” Joel chuckled, scratching behind Prince’s ear. “He’s got charm like someone else I know.”

With the remnants of their meal cleared away, Erna plunged her hands into the sudsy water, scrubbing dishes clean with rhythmic strokes. From the corner of her eye, she watched Joel select a piece of wood from the pile, his strong hands turning it over, measuring its potential.

She dried the last dish and turned her attention back to the dollhouse. With every placement of wood and every mental note for the decorations, her heart swelled. She could already see the lace curtains hanging from the tiny windows, and the delicate china dishes set upon the miniature dining table.

“Need any help there?” Joel called out, without looking up from his careful carving.

“I’ve got it, but thank you,” Erna answered, her voice laced with excitement. “This is going to be the prettiest house far and wide.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Joel replied, his focus unwavering as he began to shape the form of a dog. Prince lay on the floor in front of him, and he would occasionally look up to make sure he was getting the details right.

The evening passed, the only sounds being the occasional cluck from the hens settling outside and the soft scrape of Joel’s knife against wood. Erna hummed a tune under her breath, her fingers dancing along the dollhouse frame, each movement filled with purpose and joy. The idea of filling the dollhouse with life grew more thrilling with each passing moment, and she couldn’t wait to see it complete.

Erna glanced over her shoulder, catching the flicker of lamplight against Joel’s intent face. His hands, calloused from years of labor, worked a small piece of wood with careful precision. She wiped a stray curl from her forehead and moved closer, drawn by the emerging shape of a tiny dog.

“Look at that,” she breathed, leaning in to admire his handiwork. “You’ve got a real touch, Joel.”

He looked up, a hint of pride lighting his eyes. “Well, it ain’t much yet, but it’ll resemble a dog soon enough.” Holding out the partially whittled figure, he allowed her to take it from him for a closer inspection.

“More than that, it’s going to be perfect,” Erna said with certainty, tracing the lines that suggested the dog’s form. It was then that she took the knife from his grasp, a playful spark in her gaze. Without hesitation, she settled herself onto his lap, the warmth of his body a solid comfort against her.

“Thank you for this, Joel,” she murmured, tucking her head under his chin. “For helping bring my dream to life.”

“Anything for you, Erna,” he replied, his voice a low rumble as his arms encircled her waist. “Besides, I’m enjoying it too.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer, two souls entwined in the quiet of the evening, sharing in the simple joy of creation. As dusk deepened into night, they rose together, the unfinished dog set aside for tomorrow’s endeavors.

The bed was cool and inviting, made neatly made with quilts Erna had stitched herself as she daydreamed about the day she’d marry. They slipped beneath the covers, bodies drawing close in the familiar dance of shared warmth and whispered endearments.

“Goodnight, Joel,” Erna whispered, her words feather-light as sleep began to pull her under.

“Night, Erna,” he responded, his breath a steady rhythm against her neck.

In the sanctuary of dreams, Erna wandered through a sunlit room where laughter echoed off the walls. A little girl with bright eyes clapped her hands, her joy infectious as she beheld the completed dollhouse. It was a vision of happiness, a future promise woven from wood and hope, and Erna slept soundly, cradled in the arms of the man who made such dreams possible.