Chapter Seven

E arly the next morning, Erna tied her bonnet under her chin and joined Joel outside. With a smile lighting up her face, she stepped beside him, ready for their trip to the general store.

“Looks like it’ll be another scorcher,” Joel observed, squinting at the horizon where the sun peeked over, casting long shadows on the dusty road ahead.

“Is it every anything else in the summer in Texas?” Erna asked.

Joel chuckled. “Not really. And I’ve lived here my whole life. It didn’t bother me much when I was little, and I just deal with it. My job is outside, no matter what season it is.”

They ambled along, side by side, the horse’s hooves thudding rhythmically against the compacted earth. As ranches dotted the landscape, it made sense for the store to be nestled among them—like a well at the center of a thirsty circle.

Joel cleared his throat, his hand tightening momentarily on the reins. “We’ll need to be mindful of our spending today, Erna. Just the essentials.”

“Of course, Joel. Flour, sugar, yeast... I’ve got meals planned out for the week.” Her voice was light, but attentive, fingers laced together as if holding the list in her hands.

He glanced over at her, noting the determined set of her jaw. “You won’t hear any complaints from me about tight purse strings. Makes the treats all the sweeter when we do have them.”

“Appreciate that,” he said, relief softening the lines around his eyes. “I just want to make sure we’re set for the coming weeks.”

“Wouldn’t dream of letting us go without,” she assured him.

They rode in silence for a bit before she spoke again. “Joel,” she said, “I saved up for a bit from my job at the bakery—I’ll use it to buy the things I need for the dollhouse. But if we’re running low, I’ve got no qualms using that money for our provisions.”

Joel’s gaze fixed on the road ahead, and a shadow seemed to pass over his face. The offer, so innocently made, had inadvertently struck a chord.

“Erna,” he said, his voice rough like the gravel under their wheels, “that’s kind of you, but it’s not necessary. We’ll manage with what I’ve put aside. Your money should go toward your projects.”

She studied his profile, the strong line of his jaw set firm against any hint of charity. It wasn’t pride that made him refuse—it was something deeper, a profound sense of responsibility he held.

“I didn’t mean to overstep,” she said softly, regret lacing her words. “I just wanted to help is all.”

He met her eyes then, and she saw the embarrassment there, a rare vulnerability that he seldom showed. “No need to apologize. It was a sweet offer, Erna. I just want to take care of things, you know?”

“Of course, I do,” she replied, offering him a smile that held both understanding and respect. As the carriage trundled on, Erna leaned back against the seat, her thoughts turning to the dollhouse and the intricate work that awaited her hands. She felt a quiet determination settle in her heart, a promise to herself that she would find a way to contribute, to make their shared life not just manageable, but abundant.

Joel stopped the wagon and set the brake in front of the store. He got out and helped Erna down. “Do you need my help?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “No, I think I can handle it.”

He followed her anyway, ready to carry anything she chose to purchase.`

Erna stepped into the general store, her gaze immediately drawn to a corner where rolls of wallpaper stood like soldiers at attention. She picked one, the pattern delicate and subtle—a perfect backdrop for the miniature abode that occupied her dreams and waking hours. She could almost envision the tiny rooms coming to life beneath her careful touch.

“Joel, look at this,” she said, holding up the roll for him to see. “This will make the parlor look so inviting.”

He nodded, a half-smile on his face. “Sure is pretty. Just like you,” he commented, a gentle tease in his voice that made her heart flutter unexpectedly.

She laughed, rolling her eyes at his compliment, but inside, warmth bloomed. Her fingers brushed over the selection of paints, settling on a soft ivory and a pale rose hue, also choosing a white paint for the outside of the house, and a brown for the cabinets. “And these will complement it just right.”

“Sounds good, Erna. Just remember our budget now,” Joel reminded gently, not wanting to dampen her spirits but aware of their financial constraints.

“I know,” she replied with a nod. She added a few tiny scraps of lace and a swath of fabric for curtains to her basket, her mind already sewing them together in intricate patterns. As she calculated the cost, a pang of guilt tugged at her. “I can’t keep spending like this,” she murmured, more to herself than to Joel. “Cassandra would have some ideas. I’ll speak with her soon.”

Joel merely squeezed her shoulder in silent support, his presence a steady comfort beside her.

Turning her attention to the foodstuffs, Erna began to peruse the shelves with an eagle eye. Flour, sugar, a bit of salt pork—she tallied prices and measured quantities against the meals she planned in her head. The kitchen at home was her domain, where she conjured simple yet hearty fare that filled the belly and warmed the soul.

“Beans are on sale,” she noted, adding a sack to the basket.

“Smart thinking,” Joel approved, watching as she deliberated over a basket of apples. “Get enough for a cake? I love apple cake!”

“Maybe two,” she quipped, the corners of her mouth turning up. “If I ration the sugar right.”

“I know whatever you bake, I will love it,” he said, and she knew he meant it.

“Then let’s hope they bring in some sweetness for us too,” she replied, her tone light but her thoughts already flickering to the dollhouse, the cake, and all the small things that wove their lives together, day by day.

As they left the store, their steps matched and easy, Erna felt a sense of contentment settle around her. It wasn’t grandeur she sought, but the simple joy of crafting a life with Joel, of finding beauty in the everyday, and of nurturing the love that seemed to grow between them, as natural and enduring as the Texas land they called home.

Erna adjusted herself on the wagon seat, stealing glances at Joel’s profile. He looked just a bit sad, and she had to wonder if it was her offer to help pay for their food.

“Joel,” she said, “about earlier, offering to chip in for the food... I’m sorry if it upset you. I just wanted to help is all.”

He glanced over, the sunlight catching in his eyes and making them shine like molten copper. “Erna, don’t fret about it,” he said, the corners of his lips tilting up ever so slightly. “It was a kind offer.” His arm found its way around her shoulders, pulling her close against the fabric of his work-worn shirt. She leaned into the strength of his embrace, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath her cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered, allowing a moment of silence to pass between them.

When they got to the ranch, Joel headed out to tend to the chores, leaving Erna with the dollhouse that sat waiting in the parlor. She rolled up her sleeves, eyeing the miniature structure with renewed determination.

She hummed a tune, one that Mrs. Jackson used to sing, as she worked the tiny brush along the edges of the walls, infusing them with color. The dollhouse transformed under her careful touch, blooming with promise. It wasn’t just about the money it would bring. It was about proving to herself, and maybe to Joel, that she could contribute to their life together in ways beyond cakes and suppers.

“Perfect,” she murmured, standing back to admire her handiwork.

The screen door creaked as Joel stepped into the kitchen, dust swirling in a dance behind him from his day’s labor. The aroma of roasted chicken and fresh-baked bread greeted him like an old friend, and there she was—Erna, aproned and flour-dusted, the very picture of domestic grace.

“Smells like heaven in here,” Joel said, his rough hands finding their way to her waist as he peered over her shoulder at the feast on the table.

“Sit down before it gets cold,” Erna replied with a smile, her heart skipping a beat at the familiar warmth of his touch. She watched him take his place at the head of the table, his presence transforming the simple room into something that felt like home.

“Thank you, darling,” he said, a tired but genuine gratitude in his voice.

“Of course,” she said, serving him a generous portion. They ate mostly in comfortable silence, save for the soft clinking of cutlery and the occasional compliment to the chef.

After supper, they retreated to their respective corners of the modest house. Joel worked on mending a saddle by the fireplace, his large fingers deftly working the leather. Meanwhile, Erna returned to the dollhouse, the intricate details demanding all of her attention.

“Looks real nice, what you’re doing there,” Joel called out, without looking up from his task.

“Thank you,” Erna blushed, pleased by his notice. “I’m hoping it’ll catch someone’s eye in town.”

“Bound to,” Joel assured her, glancing up with a confident nod.

The quiet hours waned, and the coolness of the Texas night seeped through the walls. They put away their crafts, the space between them filled with the unspoken agreement of their nightly ritual. Their love was a silent conversation, one spoken in the language of touch and tender looks.

There, beneath simple cotton sheets, they found each other. Two souls entwined, seeking comfort and connection. It was love made manifest, as natural and essential as the rain to the parched earth.