Chapter Eight

E rna’s heart swelled as the familiar sight of her sisters came into view. She rushed forward, her arms wide, embracing each sister in turn. Then she saw Hannah, whose serene eyes held a secret.

“Married to the pastor?” Erna exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief as she took in Hannah’s modest wedding band.

Hannah met her gaze, a small smile dancing on her lips. “Yes, can you believe it?” Her tone was light, betraying none of the gravity one might expect from such a revelation.

“Of all people,” Erna mused, shaking her head but unable to suppress the grin that followed. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Life is peculiar like that,” Hannah replied, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the delicate lace at her collar.

The conversation lingered in Erna’s mind as she returned to the ranch later that day with Joel at her side. They stood side by side before the weather-beaten fence, tools in hand, ready to mend what the storm had broken.

“Hand me that hammer, would you?” Joel’s voice cut through the stillness, low and steady.

“Here you go,” Erna said, passing him the tool. Their fingers brushed briefly, sending a jolt of warmth up her arm.

“Thanks,” he nodded, his focus returning to the splintered wood. Together, they worked in comfortable silence, measuring, cutting, and nailing with an ease born of mutual understanding.

“Looks good,” Erna said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Joel replied, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“Teamwork,” she said.

“With my very favorite teammate,” Joel agreed, his gaze locking with hers for a moment longer than necessary.

ERNA HOISTED THE WATERING can, her brows furrowed in concentration as she tended to the berry bushes that lined the edge of the ranch. Joel was beside her, his hands deft as he pruned and picked the ripest of the fruits.

“Careful there,” he teased, a playful glint in his eye as he watched her wrestle with the spout. “Wouldn’t want to give these bushes more than they bargained for.”

“Nor you,” she replied with a laugh, but just as the words left her mouth, her grip slipped. Water cascaded over the rim, drenching not only the earth but Joel’s boots and trousers as well.

“Erna!” he exclaimed, more in amusement than dismay.

“Joel! I’m so sorry!” But Erna couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up inside her. Joel stood there, dripping and surprised, before his own chuckles joined hers. It was an unexpected shower on a hot Texas day, and the coolness was almost welcome.

“Looks like I got my share of watering too,” Joel shook his leg, sending droplets flying.

“Guess it’s time for a break anyway,” Erna suggested, still giggling as she set the can down. They left the bushes behind, half-soaked but spirits undampened.

Under a large oak tree, its branches a canopy against the midday sun, Erna spread a checkered cloth. She brought out bread she had baked earlier, along with slices of ham, and a jar of sweet preserves made from last year’s berries.

“Nothing like fresh bread,” Joel said appreciatively, taking a bite and nodding to her. “You’ve got a talent, Erna.”

“Thank you,” she said, pleased by the compliment.

They shared a smile. Sunlight filtered through the leaves above, dappling their faces with patches of warmth. The simple meal, the quiet rustle of the oak tree, and the gentle cadence of their conversation wove together into a tapestry of comfort and camaraderie.

“Days like this,” Joel said, looking out at the expanse of their land, “make all the hard work worth it.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Erna said, her heart full. There was something about sharing a meal outside that made her feel anchored, connected — not just to the land, but to the man sitting across from her.

ERNA WIPED HER HANDS on her apron as she pulled the steaming cake from the oven, the sweet aroma of baked apples filling the air. She set it on the windowsill to cool, a small triumph in her day’s work.

“Smells like heaven,” Joel remarked, coming into the kitchen with a hint of dust still clinging to his shirt. He’d been out tending to the horses, but the scent of fresh cake had lured him back inside.

“Fresh from our orchard,” Erna said with a smile, slicing into the cake. “I thought we deserved a treat after all that fence mending.”

Joel’s face lit up like the Fourth of July. He took a bite, and his eyes closed in appreciation. “Erna, you’ve outdone yourself,” he murmured, savoring the taste.

“Thank you” Erna replied, watching him with a mixture of pride and affection. This simple act of baking felt like an extension of herself, a way to nourish both body and spirit within their home.

As they sat down at the old wooden table, Joel’s expression shifted. The jovial light in his eyes dimmed as he traced the grain of the wood with his finger, gathering his thoughts.

“Growing up without a real family was tough,” he started, his voice lower now. “I didn’t have much, didn’t have anyone to teach me about... well, anything.” Joel paused, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of those memories bore down on him even now.

“Must have been real lonely,” Erna said softly, reaching across the table to lay her hand over his. Her touch was gentle, meant to soothe as much as to connect.

“Lonely doesn’t quite cover it,” he admitted, looking at their intertwined fingers. “But I learned to make do. To be strong.”

“And you are,” Erna said earnestly. “Strongest man I know.”

“Strength isn’t just about muscle, though,” Joel said, a wistful note creeping into his voice. “It’s about having someone who cares whether you come back at the end of the day. Someone who bakes you a cake just because.”

Erna squeezed his hand. “You’ll always have that now, Joel. You’re not alone anymore.”

He looked at her then, really looked, and whatever walls he’d built around himself seemed to crumble just a bit. “Thanks to you, Erna.”

“I’m your wife. I do what any loving wife would do,” she replied, meaning every word.

ERNA HELD A SKEIN OF colorful yarn in her hands, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the wooden porch where she sat. Joel watched her with a mix of curiosity and admiration as she began to weave the strands together. “Now, you see,” she explained, “you gotta start with a simple knot like this.”

“Simple for you, maybe,” Joel chuckled, taking the yarn she handed him. His large, calloused fingers fumbled slightly with the delicate thread.

“Here, let me show you.” Erna’s voice was patient as she guided his hands, tying the first knot. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

Joel studied their joined hands. “I think you could make just about anything with those hands of yours,” he said, genuinely impressed.

She laughed, a light, easy sound that made the corners of his eyes crinkle with delight. “Just wait until you see the finished product. It’s all about practice.”

“Then I’m in good hands, aren’t I?” Joel said, attempting another knot and succeeding this time. He looked up at her with a boyish grin.

“Very good hands,” she confirmed, returning his smile.

As the day melted into evening, they sat side by side on the creaky porch swing, a half-finished woven basket between them. The sky shifted from blue to softer shades of pink and orange as the sun dipped toward the horizon.

“Would you look at that sunset,” Erna murmured, leaning back against the swing, the project momentarily forgotten.

“Never gets old, does it?” Joel replied quietly, his gaze fixed on the painting unfolding in the sky.

“Feels like God’s just showing off sometimes,” she said with a gentle laugh, tilting her head to rest against his shoulder.

“Maybe so,” Joel agreed, his voice a low rumble next to her ear. “But I reckon he’s got every right to.”

ERNA PACED THE DUSTY ground, eyeing the horseshoe in her hand with a mixture of determination and mischief. Joel stood opposite her, leaning against the wooden post that marked the pit, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Ready to admit defeat?” he called out, his voice laced with playful challenge.

“Ha! I never admit defeat,” Erna shot back, her eyes sparkling with competitive spirit. She swung her arm and released the horseshoe, watching it arc gracefully through the air and land with a satisfying clink around the stake. “Beat that!”

Joel pushed off from the post and strode over to take his turn, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He picked up a horseshoe, weighing it thoughtfully in his hand before mimicking Erna’s stance. With a flick of his wrist, the horseshoe spun toward its target, landing neatly beside Erna’s but not quite encircling the stake.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a game,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice for her skill.

“Seems so,” Erna agreed, her lips curving into a triumphant smile.

They continued in rounds, laughter echoing across the ranch as each tried to outdo the other.

As the final round drew to a close, Erna emerged victorious, her last toss securing the winning point. She did a little victory dance, her laughter mingling with the evening breeze.

“All right, all right, you win,” Joel said, chuckling. “You’ve got quite the arm there, Erna.”

“Thank you kindly, sir,” she responded with an exaggerated curtsey. “Now, how about we call it a day?”

“Only if you grant me one dance,” Joel offered, holding out his hand. “To celebrate your victory, of course.”

Erna nodded, placing her hand in his. They moved inside to the small living room, where the waning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the wooden floor.

“Music, ma’am?” Joel asked, as they found their position, his hand resting lightly on her waist.

“Allow me,” Erna replied, clearing her throat before humming a slow, sweet melody—one Mrs. Jackson used to sing. Her voice was soft but carried enough tune for them to sway gently in time with the rhythm.

As they danced, Erna rested her head against Joel’s shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart through the fabric of his shirt. There was something tender in the way he led her, careful and attentive to her every move. They turned slowly, wrapped in the harmony of the moment, the world beyond their quiet cocoon fading away.

“Erna,” Joel murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “I reckon this is far better than any victory at horseshoes.”

“It is,” she whispered back, her heart fluttering at the closeness between them. “Far better.”

ERNA TIPTOED ACROSS the wooden floorboards of the kitchen, a sly smile playing on her lips as she balanced the freshly baked cake in her hands.

“Joel,” she called out. “Could you come here for a moment?”

From the porch outside, the sound of boots against wood approached, and Joel appeared in the doorway, his brow raised in mild curiosity. “What’s all this now?” he asked, eyeing the cake.

“Surprise!” Erna announced with a flourish, presenting the confectionery masterpiece to him. It was a simple creation by most standards, but the careful icing and the way the cinnamon mixed with the sugar spoke volumes of her efforts. “Your favorite, if I’m not mistaken.”

Joel’s eyes lit up like the stars that would soon pepper the evening sky. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, a chuckle escaping him. He moved closer, admiring the cake. “Erna, this is something else. Thank you kindly.”

“Go on, have a taste,” she urged, handing him a fork.

He obliged, cutting a modest piece and bringing it to his mouth. His eyes closed, savoring the familiar flavor, then opened to meet hers with unspoken gratitude. “Perfect, just perfect.”

“Then it was worth every minute spent in the kitchen,” Erna said, her heart swelling at his enjoyment.

“Speaking of perfect,” Joel said, wiping a crumb from the corner of his mouth, “how about we finish up with that dollhouse? The little folks are waiting for their final touch.”

“Lead the way.” She grinned, setting the cake aside for later.

The tiny wooden figures were lined up like silent spectators, awaiting their colorful details. Joel picked up a small brush, his large hands surprisingly nimble as he dipped it into a pot of paint.

“Like this?” he asked, his concentration etched into the furrow of his brows as he attempted to color the miniature dog with careful strokes.

“Exactly,” Erna encouraged, watching him bring the tiny creature to life. “Remember, the smallest details make the grandest difference.”

“Never knew painting dogs could be so...” Joel searched for the word, “...delicate.”

“Everything has its art,” Erna replied, pleased with his progress. “Even ranch life.”

“Guess you’re right.” Joel nodded, adding another stroke of brown to the dog’s back. “And you, Erna Brown, are quite the artist.”

“Thank you, Joel. But today, you’re the artist, and I must say, you’ve got quite the knack for it.”

When he’d finished the dog, he showed it to Prince, who barked at it as if to say it was good.

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a gentle glow through the window of the small bedroom where Erna and Joel lay side by side. A soft breeze carried the scent of blooming nightflowers and fresh hay as it whispered through the curtains.

“Joel?” Erna’s voice was a mere murmur, barely louder than the rustling leaves outside.

“Mhm?” Joel responded, his tone warm and drowsy.

“Did you ever dream about this? Lying here, I mean, with someone at your side?”

Joel turned his head to face her, their noses almost touching. “Can’t say I did,” he confessed. “But now, I can’t imagine anything better.”

Erna’s lips curved into a smile, her eyes reflecting the contentment that swelled within her. “I used to dream about traveling to far-off places. Paris, London...”

“Is that so?” Joel’s thumb grazed her hand gently, tracing the lines of her palm. “And now?”

“Now,” she paused, her gaze locked onto his, “I dream about planting a cherry orchard out back. Watching the trees grow year after year.”

“An cherry orchard, huh?” He chuckled softly. “That sounds good. And I think black cherry trees grow well in this are!”

“And you, Joel? What do you see in our future?” Her question was light, tinged with curiosity.

“Us,” he said simply. “Just us, building a life together. Maybe a couple of little ones running around the ranch.”

“Little ones?” Erna echoed, her heart skipping a beat.

“Sure,” he replied, his voice steady and sure. “If you’d like that.”

“I would,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Very much.”

“Goodnight, Erna,” Joel murmured, his breath tickling her ear.

“Goodnight, Joel,” she replied, nestling closer to him.