Spring had blazed into summer. It seemed Zach had no sooner finished the plowing and the seeding than he announced he was taking the mower out to cut hay. Donald and Harry were instructed to stay close to the house.

“I’ll be in the garden,” Irene said. “There’s a mat of weeds like a carpet out there. I could use a couple of boys to help.”

And so she set them digging between the potatoes while she hoed and picked along the rows. She straightened, arching her back to ease the kinks. The sun sucked at the ground, so bright it hurt her eyes and so hot the sweat rolled down her back. “Let’s get a cool drink,” she called to the boys. They had long since grown tired of pulling weeds and settled down to play in a shady corner. “Are you building another farm?” It seemed one of their favorite activities.

Harry scrambled to his feet. “Maybe we should take Dad a drink.”

“That’s a good idea. The water he took with him will be warm by now.”

A few minutes later they walked past a wheat field, now green and lush, toward the field where Zach cut hay. The grass lay in a neat, flat carpet. Irene breathed deeply.

Zach saw them coming and left the mower. “Am I glad to see you,” he called, wiping his face on his sleeve as he headed their direction. “It’s a hot one today.” He downed the water in large gulps. “Thank you.” His eyes reflected back the warmth of the bright sun.

Irene held his gaze for a moment. Since the day of the picnic, she’d detected a change in his attitude toward her. It seemed he smiled more readily and met her eyes often, holding her gaze until she felt as if their souls were being forged into one. But what made her thoughts rattle about in her head like the boys had thrown in a handful of marbles was the way he casually dropped a hand to her arm, or draped an arm around her shoulders.

“If I get this up dry, we’ll have plenty of feed for the winter.”

“How much more do you have to cut?” She looked out over the hay field. How quickly she’d learned the farming routines. Almost as amazing as how quickly and thoroughly she’d fallen in love with him.

“I should finish cutting tonight.” He picked up a handful from the swath at their feet, squeezed it, then sniffed it. “I’ll be able to start racking right away. See.” He shoved the handful of hay toward her. “Smell it.” Avoiding his eyes lest he guess her thoughts had been on him, she buried her nose in the fragrant grasses. “See how dry it is.” She squeezed it as she had seen him do, her fingers catching on his rough palm.

He closed his hand around her fist. Startled, she lifted her face and met his luminous look. Her heart tripped into a race. Certain her eyes would give her away, she tried to pull away, but she was trapped. For the life of her she could not tear her gaze from his. “It is as you said one day, we are truly blessed.”

She could not remember ever saying such, but she would have agreed with anything he said at that moment. “We certainly are,” she murmured, hoping her words didn’t sound as breathless as they felt.

“You have a bit of hay in your hair.”

She closed her eyes as he plucked something from above her right eye. The urge to turn her face into his palm and kiss it was so strong she groaned, not certain if she had been successful in restricting the sound to her insides.

His hand moved.

Her heart forgot to beat as she caught her breath and waited, but he only picked another blade of grass from behind her ear before he released his grasp on her hand and tossed the handful of hay on the ground.

“Got to make hay while the sun shines,” he muttered and strode back to the patient horse.

Irene grabbed up the jar of water and fled back to the house with the boys on her heels. She spent the afternoon tenaciously weeding under the hot sun, hoping the heat and discomfort would absolve her of a desperate longing for something more real from Zach.

Zach finished the mowing and turned to racking. The long hours he put in away from the house provided Irene with a measure of relief from her errant emotions.

And then he had to haul the hay home in a rack.

“Harry can come and drive the horse while I fork up the hay.”

Harry smiled so wide his eyes turned upward at the corners. “I get to help?” And when Zach said yes, Harry’s chest swelled.

Irene studied the pleased boy. “You’ve been helping all the time, Harry.”

He grew serious. “Yes, but this is man’s work.”

Irene laughed. “I see. Of course that makes a vast difference.”

He nodded. “I get to drive the horse.”

“So I understand. Have you done so before?”

“Dad let me drive lots of times, didn’t you, Dad?”

“A time or two, Son.” Seeing the disappointment on Harry’s face, he added, “But you did just fine. I know you can handle it.”

Harry strode out after his father, trying desperately to match his steps. Irene smiled.

Zach took Harry with him several days after that.

The weather changed abruptly, heavy clouds building over the mountains, a gray, cold wind shivering down the valley.

Frowning, Zach studied the sky. “I hope I can beat the storm.”

Harry rose from the supper table. “Not tonight, Son. I’ll manage without you.”

Irene studied Zach’s face, wondering why he’d instructed Harry to remain at home this evening when he was under pressure to finish.

Zach returned her look and muttered, “He’s put in a long day already. I don’t want to push the boy.”

She nodded agreement. Harry seemed content to play with Donald after supper, and Irene settled down with some mending. She checked the sky often. As long as the clouds clung to the mountaintops, the storm would stay in the distance; but if the clouds hurried close, they could expect a drenching.

A black cloud darkened the room. Lightning rent the skies. Thunder rolled down the valley.

“Is it going to storm?” Harry asked.

“It’s a long ways off yet. I’m sure your dad will be home before it gets this far.” Lightning danced back and forth; the noise of empty barrels rolling across the sky echoed through the room.

A different noise filled the room. Harry’s eyes grew round as saucers; Donald’s face filled with fear. “What was that?”

Irene shuddered. “I’m not sure.”

It came again, shrill, screeching over her nerves. And then Zach’s distant roar. “Whoa!”

Irene was on her feet like a bolt of lightning. She caught Harry before he reached the kitchen door. “You stay with Donald. Whatever you do, don’t leave the house.” She grabbed a coat with one hand and wrenched the door open with the other, bounding into the flashing night toward the hay field.

Again Zach’s voice called, “Settle down.”

In the blinding flashes, she saw the horse rearing, Zach at his head, trying to pull him down. Her mouth dry with the taste of fear, she raced to Zach’s side and grabbed the halter.

“What are you doing here?” Zach demanded, his voice hoarse. “Where are the boys?”

“They’re safe. What do you want me to do?” Another bolt of lightning sent the huge horse into a frenzy. It was all the both of them could do to hold him. His plate-sized front hooves flailed in the air, inches from the humans who did their best to calm him.

Through clenched teeth, Zach grunted, “This is no place for you.”

In the next flash of light she saw his angry eyes, but she only smiled and said, “What do we need to do?”

For a moment more he stared at her, then the horse neighed—a sharp, panic-laced sound—and Zach turned to the animal. “Whoa, there boy.” He spoke to Irene in the same tone of voice. “If you can hold him a minute, I’ll unhitch him. Whoa, Matt. That’s the boy. Settle down now. I don’t think there’s any point in trying to get the rack in tonight. Whoa. That’s a boy. Let me unbuckle you.”

Lightning flashed again, brighter, closer and Matt rolled his eyes, shuddering under Irene’s hand. “Be careful,” she whispered, but the thunder drowned out her words.

Finally, the horse was freed, and Zach grabbed the head strap and led him toward the barn. Matt strained against his hand, but Zach shook his arm. “Settle down now.”

Irene retained her hold on the horse, trotting at his side as they crossed the field.

Zach continued muttering. Irene realized his words were directed at her. “This is no place for a woman. It’s not woman’s work.”

Stung by his reaction, Irene spoke her mind clearly. “The war made men out of a lot of women.”

Zach pushed the barn door open with his free hand and led the horse inside. Irene quickly stepped aside and let Zach deal with the animal as she tried to calm her thoughts. She would not argue with Zach.

But her good intentions fled as he put the horse in a stall then spun to face her. “The war is over.”

She glared at him. “I’m well aware of that. But I didn’t need the war to convince me I’m no namby-pamby.” Her chest heaved, partly from the exertion of getting Matt to the barn, but more so from the anger and frustration building like a swelling tide.

He leaned forward, almost nose to nose with her, but she refused to back up. “You got no sense, either.”

She pressed closer. Close enough to see the dark emotion raging in him. She could practically smell his anger. “I expect you’re right. That would explain why I’m here.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “I knew the time would come you’d throw it back in my face.”

She’d gone too far, but her anger was out of control. “This isn’t about me. Or what constitutes a woman’s place. This is about how different I am from Esther. I don’t think you’ll ever accept me for who I am. All you want is someone who is another Esther.” She spun on her heel and marched away. She could hear him slam something against the wall before thunder blocked out all other sound.

She paused halfway to the house, letting the wind tear at her hair, striving to regain her self-control. She looked toward the spot where she could see the mountains on a sunny day and uttered a desperate prayer. “God, I fail and fail. It’s because I want so much more than I can hope for. But could You please let him love me just a little? Or else teach me to be patient and content with what I have. I have lots, Lord. I know that, and I don’t mean to be ungrateful. Just give me strength.”

Cold splatters danced across her skin. And reason returned.

“What have I done?” she moaned. “He will never forgive me for that outburst.” Her shoulders slumped as she crossed to the house.

Rain pounded against the house before Zach returned, water dripping from his nose and chin. He avoided her eyes as she handed him a towel.

Clutching at her stomach to still the sudden lurching as she realized how much his rejection hurt, she turned and gasped. Zach’s pants were torn, a steady stream of blood flowed into his sock.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.” He half turned away.

“Daddy, you’re bleeding,” Harry wailed. Donald’s eyes reflected the darkness of the outside.

“It’s nothing,” Zach growled. “A little cut.”

“It doesn’t look little to me.” Irene stood closer to examine it.

“I’m fine.” He spat the words out.

“We’ll know after I have a good look at it.” She faced him, her hands on her hips. “Into the bedroom with you.” She reached for a basin of water and some clean cloths. “Harry, you keep Donald here until I’ve cleaned it up; then you can come in. I’ll call you.”

Zach held his ground.

She faced him unblinking and firm. “Come along,” she urged. “Or can’t you walk?”

“I can walk,” he muttered, stomping into the bedroom.

She followed, ignoring his glare as he turned on his heel.

“Remove your trousers,” she ordered as she pushed the door closed with her elbow.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Oh, come on. You sleep beside me every night with them off.”

His jaw set into a hard line and he refused to budge.

“Besides, did you forget I’m a nurse? I’ve seen many a man with his pants down.”

“I’m sure you have,” he muttered.

She ignored his jibe. “Or I can cut them off.” Silently they faced each other. She knew she had to win this fight for the sake of his wound. And yes, she admitted, for her own sake.

She knew the moment he gave in. He sighed with annoyance.

“Did you ever bend your will to anyone?”

Pretending he meant as a nurse with her patients, she smiled sweetly. “I managed to persuade them one way or another.”

“I can imagine.” He slipped his trousers down and sat on the edge of the bed.

“All the way,” she ordered.

Grumbling under his breath, he kicked the trousers aside.

“Lie down.”

He began to protest then grunted and lifted his feet to the bed and stretched out, his arms crossed over his chest. “Woman, you are a bother.”

She covered him with a quilt and turned to the injury, sponging at it gently. “It’s a nasty gash, but I don’t think I’ll have to sew it up.”

“What?” He half sat.

She pushed him back, laughing low in her throat. “I’m only joking.”

He darted an annoyed look at her and fell back so she could finish cleaning the wound.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she murmured, finding it easier to broach the subject while she had an excuse to avoid eye contact. “I didn’t mean to sound like I regretted being here.” She spent a great deal of effort on cleansing the wound. “I don’t regret it for a moment.”

She held her breath waiting for his response—not daring to look at him.

She jumped nervously when his hand touched her shoulder and turned her to face him.

“Are you sure?” His gaze bored into her, dark, demanding, searching. “Not anything?”

She blinked hard, determined not to let him guess just how much she loved him. “I regret nothing. If I could do it again, I would do the same thing.”

He pulled her closer, drawing her alongside the bed until she was inches from his face. Her heart ticked loudly.

His warm breath, tasting slightly of supper’s coffee, and the cool storm outside tickled at her lashes. The yearning inside her swelled into a mighty roar. Her jaw quivered as he drew her close.

Sure he was going to kiss her, she leaned toward him.

“Is Daddy all right?” Harry’s worried voice sliced through the moment.

Zach fell back against the bed. Irene withdrew, pressing her hands together in her lap.

“He’s fine,” she murmured. “He’ll be out in a minute, as soon as I putting on a dressing.”

She glanced at Zach, seeing a reflection of her own frustration in the tightness of his jaw.

She dressed the wound and left so Zach could pull on clean trousers. Her nerves tingled like lightning had come too close.

She heard him enter the room but kept her back to him. The boys exclaimed over him and demanded attention. He took them to the front room and read to them. Life settled back to normal.

After the boys were tucked in, Zach stood looking out the window. “The storm is over. It looks as calm as glass out there.” He paused. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Her cup rattled in the saucer, and she shoved it away, clenching her hands in her lap, wondering as to his intent. Was he thinking of what had happened in the bedroom? Did he plan to continue what he’d begun? Did she want him to? Her knuckles grew white as she squeezed her hands together. Yes, she wanted him to kiss her. To love her. Just as she was—bigger than Esther, inclined to be independent, and sometimes boisterous with the joy of life.

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm.

He waited as she pulled on a coat. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his own coat as he set his stride to match hers.

The air tasted of rain and thunder. Moisture clung to every blade and leaf, glistening silver in the moonlight.

They walked to the end of the yard, neither speaking. Irene let the peace of the evening soothe her bristled nerves.

They paused near some trees, listening to the drip of water from the leaves. Zach took her hand and turned her to face him. “Irene, I. . .” He broke off, examining her face. “You got yourself into a real mess when you married me.”

“No, Zach. I didn’t.” She smiled at him. “I got myself a family I love.” She hoped he would respond to her barely concealed admission.

He studied her closely, but he didn’t say the words she longed for. Instead, he pulled her close and tipped his head to give her a sweet, gentle kiss. It was as short as it was sweet. She stared at him, knowing her eyes were as wide as young Donald’s often were.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he murmured.

“Well, I am.” Surprised and confused. What did it mean?

“Come on, we better get back.” Taking her hand, he led her back to the house. “Time for bed,” he said after they’d removed their coats.

She hesitated. Had their situation changed? But he sat at the table and pulled out his jackknife to clean his nails. She turned toward the bedroom, the emptiness inside her greater than she’d ever known before.

She hurried under the covers, pausing to read her Bible. “Lord,” she prayed, “help Zach to love me, and if he can’t, help me be strong and kind and true.” Her heart calmer, she turned out the lantern and waited. In the moonlight the leaves outside the window were silver shadows. The damp air carried the scent of wild roses. A cloud covered the moon, deepening the darkness. Still, Zach did not come.

She scrubbed the heel of her hand across her eyes. Had Zach been testing to see how much he liked her? Having kissed her, was he still convinced to leave things as they were? She pressed her hands into her eyes. She would not cry. There was no point in it. She reminded herself of her words to Zach. I regret nothing. I’ve got a family to love. She would do it again if she had the choice. There was only one thing she would change. She wanted, more than anything, for Zach to love her. But it seemed his memories were too fresh, too dear for him to let them go. But that didn’t stop her from loving him. She would continue to love them all with her whole heart.

“You’re coming with me to the ladies’ tea,” Addie insisted. “Everyone will be there.”

Irene refrained from saying that, alone, was reason enough not to go.

Addie appealed to her brother. “Zach, you tell her she should go.”

Zach snorted. “Irene does what she likes.”

Irene stared at Zach, uncertain if he meant it as a compliment or criticism.

He gave her a slow smile. “Suit yourself, Irene.”

Slow warmth crept up her limbs and curled inside her. He didn’t seem to mind letting her do as she wished. Suddenly, an outing with Addie seemed a fine way to spend an afternoon.

And so, a bit later, she sat beside Addie on the buggy seat. “Where exactly are we going?”

“To the home of Mr. and Mrs. Goodyear. They own a large house with wonderful flowers and lawns. For several years, Mrs. Goodyear has invited the ladies of the area to come for tea. She serves all sorts of nice fancies and tubs of tea and everyone has a lovely visit.”

Irene settled back. “It sounds fun.”

“It is. No menfolk and no children but the littlest. For awhile we all feel like real ladies.”

Irene laughed. “Nobody would think I was a lady if they’d seen me this week.”

Addie slanted her a look. “What did that brother of mine have you up to?”

“Oh, it wasn’t him.” She shook her head. “In fact he was quite perturbed when he found out.”

“Well, I’m dying of curiosity. What were you doing?”

“I decided to give the stove a good cleaning.”

“That sounds normal enough.”

“It was until I tried to clean the dust off the stovepipes.” She chuckled. “I guess I got too enthusiastic. I brought a length of pipe down.” Black soot had billowed all over her, settling over the kitchen like some sort of disease. “Great,” she’d murmured. “Wonderful.” Thankfully the boys were outside, and Zach out in the field. “Now I have to scrub everything.” But first she’d had to heat water, which she couldn’t do until she put the pipe back up.

“I might as well clean them all,” she’d muttered. With a great deal of tugging and grunting, she’d managed to disconnect several lengths of pipe and took them outside to clean, hoping she’d be able to put everything back together.

“You never mentioned you were also a chimney sweep.” A deep, amused voice had spoken so close to her she’d jerked up, dropping the length of pipe with a clatter and a choking cloud of black soot.

“Don’t be sneaking up on me like that,” she’d muttered when she’d finished coughing.

“Bad day?” he’d asked, grinning.

“No. It’s a fine day. Look around you. Isn’t the sun bright and the sky fair? It’s a dandy fine day all round.”

He’d chuckled with frank amusement. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”

She’d wrinkled her nose and held up her hands. “I’m black as the inside of a barrel, but I can’t wash until I can start a fire again.”

“What are you trying to do?” he asked as he stroke to the kitchen.

“I’m trying to clean the place.” Her annoyance had mounted with each of his words. “I don’t need someone standing around mocking me while I do it.”

He’d stared at her like she’d suddenly sprung two heads. “What possessed you to clean the pipes by yourself? And how, pray tell, do you expect to get them back in place?”

“I didn’t plan. . . .” What was the use in trying to explain? “I thought perhaps some kind. . .” She’d lingered on the word. “Gentleman would offer to help.”

He’d stared at her so long she finally grunted and turned back to trying to assemble the pipes.

“You’ll never get it that way.” He’d then carried the pipes inside. “Here, hold this in place.”

She’d done as instructed.

“You can be the most perverse woman sometimes,” he’d muttered.

Too hot and dirty to care what he thought, she’d simply handed him the last section of pipe and stood back while he tightened the strapping to hold it in place.

He’d faced her, his expression as sour as the milk she’d thrown to the chickens yesterday. “Next time, perhaps you wouldn’t mind consulting me before you try to fix the stove or move a wall or build a fireplace or whatever harebrained ideas might be brewing in that mind of yours.” And he strode from the room.

Stung into silence, she’d stared after him. “Harebrained?” She’d never been called that before. She’d raced to the door. “I’ll have you know I was at the top of my class when I graduated. Besides. . .” Her voice had dropped a note. “It was an accident.”

He’d ground to a halt, turning slowly. “How could it be an accident you graduated at the top of your class?”

“Knocking down the stovepipe was an accident.”

He’d gaped at her. “Then why did you let me go on like I did?”

She’d glowered. “How was I to stop you?”

“I guess I sort of ran off at the mouth, didn’t I?” He’d stepped closer.

She’d shrugged. “Far be it from me to judge.”

“It’s awful hard to take you serious when your cheeks are all blackened and your eyes stick out like that.” Then he’d chuckled.

“I’m glad I can offer you some amusement.” And suddenly she’d started laughing. “I’ve got to clean up the mess in the kitchen.”

“Do you want some help?” he’d asked with a chuckle.

Addie shifted around to stare at her. “And did he help you?”

Irene nodded. “We scrubbed all afternoon. It was a lot of work,” she added when Addie looked thoughtful.

“Zach helped wash the kitchen?” Addie sounded confused.

“Yes, why?”

Addie shrugged. “He’s always been such a stickler for woman’s work and men’s work and never the twain shall meet, if you know what I mean.”

Irene lifted her hands in resignation. “I suppose the lines lessened when he had to be both mother and father to the boys.” She refrained from saying anything about the disagreements they had when she pushed the lines even more.

The conversation ended as they arrived at their destination.

Mrs. Goodyear had set tables and chairs on the lawn, each table with a crisp linen cloth. A longer table stood in front of the house with a magnificent silver tea set and rows of fine china teacups. Cloths covered plates that Irene supposed were filled with the dainties Addie had mentioned.

“It’s like home,” Irene whispered, choking back a flood of tears.

“Do you miss it very much?” Addie asked.

“Not often, but sometimes something will hit me. Like this.” Addie waited as Irene pressed back tears. “But life is too full to waste time pining. I’ll get back to visit someday, I’m sure. And Grace is close enough to visit occasionally.” She grabbed Addie’s arm. “Come on, let’s go join the fun.”

A regal lady with a wide-brimmed straw hat and a long silk dress in pale green oversaw the garden party. Irene soon discovered that part of the program included circulating from group to group, visiting awhile before moving on.

Irene moved to a new table, Addie by now on the far side of the yard. For a moment, Irene was alone, waiting for others to join her.

“No one knows for sure, of course, but it seems reasonable to assume that the poor dear just quit living.” The whispered voice reached Irene from behind the tiny rose arbor where another table nestled. She couldn’t help overhearing the conversation.

“I heard she was never strong.”

“Yes, I heard that, too. But can you imagine what those two boys went through? No wonder the little one stopped talking.”

Irene’s head came up with a snap. Were they talking about Donald and Harry? And Esther? She kept still, hoping to catch the rest of the conversation.

“You know, I heard she was dead several days before anyone found her.”

“No!”

Irene’s stomach churned. She stumbled to her feet, looking around blindly for an escape, and found shelter beside a low shed. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to control her ragged breathing. Could it be true? Had the boys been in the house with their dead mother? She shuddered. It was too awful to contemplate.

Slowly, her breathing settled; her heartbeat returned to normal. She smoothed her expression. No one would guess she felt like someone had poured a bucket of slop into her insides.

The rest of the afternoon passed agonizingly slowly.

On the way home, she turned to Addie. “What happened to Esther?”

Addie gave her a wary look. “What has Zach said?”

“Nothing, but you must tell me. I have to know what happened.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested?”

Irene grabbed Addie’s arm. “I’ve always thought she was ill. I don’t know what I thought, but I must know.”

“Did someone say something to you?”

“I overheard some comments.”

Addie sighed. “People have said all sorts of things.” She drove on without speaking. Irene squeezed her arm again. Addie nodded. “I’ll tell you what I know. Perhaps she was sick before Zach left. If she was, she hid it, but after he joined the army, she got weaker and weaker. I thought at first she was having trouble adjusting and given a little time. . .” She rubbed her forehead as if trying to scrub away the memories.

“Pete and I tried to get over as often as we could, but we had so many things to look after with moving into our own home and his brother being sent home injured and all. When we finally got over, we found Esther in bed, too weak to care for the boys. We took her and the boys home, but she never recovered.”

A shiver reached up Irene’s spine and shook her shoulders. “What about the boys?” Her throat was so tight she could barely speak.

Addie placed her hand over Irene’s. “They were huddled together in their room, almost too afraid to move.”

Silence settled heavily over them.

Finally, in an agonized voice, Irene whispered, “Those poor boys.”