“Go to Kentucky? Are you completely mad?” Sarah frowned at Thomas as he paced their front parlor.

“That cursed Scotsman must pay for what he did to me. When he left a month ago, he no doubt thought he had escaped my wrath, but he will soon see how wrong he was.” Thomas gingerly touched his nose, which had healed crookedly after his last fight with Ballard. His nose ached all the time and he blamed his increasingly frequent, fierce headaches on it. It was a constant glaring reminder of how Ballard MacGregor had defeated him time and time again.

“He is gone. Let it be,” Sarah told him. “We have been married only a week. How will it look if you race off to the wilderness now?”

“They cannot laugh any harder or louder than they do already,” Thomas replied, and poured himself a brandy. “They have seen me fail at the hands of that lout from the frontier. He has done what those cowards in town could not do, and they savor my defeat.”

“You imagine that the laughter is a great deal louder than it is. It will all be forgotten soon anyway. You have the people here so afraid of you, they will quickly cease to chuckle now that he has left.”

“I will never forget it. Every time I look into a mirror, with every throb inside my head, I remember it. That bastard took Clover away from me. He stole my stallion, and interfered with my revenge on Grendall, and he beat me—twice. No one makes a fool of me like that. No one. That bastard will pay and so will Clover. I will make her dearly sorry that she scorned me for that lout.”

“Well, you can damned well do it on your own.”

Thomas looked at Sarah. “What? My dear wife refuses to help me?”

“Yes, she refuses. I will not go to that wilderness just so you can have revenge. If you want it so badly, go get it yourself.”

He went to the settee where she lounged and touched her cheek. “He refused your favors. Do you not want to make him pay for that?”

“If he was right at hand, I might, but he is not. He is hundreds of miles away. And he was most insulting that day. I see no wisdom in traveling hundreds of miles to offer him a second chance to slight me.”

“Fine.” Thomas finished off his brandy and set the glass on a side table with a snap. “Stay here. But do try to act with some discretion while I am gone.”

Sarah shook her head as he strode from the room. When Thomas had realized he had failed to kill the horse or murder Ballard, he had behaved like a madman. Still she had thought that once Ballard was gone, Thomas’s ravings would cease. When Thomas discovered that his nose would never be straight again, his fervent need to make Ballard pay dearly for each and every defeat had only increased. He even blamed his sick headaches on his broken nose and Ballard, conveniently forgetting that he had had them long before Ballard MacGregor had arrived in Langleyville. Sarah considered Thomas’s obsession with Ballard not only mad but also stupid. She did not think Thomas would survive a third confrontation between the men, especially if he did anything to hurt Clover.

As Sarah stood up to pour herself a brandy, she heard the front door slam. She moved to the window, saw hulking Big Jim Wallis get into the carriage with Thomas, and grimaced. They were united in stupidity, she mused as she took a sip of brandy. She cursed the day Thomas had met Big Jim at the Sly Dog and discovered that they shared a common bond of hate for Ballard MacGregor. As the carriage pulled away, Big Jim’s three dirty friends riding behind it, she felt certain that she would never see Thomas Dillingsworth alive again.

She wondered if widows really had the freedom they were rumored to have.

Clover set the basket of eggs on the kitchen table and frowned at her hands. The chickens were as reluctant to give up their eggs as the cows to relinquish their milk. She moved to the sink, poured some water into a bowl, and washed her badly pecked hands. Although she did everything just as Molly told her to, there always seemed to be one chicken who was ready and waiting to make her pay dearly for the eggs.

She dried her hands, shaking her head. For one month she had been in Kentucky struggling to learn, but she seemed to be making little progress. Her first attempt to churn the butter had produced cheese. Her second attempt had been better, but, as with so much of the other food she made, it was too salty. When she had tried to milk the cows, not one of the obstinate beasts would give up a drop. Clayton had shown a real knack at the chore, and even liked to do it, so she had gladly relinquished it to him, but she knew she would have to learn sometime. About the only thing she had done right was to add plants to the kitchen garden, or at least she thought so. She could not be sure until the garden began to yield something. And she had made some new gowns for herself and her mother, she mused as she looked down at her simple blue gingham dress. She could not consider that a big achievement, however, since she had already known how to sew.

She sighed and moved to the pile of dirty laundry. This was the first time she would do the washing without Molly’s supervision. She carried the laundry onto the back veranda, hefted the washing tub down from the pegs on the wall, set it on a sturdy table, and filled it with hot water.

As she began to scrub the clothes, she looked out over the land Ballard was so proud of. The delicate blooms of the bluegrasses were fading now. A few of the trees that ringed Ballard’s property and shaded the house still held lingering blooms while the others were filling with leaves. It was a beautiful place and she could easily understand Ballard’s love for it. Everyone was out in the field, working hard to see that the crop was planted in time. The corn was in and they were planting the other crops. They were nearly finished and the constant work would soon ease a little, at least until it was time for the harvest.

A deep-throated yowl startled her and she turned to see a large yellow tomcat sitting on the veranda railing. She had discovered that Ballard had a soft spot for the many farm cats. He did not spoil them so badly that they grew lax in containing the vermin which attacked the grain, crops, or food stores, but he did treat them well.

“And he treats you best of all, right, Muskrat?” She smiled faintly as the cat meowed. “You are such a clever cat, maybe I can teach you how to clean clothes.”

The cat stared at her for a moment, then started to wash himself. Clover laughed, shook her head, and began to scrub at a stain on one of Damien’s shirts. She suspected Molly had some clever way of getting it out, but she did not want to go and ask her. It seemed to Clover as if she was forever asking Molly how to do things. It must make Ballard all too aware of how ignorant she was.

Neither was her mother learning very much, simply keeping an eye on the twins and occasionally assisting in simple tasks, but Clover found little comfort in that. No one expected or needed Agnes to do much, for she had spent every day of her forty years being cared for. And her mother had not offered to be Ballard’s partner for life.

After setting the scrub brush aside, Clover held up the shirt she had been diligently working on and groaned. She had certainly gotten the stain out. Now there was a shredded hole where the stain had been. Clover was not sure she could even mend it. A good hard scrubbing was clearly not the way to get a stain out of a fine linen shirt. She muttered a few well-chosen curses under her breath and gave a soft screech of surprise when she heard an all-too-familiar masculine chuckle.

“Hello, Ballard,” she muttered.

Feeling a deep blush heat her cheeks, and not wanting to add to his amusement, she did not turn to look at him. It never failed, she thought crossly. Whenever she did something foolish, Ballard appeared to witness it. When he reached around her and poked his finger through the hole in Damien’s shirt, she had to bite her lip to keep from cursing again.

“Ye have a wee bit more strength than ye kenned, lass.” He slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. “Dinnae frown so, loving. It takes time. I mangled a few clothes meself when I first took up doing the washing.”

“Yes, but you are a man.”

“I dinnae believe lasses are born kenning how to wash clothes or scrub floors.”

“Or how to cook,” she muttered as she wrung out Damien’s shirt and set it aside, hoping that when she calmed down a little, she would see away to mend it. “Is the planting done already?”

“Most of it. The others can finish what little is left, and I have come in for my reading lesson.”

“Oh, Lord, is it that time already? It seems I am behind in my work—as always. Just let me rinse these and put them on the line to dry.”

She did not refuse Ballard’s help when he offered to empty out the soapy water and get her some clean, for she had begun to doubt she would be able to heft the tub. As he dumped the dirty water on the kitchen garden and refilled the tub, Clover tried to decide what to do for his lessons. She was no teacher, but he was a fast learner. Clover began to fear that she would fail Ballard there as well.

He noticed her frown as she rinsed the clothes and wrung them out. “If ye have too much to do now, Clover, I can come later for my lesson.” He leaned against the rail and scratched Muskrat under the chin, eliciting the tomcat’s deep purr.

“I have no more work than you have, Ballard. I can do that,” she protested when he began to hang the clothes on the line.

“So can I. No sense in me just standing about watching ye. The quicker the job is done, the quicker we can get to the lesson.”

When they were finished, he tipped the rinse water onto the kitchen garden as well, hung the tub back on the wall, and escorted her into the house. She hurried up to her mother’s room for a copy of Poor Richard’s Almanack. It was a lot harder than the twins’ readers, but Ballard had already mastered those little books and she had no secondary readers. As she set the almanac on the table between them, she watched his eyes widen slightly.

“I fear I have nothing between the boys’ little books and this. ‘Tis not as difficult as it looks,” she assured him.

He moved to sit on the bench next to her. “I am just not sure I agree that I have gone beyond those wee readers.” He frowned as he thumbed through the almanac.

“You certainly have. In fact, I think you know those little books by heart now.”

“Weel, let us set to it then. We only have an hour. I dinnae want the others to catch me stuttering over these new words.”

Clover sat quietly, gently advising him when he stumbled over a word. Ballard needed little more than supervision, for he had quickly learned his letters and how to sound out the words. As he read through a dry piece on crops, her thoughts drifted to everything she still had to learn and how little she had really mastered.

She still lacked the ability and confidence to prepare a meal completely on her own. It was not difficult to scrub the floors and tables, but her muscles still protested such hard work. The boys were doing a great deal better than she was, adapting to their new life with an ease and enjoyment she dearly wished she could share. Everyone assured her that she was improving a little more each day, but she was not sure she believed them. Although she truly liked Molly and deeply appreciated the woman’s patient instruction, there were days when she almost resented Molly’s skills, for they made her look even more incompetent.

Ballard slipped his arms around her waist and lifted her onto his lap, abruptly yanking her from her thoughts. “I do not believe this position will facilitate your reading,” she said even as she draped her arms around his neck.

He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “Ye can talk like a wee princess, cannae ye? And ye were nae listening.”

“Oh, I am so sorry. You need so little help, I am afraid my thoughts wandered. From now on, I think we can just have a short practice reading and then move on to something else—like your writing. The time you are able to steal from your work is too precious to waste on things you have already learned.” She murmured her pleasure when he kissed her, slowly and gently until her passion began to stir to life.

“Aye, I do need to improve my writing.” He started to unbutton the bodice of her gown. “But I dinnae feel inclined to be tutored just now, leastwise not in reading and writing.”

Clover gasped and covered his hand with hers. “Ballard, we are in the kitchen. Anyone could come in and see us.”

“Then we had best go somewhere private,” he said as he stood up, keeping her in his arms.

“Ballard,” she cried in a halfhearted protest. “‘Tis the middle of the day and we have work to do.”

“Newlyweds are expected to be, er, distracted.” He started up the stairs.

“Distracted, is it? I call this shirking.”

“Weel, lass, I intend to have a verra enjoyable shirk afore the noon meal.”

She blushed, but also laughed, infected by his passion and good humor. Suddenly she too relished the thought of stealing away from work to enjoy the desire that flared so hotly between them. She traced the shape of his ear with her tongue and kissed the hollow behind it, laughing when he hastened his strides, nearly running the last few feet to their room. He kicked the door shut, gently tossed her onto the bed, and sprawled on top of her. She laughed again.

But at the realization of how light it was in the room, a hint of embarrassment crept over her. “Ballard, ‘tis very bright in here.”

“Are ye feeling shy before your husband?”

“Less and less,” she admitted with a faint smile. “But could you draw the curtains?”

“Then I willnae be able to see ye,” he said, but he got up and pulled the curtains together just enough to lessen the sun’s glare.

Ballard returned to her side and kissed her. The slight change in lighting was clearly enough to ease her embarrassment and he found it a comfortable compromise. He distracted her with his kisses as he eased off her simple gown. Her increasingly responsive movements against him told him that she had discarded the last of her modesty. He stripped her to her thin chemise, then shed his own clothes, smiling faintly when he saw that she had already begun to unfasten his shirt.

He respected Clover’s modesty but was glad to see her relinquish it. Soon he would try something more daring, perhaps making love in some place other than their bed. He ached to look at her without the constraints of clothing or shadows.

He slid his hands along her legs, catching the hem of her chemise and slowly easing it up her body. He smiled as he slipped it over her slim hips and paused to kiss her taut stomach. Clover had insisted earlier that there was no red in her hair, but the curls at the juncture of her thighs were a bright coppery color. One day soon, when she was not so easily flustered by his blunt talk, he would point that out to her.

Clover trembled as Ballard tugged off her chemise, tossed it aside, and finally pressed his body against hers. The feel of their skin touching never failed to ignite her desire. She ran her hands down his side and caressed his taut, smooth hips. She savored his warmth, the texture of his skin, and the feel of his muscles beneath her fingers. When she slid her hand between their bodies and began to stroke him, he kissed her with a barely restrained ferocity. She liked the way his whole body expressed his appreciation of her intimate touch and the way his control rapidly began to fray. He always worried that he was too rough when his desire grew fierce, but she was determined to show him that she was not made of glass. She reveled in the full strength of his passion.

She tried to continue her caresses, but he soon moved out of her reach. As he peppered her breasts with kisses, she threaded her fingers in his thick hair. A soft cry of delight escaped her when he drew the aching tip of her breast into his mouth. He slid his hand down her stomach and she opened to him, craving the feelings his intimate caresses brought. Clover lost all sense of time and place, giving herself over completely to the desire thundering through her veins, until Ballard shifted his kisses upward along her inner thighs. For one brief moment her shock over such an intimate act checked her passion, but that shock had no chance to take root. It was banished with one slow stroke of his tongue.

With a soft groan born of both passion and a willing surrender, she opened herself to his intimate kiss. A part of her responded eagerly to his hoarse compliments and encouragement. The exquisite sensations built and built until suddenly she felt near her release. She called his name, but even as she started to recover from the semiconscious state into which her climax had hurled her, she felt her passion rising again, kept alive by his caressing hands and tongue.

Suddenly he was in her arms, holding her close as he turned onto his back. Clover began to wonder what he would do next when he neatly joined their bodies. She gasped, shuddering with the sensations inspired by this new position. Ballard tugged her face down to his. He kissed her, grasped her hips, and silently showed her what to do. Clover needed little instruction. She wanted to test herself in this new method of lovemaking, but their desire was too hot, too greedy. Ballard gave a hoarse shout as his release tore through him. He held her firmly against him, spilling his seed deep within her. Clover quickly followed him, collapsing in his arms as the culmination of her passions raced through her, leaving her weak and trembling.

It was a long time before Ballard eased the intimacy of their embrace. He wanted to stay where he was, their bodies entwined, but there was too much work to do. As he turned on his side to look at Clover, he noticed the color tinting her cheeks and the tension in her lovely body. He began to fear that he had pushed her too far too fast. When he kissed her cheek, she barely glanced at him, blushing even more.

“Lass, there is naught to be embarrassed about in a man and a wife taking their pleasure of each other,” he said. “I told ye I had a little experience. We have nae done anything odd or unseemly.”

“Are you quite sure?” she asked, timidity stealing the strength from her voice.

“Quite sure. Ye and I will be sharing a bed for many a year to come, lass—God willing—and it doesnae hurt to have a wee bit of variety.” He took her hand in his, kissed the palm, and then frowned when he noticed all the little wounds on the back of her hand. “Have ye been dragging your hands through the brambles, loving?”

Clover took one brief look at her hands and grimaced. “No, merely collecting eggs.”

“Ah, so The Bitch has been at ye.” He cursed, distressed to see how hard work was stealing the softness from her delicate hands.

“The Bitch? That is not really that hen’s name, is it?”

“Aye. Do ye have a better one?”

She laughed. “No. ‘Tis a terrible name, but it suits her. You could have warned me about her.”

“Sorry, loving, I should have thought. I would have roasted the cursed beastie by now, but she is the best egg-layer I have. I will be letting her hatch a clutch soon so ye can have a respite. Have ye tried tossing the food down right in front of her, then grabbing the eggs when she isnae looking?”

“It does not work. She either stays on her eggs or comes right back to fight me for them.”

“Weel, mayhap it is time to put that ill-tempered fowl on the spit,” he said as he sat up and stretched.

“Oh no, at least not until I win one battle with the wretched thing.” She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, and picked her chemise up off the floor. “I will not allow her to get the best of me.” While Ballard busied himself getting dressed, she quickly slipped into her chemise. “It must be time to begin the noon meal.”

“Aye, ‘tis time we both returned to our chores.”

“You look very pleased with yourself, considering you are about to go back to work.”

At the door, he winked at her. “Ah, weel, nothing can improve a mon’s mood more than a morning’s roll in the clover.”

Clover blushed, gasped, and looked for something to throw at him. By the time she picked up a candlestick, the door was shutting behind him and his soft laughter was fading as he hurried downstairs. She finished getting dressed and tidied her hair. He was a rogue, rough but charming. He made such remarks just to see her blush. She intended to learn to control that. One day she would surprise him and not bat an eyelash when he made one of his outrageous remarks. Perhaps she would even reply with something equally outrageous. Her modesty was slowly being banished and she was confident she would soon be as bawdy as Ballard sometimes was. But first, she thought with a sigh as she hurried down to the kitchen, she had to learn to care for the house.

She grimaced when she found Molly already in the kitchen. “Sorry, Molly,” she murmured as she moved to check the bread, which she had left to rise in bread-pans on the counter.

“No need to apologize. I was a newlywed once too.” She winked and grinned. “You blush so well.”

“‘Tis a curse. Ballard finds it far too amusing for my liking.” She eased the cloth off the bread and gave a cry of delight. “Look, Molly, I think I got it right this time.” She waited tensely as her friend inspected her efforts.

“It certainly looks so. Put it in the oven, girl, and then you can be giving me a hand in cutting up this ham.”

After sending up a brief, silent prayer that her bread would turn out well, Clover put it in the oven. She had made bread a few times in Langleyville, but always with help from the cook and the housekeeper. Her first attempts here had been dismal failures, good for nothing more than chicken feed or hogs’ slops. She needed one success to bolster her badly sagging confidence, some sign that, with perseverance, she could be the partner to Ballard that she so badly wanted to be.

“Well?” she pressed as Molly carefully tasted the first slice of bread.

Molly took another bite and finally nodded. “It be nearly as good as mine,”

Clover caught the glint of laughter in Molly’s eyes and grinned. “At last,” she cried, clapping her hands together and doing a brief jig around the kitchen.

“Best not do too much of that, or your man will be thinking you are tippling.”

“You cannot know how badly I needed a success.” She hugged Molly, laughing at the woman’s wary expression. “I was beginning to fear I would never get it right,” she said as she put her bread on the cutting board.

“I do not think I have ever seen anyone be so delighted over one bleeding loaf of bread—well, save for them what be starving.”

“‘Tis not the bread really, ‘tis the success. I have been here a month and it seemed I would never get anything right. Oh, I have gotten close, but never from start to finish all on my own. This shows me that if I stick with it, I can succeed.”

“I understand,” Molly said as she started to set lunch out on the table. “Still, you expect too much too fast. You were not raised to this life—I was. Truth is, I have been surprised that you are learning as fast as you are.” She looked at Clover. “Or that you keep at it when most women of your class would have given up.”

“But I am no longer of that class.”

“True, but most folk cling to old ways. If you stop fretting so, I wager it will come easier. Sweet Lord, girl, do you really think I never make a mistake?”

“I have not seen one yet.”

“Well, I be trying too hard to be perfect.” She grinned when Clover laughed. “No, ‘tis just luck. Once you learn the basics, I will be showing you the tricks I have learned to hide mistakes. Things like how to patch that shirt you done scrubbed a hole in.”

“Oh, you saw that, did you? It was silly, but I was reluctant to ask you how to get that stain out. I am forever asking you how to do things.”

“Good thing you did not waste your time. I saw that stain and knew there would be no getting it out. The shirt can be mended, and I know I will not have to be showing you how to do that. Now go and ring that dinner bell.”

Clover stepped out on the front veranda and clanged the bell. She smiled faintly as she watched everyone gather. She had only a brief sight of her mother, for the woman always went in the kitchen door and straight up to her room to prepare herself for the meal. The twins went to the pump to wash up just like the men. She watched Lambert and Shelton exchange splashes with the twins and Ballard genially scolded all four of them. Ballard was good with the twins, patient yet firm, and the boys had clearly made him their hero.

“Do not run in the house,” she reminded her brothers as they dashed past her. She had to bite back a smile when she saw Lambert and Shelton immediately slow their pace.

Ballard draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the house, regarding her in a way that made her blush. Without words he told her he was recalling their earlier lovemaking. He grinned at the fleeting embarrassment she could not hide and she slipped free, hurrying to help Molly finish setting out the dishes.

She watched carefully as everyone ate. Her bread disappeared quickly and she savored a secret sense of accomplishment. Clover knew the quality of her cooking would never become the be-all and end-all of her life, but this first success was important.

“One of the local lads stopped ‘round this morning,” Ballard announced between mouthfuls of Molly’s apple cake. “The spring get-together is planned for a fortnight from this Saturday. There will be dancing and drinking and a fine table of food.”

“And some fighting,” murmured Shelton.

“Ye shouldnae give the ladies such ideas, lad.” Ballard smiled faintly at a frowning Agnes. “There may be a set-to, but ‘tis usually a small fracas, quickly subdued. Folk come to enjoy themselves and dinnae want trouble.”

“Can we go, Ballard?” asked Damien.

“‘Tis up to your mother, laddie.”

Agnes briefly dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Are children allowed?”

“We are not children,” protested Damien.

“Here now, laddie, ye shouldnae speak to your mother that way. ‘Tisnae respectful, or kind either.”

Damien flushed. “I am sorry, Mama.”

“Much better. And aye, Agnes, they allow children,” Ballard said. “Most folk out here must take their bairns or leave them home alone.”

“Well then, the twins shall go,” Agnes said, smiling when the boys cheered.

“Is it not a rather busy time of year to have a celebration?” Clover asked.

“Verra busy, but ‘tis one reason we started having this revel. By then most folk have done all their planting and have earned a wee bit of fun. Aye, and we like to visit after the winter.”

“Of course. I forgot how far apart people are out here. ‘Tis not like in town where you sometimes see far more of a person than you care to. Where is the get-together held?”

“This year it will be in the upstairs hall of our new church.” Ballard fixed his gaze on Clover. “I accepted for all of us but after the lad rode away, I recalled that I cannae answer for all of ye. Ye dinnae have to go.”

“And why should we refuse? It sounds lovely.”

“Weel, it willnae be like the balls or fancy teas ye went to in Langleyville.”

“I am sure it will be great fun.”

“Good.” Ballard stood up. “Everyone is expected to bring some food. Clemmons always supplies the drink and we take up a collection to compensate him, although I am certain he never gets the full cost back. Weel, laddies, back to work.”

As soon as everyone was gone, Clover helped Molly clean up. She wanted to go to the spring revel, but could not stop worrying about meeting more of Ballard’s friends. Her mother had told Mabel Clemmons their whole sad tale, and Clover knew the story would have spread far and wide. She prayed she would not face the same kind of ostracism she had in Langleyville—the looks of pity, the abrupt dismissals. Although she would never ask her mother to lie, she did wish Agnes would be a little less forthright. They had come to Kentucky to leave the painful past behind them, to start a new life. Clover prayed she was not about to discover that one could never really start afresh.

Muttering curses, Clover hefted the pile of wood. Ballard had told her to call Shelton, Lambert, or him when she needed the woodbox filled, but she had not wanted to interrupt their field work. She decided she would not be so reticent next time. The wood was dirty, heavy, and awkward to carry. At the rate she was toting wood from the woodshed to the woodbox near the house, it would take her the rest of the day to finish. She had not yet gained the strength for such a chore and her hands were riddled with splinters.

She dumped the wood into the box, moved to brush off her skirts, and screamed. Squatting on her skirt was a huge spider, bigger than her hand. Just as she told herself not to panic, Ballard loped up to her side.

“Get it off,” she whispered pointing at the spider, afraid of speaking too loudly and causing it to move up her dress.

Ballard picked up a piece of wood, brushed the spider from her skirts, and crushed it. He watched her closely as she sat down on the back steps. Although she was pale and shaking, she looked unhurt.

“Ye gave me a fright, lass,” he murmured as he sat down next to her. “I feared the bears had returned to the area and wandered up to the house. They used to do that at this time of the year. They are powerful hungry after the winter.”

“I believe I would have been less upset by a bear.”

He laughed and kissed her cheek. “That was a big spider, although I have seen bigger.”

“You must be joking. Spiders are supposed to be small, things you can brush away and step on. That thing covered the whole front of my apron. What kind of spider was it?”

“No idea. We call them wood spiders, as we only seen them ‘round the wood.”

Clover sighed, a little embarrassed now that her shock had passed. “I am sorry. I am not usually such a hysterical—”

He stopped her words with a quick kiss. “Dinnae apologize, lass. No one likes spiders that big. The first time I saw one, I ran inside, got the musket, and shot it. Put a hole in the woodhouse. ‘Tis why I told ye to tell the boys when ye need wood.”

“Have you ever found one in the woodbox?”

“Nay, never. ‘Tis built a mite tighter than the woodshed. Are ye all right now?” She nodded and he stood up. “Need any more wood?”

“I have enough for now, but the box does need to be refilled.”

“I will get the lads to do it afore supper.”

She watched him walk back to the stables and sighed. A glance at the dead spider assured her that it was as big as she recalled, but that did not make her feel much better. Pioneer women were supposed to be a hardy lot. They were not supposed to scream loud enough to raise the dead just because a spider climbed onto their aprons, even if it did look big enough to eat her for dinner. Ballard must think her a complete fool. She was glad the others were too far away from the house to have heard her.

After rinsing off her hands, she went to bring the laundry in. All the confidence she had gained from her success at breadmaking had vanished. Ballard needed a strong wife, not one who trembled at the sight of an overfed insect.