In town, Kingston pulled up before a hardware store. “Do you want me to come with you to get the seeds?”

“No, I can do it. Just aim me in the right direction.”

He pointed across the street, then handed her some bills. “If you need any more just tell Mr. Scott I’ll settle up before we leave.”

She looked at the still unfamiliar bills. “How long do I have?”

“I have to see about repairs for the discer. I expect to be awhile, so take your time. It’s a small town. I’ll find you when I want you.”

“Thank you, Kingston.”

He waved as she hurried across the street. She knew what she wanted—root vegetables, salad greens, and flowers. In the store she found the seeds as well as a pleasant shopkeeper who helped her make her selection. “These do well here,” he said, tilting a package of carrot seeds toward her. “They’re a good keeper too.”

“Keeper?”

“You know. In the root cellar.”

“Ah, yes.” She added it to her growing pile. “Now what about flowers?”

Again he showed her a selection, and she chose most of them.

“Anything else?”

She nodded. “Gloves.”

“I have just the thing for you.” He brought out a pair for her to try.

“Perfect,” she said and paid for everything. “Thank you for your help.”

“Thank you for your business and welcome to the community. I hope you’re finding it to your liking.”

“Actually I’ve seen very little of the town. Kingston drove me through it the first day, but I can’t say I noticed much. Then we’ve come to church on Sunday.” The church was situated before the rest of the buildings, so she’d had little opportunity to see anything more.

“Then you haven’t had a chance to see all the good things here. We have thirty thriving businesses: pharmacy, dry goods, hardware, blacksmith, a lawyer. The doctor has his office over there. We have three churches and a good school.” He had come to stand by her side and pointed out the window. “Even a nice library—”

“A library? Where?”

“Right around that corner and past the alley.”

Maryelle peered through the window. The wagon stood across the street, but she saw no sign of Kingston. “If Kingston comes looking for me, will you tell him I’ve gone to the library?”

“Certainly. Glad to be of help.”

She hurried in the direction the shopkeeper had indicated and soon found the narrow white building with a sign assuring her she’d found the right place. A smaller sign informed her the library was open Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Grateful she’d happened on a day when it was open, she stepped inside. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness and filled her lungs with the smell of books and oiled floors.

A few minutes later, she emerged with two publications on growing a garden in Alberta and two novels that would help pass the time once she got the seeds in the ground.

That evening Kingston helped her stake out the rows and plant the seeds.

“This was a good idea of mine,” he said, covering the pea seeds with the damp soil.

“What idea was that?” She marched ahead of him, dropping seeds a few inches apart.

“The garden, of course. Wasn’t it a good idea?”

She laughed, pausing long enough to meet his blue-green gaze. “Guess this is one of those times when you and I are one, but you’re the one.”

He laughed. “Yup.”

“You know something? I don’t care whose idea it is; all I care is I finally have something productive to do. Something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“I’ll make a real little farmer of you yet.”

She grinned. “I don’t think you’d have to work very hard at it.” Again she dropped peas into the narrow trench Kingston had prepared. “Despite what Lena seems to think about my being a city girl, I’m really just a working class girl with a yen to get my hands dirty.”

He rested the hoe against his leg and grabbed her hand. “I think your dreams have been fulfilled.”

She laughed at the way he shook his head over her dirt-soiled, roughened hands.

“Whatever happened to my fine English miss?”

She finished the row and waited for him to catch up. “I think she’s turning into a farmer.”

He dropped the hoe at the end of the row and checked over his shoulder both ways before he grabbed her in a bear hug. She clung to him. “Mrs. Brown, you have dirt on your nose.” He kissed the spot, then lowered his lips to her mouth.

He released her and turned so they looked at the neatly planted rows. “Your garden is all planted, Mrs. Brown. What are you going to do now?”

She shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to wait.”

It was harder to wait than she could have imagined. The next morning she did up the few chores she was allowed to help with and wandered down to her garden, a book and her Bible in her hand. She found a grassy spot and spent a few minutes reading the Bible and praying for God’s strength to be patient and loving in this family. Especially, God, help me to trust Kingston’s love. Feeling she had to compete with the farm and his family for Kingston’s affections made her ache inside. When Kingston wasn’t at her side, she felt so alone, as abandoned as she’d felt when her parents died. He had helped her find her way back to God at that time. She vowed she’d not lose her faith again. She would trust God to lead her through this trying time to something better.

Feeling new strength and encouragement, she began to read the garden manual she’d borrowed from the library.

Later Lily wandered by to visit. “You want to see some baby kittens?”

Glad of the diversion, glad of any diversion, and equally eager to see some baby kittens, she jumped up. “I’d love to see some baby kittens.”

Lily bounced toward the barn. “Mitten had them in the loft.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You think you can climb the ladder?”

Maryelle grinned to think that she appeared so old to this child. “You think you can help me if I can’t?”

Lily drew to a halt. “I don’t think so. I’m just a little girl.”

Maryelle laughed. “Don’t fret. I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Lily led the way into the shadowed interior of the barn. Maryelle had not been there before, although she’d wanted to see it. Somehow she had the feeling that unless she was invited, she wouldn’t be welcome.

Shafts of light slanted through the high narrow windows, beaming their fingers on the dust Lily’s restless feet kicked up as she waited. Stalls lined each side of the barn; an array of reins, yokes, and other things she recognized as being used with the horses hung from nails. Maryelle breathed in a potpourri of scents—dusty hay, old horse sweat, worn leather, fresh dung; smells both familiar and strange, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, and yet exciting.

“Up here,” Lily called, hanging from a rung of a ladder nailed to the wall.

Maryelle climbed after her through a square hole in the ceiling to the loft, the floor smooth and slippery with bits of hay. She followed the child to a corner and saw the cat she’d met before, surrounded by five tiny little bodies. “They’re so small,” she whispered.

Lily sat cross-legged, petting the mother cat. “You can touch them if you want.”

Maryelle scooted close and reached toward a mottled kitten.

The mother cat, purring contentedly under Lily’s petting, suddenly lifted her head and made an inquiring noise.

Maryelle jerked back. “She doesn’t mind, does she?”

“It’s okay, Mitten,” Lily crooned. “She won’t hurt them.”

The cat continued to keep her eyes on Maryelle as she lifted one tiny body in her cupped hands. “I’ve never seen anything so small except a mouse.” Sheba had been scampering about, bright-eyed and full of mischief, when Dad brought her home. These little bodies were helpless, their eyes still closed.

She put the kitten back. It nuzzled until it found a place to nurse.

“You like cats?” Lily asked.

“Umm. They’re my favorite.” She missed Sheba so much.

“What was your cat’s name?”

“Sheba. Queen of the cats.”

Lily giggled. “What happened to her?”

“She died of old age.”

“Did you cry?”

Tears flooded her eyes at the memory. “Yes, I cried a great deal.”

“Oh.” Lily seemed at a loss for words at the idea of an adult crying.

Maryelle smiled. “But Kingston was there, and he made me feel better.”

“Good.”

“In fact, it was Kingston who thought she should have a proper burial.”

Lily turned to look at Maryelle, her wide eyes dark green in the dim light, her mouth a little circle. “What did you do?”

Maryelle shifted to a more comfortable position, glad to talk to someone she was sure would share her sense of loss over her cat. “I guess I’ll have to tell you the whole story.”

Lily nodded vigorously.

“Sheba was very old. About all she did was climb down off my bed long enough to get something to eat and then go back and sleep some more. Kingston said she was a lazy cat, but of course he was teasing. I’m just so glad he was there when she died because I was very sad.”

Lily nodded her understanding. “I would cry if Mitten died.”

“I told him I couldn’t bear the thought of getting rid of her body, and he said why don’t we take the bus out to the country and bury her under a tree somewhere. So that’s what we did.” Sheba had been the last living thing holding her to London. When the time came, Maryelle found it rather easy to sell the shop. She was completely free to join Kingston. She had no other place she wanted to be. She sighed. If only she felt as if she belonged here.

“I wish I could have a cat in the house,” Lily said. “I’d let her sleep with me every night.”

Maryelle petted the five tiny kittens. “It’s nice. Sheba was my best friend.” They’d played together when they were both young. And Maryelle had found comfort in her soft fur and rough tongue when her parents had died. “I still miss her.”

To Maryelle’s surprise, Lily scrambled over and gave her a hug. She held the child close and was comforted.

Maryelle sprawled under the shade of the tree on her well-worn grassy spot. She’d read all her library books, including the gardening guides, several times. She’d dusted and rearranged the items in her bedroom repeatedly. She’d practically begged to be allowed to bake something, do anything, but Mother Brown had gone to her room, and Lena had refused Maryelle’s help in her usual blunt way.

She rolled over on her back and stared at the leaves dancing against the blue sky. The plants were only beginning to poke their tiny leaves through the soil, but she’d weeded so diligently there wasn’t a weed or a blade of grass in the garden. She tried to read some more in her Bible and for awhile found it diverting and encouraging. She prayed for God to send something interesting into her life. But nothing happened, except the leaves whispered.

She had nothing in the whole world to do. She was bored, bored, bored.

She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. The chickens scratched and clucked inside their fence. Behind them from the pigpen rose sounds of grunting contentment and a rather unpleasant odor. A few cows were visible in the field behind the barn.

But Maryelle saw no sign of anyone human. Where was Lily? The child would have provided some welcome diversion.

But she hadn’t seen Lily since lunch. Perhaps she had gone to her hideout up the hill. Maryelle considered trying to find the child, but it wasn’t childish company she longed for; she wanted something useful to do.

If only she and Kingston had their own home, she could be busy cooking and cleaning and washing.

She leaned her head against her knees. How long before they could be on their own? She straightened. Kingston had never come right out and said what he planned—only that there wasn’t enough money to build something for them and nothing around they could live in. If she knew how long she must endure this arrangement, perhaps she could be patient.

With the light lasting longer in the evenings, she saw less and less of Kingston, and it grew increasingly difficult to be patient. The ache inside her grew. All she wanted was to be allowed to love her husband and not have to share him with so many other demands. Not that she thought having a home of their own would mean he danced at her side all day long. She wouldn’t want that. Please, God, I want to feel like a wife. I want to know he loves me as much as the farm.

At that moment, Kingston stepped from the barn, paused to check the length of leather in his hands, then ducked around the corner.

“No better time than the present to find out what’s ahead,” she murmured and jumped up, dusting her skirt before she followed in his direction.

It took several minutes to reach the barn. She rounded the corner and saw Kingston facing his father.

Having no desire to discuss anything in front of Father Brown, Maryelle halted in the shadow of the barn, hoping the men would part and go their separate ways. Instead Father Brown stepped toward Kingston.

“You ain’t got the brains God gave a sack of hammers.” Father Brown’s voice was low and guttural. She thought he must be joking, but she heard no humor in his tone.

“It was already cracked,” Kingston replied, his voice low and calm. “Bound to give way sooner or later.”

Father Brown stood beside a piece of farm machinery, a spanner in his hand. “Don’t give me that. You always did have a knack for busting everything you touched.”

Kingston didn’t move.

“Bet you that high and mighty little English girl ain’t even happy to be here with you.”

Her dear husband didn’t reply, but she bled for him. How often did he endure these degrading remarks?

Father Brown shook the spanner in his face. “Got nothing to say to that, do ya? Too close to the truth, maybe.” He snorted. “She’ll get tired of you soon enough. Fact is, I can’t figure out why she’s still here. I expected her to pack it in and head back home long ago.”

Maryelle took one step forward, an angry protest on her lips. How dare he say things like that to Kingston—the finest man she’d ever met? She would never leave him and go back to England. What was there to go back for? Her heart and soul were here with her husband.

“I think we can fix it up in a jiffy.” Kingston turned toward the broken machine.

His father blocked his move. “ ‘We’? I like the way you say ‘we.’ You break ’em. I fix ’em. So where does ‘we’ come into it?”

Kingston faced his father. He spoke not a word.

“You never was worth a hill of beans.”

Maryelle reached toward her dear, sweet husband, wanting to stop this attack. She wanted to say his father was wrong—Kingston was worth ten of anyone else in this cruel family—but she didn’t know if speaking would make things worse. She remained in the shadows, her mouth parched, her heart heavy, her arms aching to hold her husband.

“The army didn’t seem to agree with you.” Kingston’s voice was still calm. “They thought I was good enough to lead a troop against the Huns.”

“Too bad you didn’t get shot out there. Would have saved me a bunch of trouble.”

Maryelle thought her heart would rip from its place.

Kingston only shrugged. “Well, I’m here. And I’m ready to work. Just as soon as we repair this.” He bent toward the machine.

Father Brown roared. “Get your hands off it before you bust it for good.” He raised the spanner above his head and swung at Kingston.

Maryelle grabbed for the barn as her legs weakened beneath her.

“I’ll kill you. I swear I will.”

Kingston ducked away. The spanner missed him by a fraction of an inch. He jumped back, his arms at his side. Maryelle saw the ready tension in his body. “If you kill me, who will do your work?” His voice revealed no emotion.

“I managed while you was gone, didn’t I?” He breathed so hard Maryelle could hear him from where she stood. “Me and Angus, we managed.”

“The fences were broken down, the loft floor damaged, and several fields weed infested—but, yes, you managed.” Kingston dropped the hunk of iron he held. “Maybe you’ll manage again.” He turned on his heel and strode away toward the barn. He glanced up, and Maryelle felt his gaze bore right through her.

“You get back here.” He threw another spanner. It caught Kingston in the shoulder, but Kingston marched on without slowing or turning. His father roared a string of curses.

Maryelle could face no more. She sped away before Father Brown saw her, her heart beating in her ears like a marching drum. She ran past the house, past her garden, her lungs begging for air. She didn’t slow down until she crested the hill behind the house, where she collapsed in a heaving, sobbing heap on the ground.

Arms enclosed her. “You shouldn’t have been there.”

She hadn’t heard Kingston following her, but she readily turned into his embrace. “How could he do that?” she sobbed. “He tried to kill you.”

He sat down and pulled her into his arms. “He would never kill me.” He gave a snorting laugh. “Who would do his work if he did?”

She clung to him. “It was awful. The things he said to you.” She drew a shuddering breath. “How could you stand it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t let it bother me.”

She tipped her head up so she could see his face. “But it does bother you. I can tell by your voice. And your eyes.”

He looked deep into her eyes, and she saw just how much it hurt him. His pain was her pain, and she groaned. He pulled her tight, burying his face in her neck. They clung to each other. It was several minutes before she could speak. “How long has this been going on?”

He sighed a sigh that seemed to come from deep inside him. “All my life.”

His words shivered through her body.

“I used to think maybe I wasn’t his son. Asked Mom about it once, and all she said was, have a look at your grandfather. She meant Dad’s father. And she was right. I look so much like him it’s uncanny.” He shrugged again. “I don’t know why he treats me as he does. It’s only me.”

Maryelle held her tongue. From what she’d seen, the rest of the family did one of two things: do as Lena had and develop a tongue that would stop even Father Brown. Jeanie was well on the way to developing the same sharpness. Or retreat into sullen pliability as had Angus and Mother Brown. Katherine, she wasn’t sure of. Lily alone, besides Kingston, remained free spirited despite the family dynamics. Suddenly she feared for little Lily as she grew older.

“Why do you put up with it? Wouldn’t it be better to leave?”

“I did leave, remember? I went to war. And discovered I missed the farm so much it didn’t matter what my father said. When I came back, I found the place falling into rack and ruin. It tore my heart to see how it had been neglected. In the few months since I’ve been home, it’s finally beginning to look decent again.”

“I know how much you love this place. It’s all you ever talked about when we were courting, as I recall.”

He gave a short laugh. “I thought you liked it.”

“I did.” She lay silent against him, thinking of the things he had said—how much he cared about this place—but Father Brown’s vicious words, his physical threats, blotted out everything else. “How do you stand it?” she whispered.