She fell to her knees and plucked from the quagmire a trampled pea vine, chewed up like an old toothpick. She edged along the row. What wasn’t ground into the soil was torn up, roots exposed to the air. She leaned back and moaned, then scrambled to her feet and raced the length of the garden, looking for some reason to hope. At the end she collapsed in the rough soil. Not one live plant left. All her hard work for nothing.

She lifted her face to the heavens and let out an agonized wail. Was there nothing in this place that she could hold on to and call her own? Her efforts to belong were thrown back in her face; her picture of Sheba was missing; and now her garden was totally destroyed. She bowed her forehead to the ground. All she had left was her love for Kingston, and sometimes she wondered if she was losing him to his family.

It was too much. She couldn’t take anymore. She fell face down and sobbed for all the things she’d lost—her father and mother, her dreams, a home where she belonged. She had nothing left to hope in. She was defeated. No more fight left. She sobbed until she was empty inside; then she lay there, face down in her misery, too broken to get up.

She heard the grass rustle nearby, but she didn’t bother to look up. They had broken her. It mattered not if they saw her in utter ruin and defeat.

A pair of warm, familiar hands touched her shoulders. She didn’t move. She wanted nothing but to lie where she was until all feeling ceased.

“Come on, Maryelle.” Kingston pulled her to her feet, turning her into his embrace. “How long have you been lying here?”

She couldn’t answer but lay limp against him.

“Good thing Lily saw you and came and got me.”

She heard the tightness in his voice but didn’t know or care what it meant.

“I’ve had enough,” he said as he lifted her into his arms and strode to the house. He crashed through the door and with his boot snagged a chair toward him, lowering her carefully to it.

“Get me some warm water,” he bellowed at someone.

Maryelle caught a fleeting glimpse of Lena’s startled face and then a basin of water was placed close by.

He lifted her chin and gently touched her cheek with the cloth. His gaze found hers, and he paused, deep troubled thoughts turning his eyes a hard green. Then he smiled slowly. “No more of this, I promise.”

The door banged. Maryelle recognized Father Brown’s footsteps and shrank back. Kingston put his arm around her shoulders, pressing her to his side.

She leaned against him, refusing to look into the unkind faces of his family.

“Dad.” Kingston’s voice was hard. “The cows have been deliberately chased across Maryelle’s garden. It’s destroyed.”

She heard the silent accusation of his words and knew he thought his father had done it even as she thought it. She’d feared something would happen ever since she knew he’d overheard her suggestion to Kingston that they leave.

She held her breath and waited for him to admit or deny it, but he didn’t say a word.

She felt Kingston shift as he looked around the room. “You have all gone out of your way to make Maryelle unwelcome. But you forget one thing. I love her, and when you hurt her, you hurt me.” His hands tightened around her shoulders. “I will not allow her to be treated like this any longer.” He faced his father boldly. She felt him pull himself up tall. “We’ll be moving on.”

She jerked her head up so she could see her husband. His jaw was rigid, the skin around his eyes taut. She had never seen him look so stern.

“Boy, you walked away from this place once before. Don’t figure you can do it again and come back.”

Maryelle shuddered before the vile tone of Father Brown’s voice.

“Whatever you want,” Kingston said.

Mother Brown was just behind her husband, and she glowered at his back. “He’s my son too. He’ll always find a welcome in my home.”

The older man swung around, his fist raised to his side. For a moment Maryelle thought he would strike his wife.

Kingston dropped his arm from around her shoulders, leaving a sudden chill. She felt him surge forward, then ease back as his father dropped his fist, growling low in his throat.

Maryelle caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, turned, and saw Lena step protectively toward her mother. Maryelle blinked. She hadn’t expected Lena to care about anyone else.

As she dragged her gaze back toward the older man, she saw Angus drawn back into the corner, his eyes big as plates. His gaze caught and held hers. She ached at the fear and despair she saw. How would he manage without Kingston to defend him? A shudder started in the soles of her feet and raced upward, shaking her entire frame.

Kingston leaned toward her, pulling her close, his touch lending her strength.

“Maryelle, run up and pack your things.”

Her legs felt as foreign as the new country to which she’d been transplanted as she stumbled up the stairs. In a few minutes she had thrown everything back into the trunk. What didn’t fit and the bulk of Kingston’s belongings she tossed into the middle of the quilt and tied the corners together.

Weakness swept through her, and she sank to the floor, pressing her hand to her mouth to hold back the nausea.

Kingston found her there and sank down to her side, cradling her in his arms. “My sweet Maryelle, what have I brought you to?”

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”

He lifted his shoulders. “I thought things would get better, not worse.”

“Me too.” She clung to him, pressing her face into his warm neck.

“I hope Grandma Wells meant it when she offered the bunkhouse.”

She nodded. “She meant it.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go.” Although she clung to him, he pushed her back to look into her face.

“I have never been so angry in my whole life as I was when I saw you weeping on the ground.” A shudder raced across his shoulders.

“I wasn’t hurt, not physically. Only shocked at the vindictiveness of it.” She pushed back the hurt and pain. There was nothing to be gained by reliving those awful moments.

“Is everything ready to go?”

She nodded toward the bed.

“We’ll take the bundle with us. I’ll come and get the rest later.”

She grabbed his shirtfront. “I can’t bear to think of you coming back here. What if your father—?”

He drew himself up tall. “I have never been afraid of him. I’m not going to start now.”

She sagged against him. “I’m afraid of him.”

“Never let it show.”

He scooped the bundle off the bed and, taking her hand, headed for the stairs.

His father was gone when they stepped into the kitchen. Lena sat at the table, her face turned away. She resolutely refused to look at them.

Katherine stood at the cupboard, misery written all over her features.

Mother Brown stirred a pot on the stove, turning as they entered the room. For a moment Maryelle thought she was going to ignore them and let them leave without saying a word. But suddenly, strength that seemed unfamiliar found its way into her. “I would change things if I could, but he’s not getting any easier to live with.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she let her gaze rest on Maryelle briefly. “I regret how we’ve treated you.” She turned back to the stove.

Maryelle looked around for Angus. He still leaned in the dark corner against the pantry. She was certain he hadn’t moved since they’d left the room.

Kingston strode to his side, squeezing his shoulder.

Angus shuddered like a building hit by a bomb.

“Angus, if he ever touches you, come and get me. I’ll not allow it.”

The boy lifted his head, clinging to Kingston’s gaze like a man offered a reprieve from the gallows.

“I mean it, Angus. Don’t be afraid anymore.”

The door flew open, crashing into the wall, and two small bodies burst through. Lily was first. She skidded to a stop.

“Where you going?” Her gaze darted to Maryelle. “I thought you was staying forever.”

Maryelle blinked back tears. How she hated to leave this little girl, so much like Kingston in looks and spirit, but she had no choice.

Maryelle squatted so she was level with the child’s eyes. “We aren’t going far. There’s a little house at Mr. and Mrs. Wells’s that we’re going to live in for now. It’s close enough so you can come and visit.” She sought Mother Brown’s eyes. “As long as you have permission from your mother first.” She turned to Jeanie, who stood uncertainly inside the door. “You too, Jeanie.”

Maryelle stood. “All of you.” But her voice faltered. Jeanie looked around the room, trying to gauge the feeling by the adults’ expressions. Maryelle knew she wasn’t sure how she should react.

Kingston stepped toward the door, holding his hand out to Maryelle. “I wish things could be different.” He took Maryelle’s hand and paused as if waiting for some sort of reply from his family. But no one spoke.

Maryelle followed him out the door. Perhaps everything that could be said had been said.

Lily burst out the door. “Don’t go!” she cried.

Kingston stopped, filling his lungs slowly. He glanced at Maryelle, his eyes shifting to blue, revealing his pain; and lowering the bundle, he turned toward his littlest sister.

“Come here, Sweetie.”

Lily flew into his arms. She was crying, her tears dripping off her chin.

“Don’t cry, Lily.”

Maryelle swallowed back her own tears.

“I don’t want you to go,” she sobbed.

“I know,” he crooned, cradling the child’s head close. “But we have to.” He set her down. “You be a good girl.”

He grabbed Maryelle’s hand, squeezing tight. “Let’s go,” he muttered, striding from the yard so fast she was forced to trot to keep up.

They went several hundred yards before he slowed down and dropped the bundle. “What has my life come to?” He plunked down on the quilted bundle and buried his head in his hands.

She ached for him. How it must hurt to face the truth she was sure he’d avoided all his life. She knelt in front of him, wrapping her hands around his. “Kingston, it isn’t your fault. None of this is.”

After several seconds he lifted his face and stared into her eyes. The pain in his expression drove an arrow deep into her heart.

“I wish I could believe I’d done all I could, but all I feel is defeat.”

She stood up and planted her hands on her hips. “Well, get ‘de feet’ a-moving. We’ve got to set up house yet today.”

He stared at her as if she’d landed in front of him from a foreign country, and then he laughed. “Now I know for sure you’re crazy.”

His laugh ended on a sad note; and locking hands, they walked on.

Grandpa Wells saw them first and ran to the house calling, “Mother, Mother. He’s come back.”

Grandma came to the door, dusting her hands on her apron. “What is it, Wes?”

“It’s Harry. He’s come back.”

Grandma shaded her eyes. “It’s Maryelle and young Kingston.” She rushed toward them, Grandpa trotting after her. “You’ve come because of trouble.” She took one look at Maryelle’s face and drew her into a powder-scented hug.

Kingston stood back, awkward. She reached up for a hug. Kingston hesitated but a second, then leaned over and allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “It’s been far too long,” she said, wiping her eyes on a corner of her apron.

“We’re sorry to barge in on you like this,” Kingston began.

She waved him away. “I told Maryelle you’d be welcome anytime. Now you come—we’ll get you set up in the bunkhouse.”

Maryelle took Kingston’s hand and followed, grateful Grandma didn’t ask any questions. It was too fresh and upsetting to talk about.

Grandpa followed on their heels. “It’s good to have young people around again. We’ve missed it, haven’t we, Mother?”

“We have indeed. Wes, would you get me another pail of water, please? They’ll need water and food to get them started.”

Grandpa grabbed the pail and hurried for the pump.

Grandma chuckled. “Why, I declare. I haven’t seen him with that much spring in his step in a long while. It’s going to be good for him having you around.”

They followed Grandma to the little house. As they stepped inside, Maryelle heard Kingston exhale as if he’d been holding his breath for a long time. “This is fine, just fine.” He sounded relieved. “I can’t thank you enough for lending it to us.”

Grandma waved aside his thanks. “It’s a pleasure. Now here’s Dad with some things. Let’s see what he brought.”

Grandpa set a pail of water on the table and slung a sack off his shoulder to the floor. “Potatoes, a slab of bacon, some of those biscuits the young lady made, and a few other things.” He reached into his pocket. “Some fresh eggs.”

Grandma nodded. “That’s fine, Wes. Real fine. Now why don’t we leave these young people to settle in?” She paused at the door. “I expect you’re wanting some time to yourselves, but you’ll no doubt be needing a few things. Come up to the house when you’re ready. We have plenty of everything.” She paused again and spoke over her shoulder. “Everything but someone to share it with.” And then they were alone.

Maryelle stood in the center of the room, uncertain what to do next.

Kingston dropped the bundle on the bed. “Let’s have a look around.”

He opened the cupboard by the stove. “There are dishes and pots here. Looks like we have everything we need.” He rattled the contents as he tallied them.

Maryelle pulled a chair out from the table, plopped down, buried her head in her arms, and wept.

“Maryelle?” Kingston hurried to her side, his hand stroking the back of her neck. “Don’t cry, my sweet wife.” He lifted her to his lap. “I suppose it was bound to come to this.”

“I’ve taken you from your family,” she sobbed.

“This is not your doing. If anyone should be blamed, it would be Dad.” He pulled her head against his neck. “Besides, now we can be alone.”

She sobbed harder. “I didn’t want to be alone bad enough to tear your family apart.”

“I don’t think we were very much together in the first place.”

There was enough truth in what he said for Maryelle to be soothed. “What are we going to do now?”

He stroked her cheek. “We’re going to set up housekeeping here and then take it one step at a time.” He sat her up. “And I suppose the first step is for me to go get the rest of our things.”

Suddenly the thought of him returning to his home filled her with dread. She clutched at his shoulders. “Do you have to go back?”

His green eyes intent, he gripped her shoulders and looked at her steadily. “I will not live my life in fear of his anger. I never have, and I never will.” He set her on her feet. “I’ll see if Grandpa Wells will let me borrow a wagon.” He crossed to the door. “In the meantime you put away what we have, and”—he smiled at her, his eyes flashing warm sunshine from an ocean—“you can make something for dinner. I’m hungry.”

She nodded, waiting until he left to examine the contents of the cupboard herself. A gentle peace filled her as she untied the quilt and folded Kingston’s clothes into the tall wardrobe. “We’ll start over,” she murmured. “We’ll forget about the past and start over.”

By the time Kingston returned with her trunks and set them up at the end of the bed, she had thick pieces of bacon frying with sliced raw potatoes. She handed him some freshly brewed coffee while eggs cooked. “How did it go?”

“Fine. Dad was nowhere to be seen. Angus helped me. There was no one else about. He said they disappeared like shadows when we left. I hope they’re thinking about how they’ve acted.” He took a gulp of his coffee.

“This is nice,” he said as she set a plate of food before him. “Just you and me.” He took several mouthfuls, then added, “I’ll see if I can help Grandpa Wells with anything.”

“After I’ve cleaned up, I’ll go see Grandma. She deserves some sort of explanation.”

He nodded.

She took her time after dinner, loving the freedom of being on her own. Then she wandered past the garden and bushes to the house.

Grandma heard her footsteps and threw open the door before Maryelle had a chance to knock. “Come in, Child. I’ve gathered up some more things you’ll be needing.”

Maryelle gaped at the bulging sack. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Of course, I don’t need to. I want to.” She tilted her head in the general direction of the garden. “How much do you think two old people can eat? You’ll be doing me a favor if you eat up some of the stuff we have stored. In fact, I was just going down to get some canned jars for you. Come along.” She led the way down the narrow stairs into the dark cellar.

Maryelle waited while Grandma found a lamp and lit it.

“See what I mean?” She held the light high, and Maryelle saw row after row of filled jars, green and yellow, red, pink.

Maryelle touched a jar. “You have enough here to feed an army.”

“Crab apples, pickled crabs, plums, rhubarb sauce, beans, corn, mustard pickles, dills, sweet pickles, pickled beets, carrot pudding.” Grandma touched row after row, naming the contents. “Canned chicken, canned beef.” She pulled forward a jar to even out the row. “Strawberries, raspberries.”

Maryelle threw up her hands, but Grandma moved on to another shelf.

“Rhubarb jam, chokecherry jelly, currant jam, carrot marmalade—”

“Grandma, what are you doing with all this stuff? Why do you do all this work for the two of you?”

Grandma gave an embarrassed laugh. “Most of it is produce from our garden and the fruit trees and bushes.” She shrugged. “It seems a shame to let it waste.” She smiled gently. “Besides, I enjoy doing it. Wes likes to help me.” Reaching under the bottom shelf, she pulled out a flat crate. “So don’t feel guilty about helping me use it up.” She filled the crate with a variety of things. “Take this and feel free to help yourself.” She looked at the display of filled jars. “Please.”

Maryelle giggled. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have shipped this to London during the war. People would have given their eye teeth to be able to get stuff like this.”

Grandma nodded. “When I heard about the shortages, I felt so bad. About all I could do was keep canning and hope someday it would help someone out.” She patted Maryelle’s shoulder. “I’m glad to help you young folk. Now let’s go have a cup of tea.” She waited until Maryelle carried the crate up the stairs before she blew out the lamp and followed.

Over tea, Maryelle told her of the morning’s events. “I’m sure Father Brown did it, but I can’t understand what he gained by destroying the garden.” All her work for nothing. All the pleasure she’d enjoyed—

“I think it was because he knew how much it meant to you.”

“I’m not sorry to be out of there, but I can’t help feeling it’s my fault Kingston had to leave his family.”

Grandma looked thoughtful. “It seems to me the family has been falling apart for years. Kingston survived because he’s strong and stubborn. I pray Angus will find the same strength.”

“He seems so cowed right now.”

“God has a plan in this situation. Perhaps this step is part of His plan. Who’s to say? Maybe Kingston can be more effective now than he was while living there.”

“Maybe.” But she didn’t see how. Who would step in to protect Angus with Kingston gone?

Grandma glanced over Maryelle’s shoulder. “Here’s Wes now and your Kingston.” She rose and got two more cups as the men joined them at the table.

Kingston touched Maryelle’s shoulder as he passed. She smiled at him.

“I’m glad everyone is here,” Grandma began. “Because Wes and I want to propose something to you.”

Maryelle didn’t know what to expect and glanced at Kingston. He sat placidly waiting, but Maryelle wasn’t fooled. She saw the way his eyes shifted color and knew he wondered what the Wellses had in mind.

Grandma shook her head. “Now don’t go looking all fearful.” She turned to Kingston. “I don’t know what your plans are. Whether you plan to continue working with your father or not.”

Kingston shrugged. “I don’t know.”

The older woman nodded. “It will take time to sort out. But Wes is finding he can’t manage all the work around this place.” She smiled a sweet, gentle smile at her husband. He beamed back. “The barn needs repairs; the shingles on the house need repair. There are fences to fix, the barn to clean, trees to trim.” She laughed. “Lots of jobs to do.” She took Grandpa’s hand. “We were hoping we could hire you, at least part time.”

It was a moment before Kingston answered. “I’ll be pleased to help but only if it’s in exchange for rent.”

Grandma and Grandpa looked at each other. Grandma nodded. “We’ll see.”

“What do you think?” Maryelle asked later as she and Kingston sat down to supper.

“I think it’s most generous, though there are definitely repairs needed around the place. I can hardly wait to get at them.”

Maryelle smiled. “You’re the greatest one for wanting to fix things up, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I can’t stand to see things falling to rack and ruin for want of a few nails or the use of a screwdriver to tighten something.”

“Then this arrangement suits you?”

“I don’t want to be taking their money though. I have no idea how much they have.”

“They certainly have a good supply of food.” Maryelle told him about her trip to the cellar.

He pulled her to his knee and kissed her on the nose. “We’ll be just fine.”

“I know we will.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning forward for a kiss.

He pushed her back. “Now don’t be distracting me while you have dishes to do.”

She giggled. “It’s so nice to have you to myself.” She scooped up the dishes and carried them to the basin.

Kingston walked to the open door and leaned against the frame, his eyes staring far out into the distance. Maryelle followed the direction of his gaze. He was looking toward his home. She paused, her hands in the sudsy water, knowing he was troubled by the events in his family and wishing she could do something to help. She returned to scrubbing dishes. There was nothing she could do, only pray.

He turned back into the room and, grabbing a towel, dried dishes. Finished, she dumped the water on the raspberry bushes outside the door, wiped the basin, and hung it up. A strand of hair fell across her cheek. She pushed it back, tucking it in, and felt dirt on her scalp.

“My hair is full of dirt.” She rubbed her fingers along her scalp.

“What did you expect? You were face down in the garden.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Do you suppose I could wash it?”

His eyes flashed bright blue-green. “I’ll haul water over, and you can heat it. I think I saw a tub in the little shed behind us. I’ll bring it.”

The tub was small, but it would serve the purpose. He hauled and heated enough water to fill it partially. She bathed, then scrubbed her hair. She leaned forward for him to pour clean water over her head.

“I’ll be right back.” He hurried out with the tub and returned to pile wood in the fireplace. “It’s really too warm to light this, but you need to get your hair dry.” He took the brush from her hand and led her to the fireplace.

She sat on the worn braided rug, leaning against his legs.

He began to lift and brush her hair. “I love your hair,” he murmured, the sound of his voice sifting down through her senses.

She was more than half asleep when he put the brush aside. He lifted her and carried her to the bed.

A few evenings later, she pulled him from his contemplation of the far horizon. “Grandma Wells has a nice selection of books. Would you like me to read to you?”

He turned, a grin on his face. “Like in London?”

“Yes, that’s what I had in mind.”

“I’d love you to read to me, Mrs. Brown.” His eyes darkened to the color of shadowed pines as he marched toward her, holding her gaze while he crossed to a rocking chair and pulled her to his lap. “Read away.”

She took a deep breath and, opening the book, began to read.

His arms around her were warm and possessive. He rubbed a little pattern up and down her forearm. His breath smelled like the coffee he’d finished a few minutes before. He lifted his finger and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, resting his hand on her neck.

She closed the book. “I’m so happy,” she murmured. “The happiest I’ve been for so long.”

“Me too,” he said softly.

It wasn’t until he left the next morning and she had the house to herself that she wondered if he was truly happy. Oh, she knew he was happy when they were kissing and hugging. But too often she caught him staring across the fields and knew he worried about his family.