Chapter Eighteen
Travis’s muscles ached with each swing of his scythe after another week of harvesting.
He looked back as Josie gathered the cut stalks, her hair falling out of her braid.
She bent over, filling the wheelbarrow, and wiped the sweat from her brow.
Travis had instructed her not to work so hard, and he hoped taking the scythe away would help her rest, but he was wrong.
Josie’s midsection had grown over time. Earlier, Travis hardly took time to notice her form changing, mostly because of his distance and the shawl Josie would wear.
When the harvest first started, he couldn’t understand why she’d wear the garment outside with her, but now everything was clear.
Travis shook his head, drowning out his thoughts.
He almost repeated the same lines he always did in his mind: Before she lied to me.
Josie never lied to his face—she had only concealed a secret. He never asked her, “Were you married before?” or “Do you have any children?” There was no reason to ask; she had never given him cause for suspicion.
“Jonas, quit horsing around!”
Travis looked up, seeing the frustrated Ivy scolding Jonas, who was throwing the stalks into the air.
The children were behind the fence posts, binding the sheaves after they dried over the past week.
Josie alternated between helping them and gathering more stalks to dry in the barn.
That part was Aunt Polly’s job, until she remembered she had to pay Mrs. Scott a visit, three miles down the road.
The woman struggled with rheumatic pains, and Aunt Polly had a cream she made from comfrey and juniper.
Travis swung the scythe in a steady swish.
His shirt clung to his back, soaked with sweat, and his hands ached from gripping the worn wooden handle.
Every muscle in his body screamed for rest, but he kept going, determined to finish just a little more before the light faded completely.
Only three more hours or less before they would lose daylight.
He adjusted his grip on the scythe, not noticing how slick his hands had become with sweat. As he swung the blade in a wide arc, his hand slid too close to the sharp edge. The scythe caught at a bad angle, jerking out of his grasp. A sharp sting bit through his palm.
“Ah!” Travis gasped. He looked down, his breath catching as blood welled up from the deep gash across his hand.
Warm and thick, it dripped down his wrist, staining the cuff of his shirt.
“Fool,” he muttered under his breath, wincing as he flexed his fingers, watching more blood drip. He pressed his palm against his shirt.
“Travis!” Josie appeared by his side, taking hold of his arm. Travis winced, pulling away.
“I’m fine.”
Josie huffed, grasping his wrist with a tighter grip than he expected.
“Hold on.” She bent over, pulling up her dress hem then tearing a shred from her white petticoat.
Travis’s eyes squinted as he gritted his teeth.
The sweat seeped into his wound, burning his open flesh.
Josie pulled his arm towards her and began wrapping his hand.
“Ow!” He jerked slightly.
“Sorry,” Josie said sheepishly, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. “We need to get you inside. I need to properly dress the wound.”
Travis withdrew from her, wrapping the rest of his palm himself. “No need for that. I need to get this acre finished.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” Josie snapped. “You’ll get an infection.”
Travis went to retrieve his scythe. “Nothing Aunt Polly can’t make an ointment for.” Travis groaned, trying to grip the scythe. He had another quarter of this field to go and five more acres after. His family depended on him. Why did he have to lose control like that?
Josie gripped his shoulder, tugging him forward. “Come on. We don’t want to worry the children, do we?”
Travis huffed and dropped the scythe. “Fine.”
Josie waved to the children, who seemed to be getting along again. Lillian waved back wearing a huge smile.
“I’m going to start supper. Ivy, watch Lillian and Jonas.”
“Can we have fried chicken?” Jonas asked with wide eyes.
Josie chuckled. “Not tonight, but some flapjacks sound nice.”
Travis hid his injured hand behind his back and pointed at his children with his spare hand. “Behave. Keep tying those sheaves.”
Travis followed Josie inside, and immediately, she filled a pot with water using the indoor pump. “I’m going to boil some water, so we can clean it again later. I have some ointment in the pantry from Aunt Polly.”
Travis settled himself at the dining table.
He looked at his palm, studying the red stains bleeding through Josie’s petticoat.
As the water warmed atop the stove, Josie retrieved the ointment from the kitchen shelf then to her room, returning with a sewing kit.
Just the thought of a needle made Travis’s stomach churn.
“W-What are you doing with that?”
“The wound is too deep. You need stitches,” Josie asserted. She settled in front of him, unwrapping his hand. Next she used a wet rag, wiping around the cut’s edge. Travis’s palm stung, causing him to pull back.
“It’s whiskey,” Josie explained. “It will clean the wound well enough.”
Travis’s cheeks warmed. He hoped she wouldn’t get the wrong idea about stumbling upon the bottle.
He had kept it for medical purposes like sore throats and colds.
He had tasted it only once after Sophie’s death—and never again.
Grief might have changed him, but he refused to surrender and drown in darkness when his children needed him sober.
Josie opened her sewing kit, revealing a tiny pair of scissors, four rounds of thread, and a small wooden box of needles. Travis gulped. She reached out to take his hand, but Travis pulled back.
“Have you done this before?”
Josie sighed, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Relax. It’s not the first time I sewed up a wound.”
“When was that?”
Josie threaded her needle. “Here and there. Remember, my home was a battleground for four years.” Josie chuckled, dragging his wrist towards her. “I’ve sewn up bullet holes, cuts, stab wounds, and even amputated limbs.”
Travis nearly jumped out of his skin. “Y-You what?”
Who was this woman? Yes, Travis knew about the war and Josie’s location, but she was a Southern belle. This woman had to be joking. What kind of woman in her station would have this experience? Amputated limbs? Just the thought left Travis feeling faint.
Josie tightened her grip around his wrist. “Hold still. This will hurt, but it’s better than amputating your hand.”
She pushed the needle into his skin, and Travis gripped his thigh, fighting back the urge to scream. He was a tough man and could take anything, but the sight of a needle turned him into a squirmy child.
“I’m only joking about sewing up amputated limbs, but I did witness it more than once. If it comes down to removing your hand, we won’t need a doctor.” Josie winked, but her joke didn’t lighten the mood. She may have a humorous side Travis never guessed, but this moment was far from funny.
“A healer and a nurse. Boy, I’m lucky,” Travis muttered through gritted teeth.
Five minutes later, Josie reached for her scissors. She cut the loose thread and sat back with a sly smirk on her face. “All done. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Travis rolled his eyes. “Sure. You just sewed through my skin like a cross-stitch board, and it was easy as pie.”
Josie opened a bottle of green ointment, rubbing it onto his palm. Tiny bits of herbs floated in the pulverized paste. After, she reached down, tearing another piece of her petticoat.
“Woah, woah, you don’t have to do that. We have rags everywhere.”
“I don’t mind,” Josie said, straightening the make-shift bandage onto the table. “I won’t be using this petticoat much longer anyway.”
Travis bit the inside of his cheek while Josie wrapped his hand.
Much longer. December wasn’t far away, and even then, their lives could change in an instant.
He could very well lose Josie just like he did Sophie.
What if Josie’s past physicians told her not to get pregnant?
What if the cruel husband of hers did something to her that would complicate the delivery?
Just the thought made his core tighten into a knot.
“Did you tell the children . . . about the baby?” Josie asked.
Travis looked up, hardly able to meet her gaze. “No, I figured we’d tell them together.”
Josie leaned forward, her eyes forcibly meeting his. “What will we tell them?”
Travis scratched the back of his neck. Lie. He was tired of it all; it seemed lying was all the family did since Josie came. She lied to him, he lied to the town, and now they’d lie to the children.
“We don’t say anything. They’re getting a baby sister or brother, and that’s the end of it. If they ask one day, we’ll explain, but for now, let them be innocent. We don’t need to confuse them.”
Josie nodded. “I agree.”
“Knock, knock!” Aunt Polly entered through the front door with Lillian, Jonas, and Ivy following behind her.
“Where’s the flapjacks?” Lillian asked, her nose wrinkling.
Josie stood, giggling softly. “I’ll start on them now.”
Aunt Polly studied the table, her forehead creased and her brows raised. She halted at Travis’s side, yanking up his hand. “My goodness, son. What happened to you?”
“He cut himself,” Josie explained, looking behind her as she pulled a small sack of flour from the chest beside the stove. “I stitched him up.”
Aunt Polly nodded at Josie. “I’m impressed. Did you use the ointment in the pantry?”
“I did.”
Lillian looked down at Travis’s hand with sad eyes. “Did you get cut?”
Travis smiled, patting his knee for her to sit. “I did get a cut, and Josie made it all better.”
Lillian settled in his lap, and Travis roved his gaze to Josie, who was mixing flour and milk into a wooden bowl.
His throat tightened, words caught somewhere between what he needed to say and what he couldn’t bear to admit.
He didn’t want it to be true. He longed for things to go back to how they were, when Josie’s only role was caring for the children, and he kept his distance, acting solely as the devoted father.
He didn’t want to draw closer to Josie. He wanted his family to be together but not twisted and tangled.
Having a child between the two would only complicate the matters—even if the child wasn’t his.
How could he respect her now with her lies?
Faith. Just like Aunt Polly said. He’d give Josie another chance and take this baby as a blessing. The child deserved a loving family, and he had no doubt in his mind the children would love him or her.
“Josie and I have news,” Travis began, his voice steady, though his heart hammered against his ribs. “How would you three like to have another baby sister or brother?”
The children exchanged wide-eyed glances, their faces lighting up with a mix of shock and excitement.
“Pa, do you mean it?” Ivy asked, her lips parting into a smile.
“We do,” Josie replied softly, placing a floured hand on Ivy’s shoulder.
“Wow! Another brother!” Jonas exclaimed, his arms in the air. “I’m gonna have another brother!”
“No!” Lillian shouted from Travis’s lap, turning to him with a frown. “Can it be a sister, Pa? I want a sister.”
Travis chuckled, kissing the top of her head and patting her back. “That all depends on what God wants for us, sweetheart.”
“Then I’m gonna pray real hard, Pa,” Lillian declared, folding her hands and squeezing her eyes shut. “Please, God, gimme a baby sister.”
Travis looked up at Josie, giving her a soft smile. She looked back at him, returning the same expression. He looked away, not allowing his glance to be a moment longer. Travis lifted Lillian off his knee. “Now go help Josie with the flapjacks.”
Lillian squealed as she slid off his lap. She scurried to the stove and wrapped her arms around Josie’s legs.
Aunt Polly joined Travis’s side and patted his back. “I’m proud of you, Travis.”
Travis nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting in what he hoped was reassurance.
Maybe a baby would bring happiness back into their home.
But despite the hopeful thought, doubts circled his mind like vultures, refusing to leave him in peace.
Something in his gut felt amiss, but he couldn’t decide what it was.
Was it his fear of being a father again? Or maybe it was Josie—what if he’d never learn to trust her again?