Chapter Thirty-Eight
Travis awoke the next morning with a rush of energy.
After days of rest, he felt strong enough to shovel all the snow from his front yard.
Though still recovering, he sensed his strength slowly returning.
Rolling over, he spotted Josie sleeping beside him.
She looked absolutely breathtaking, her blonde hair tousled and her eyes closed in peaceful slumber.
Propping himself on his elbow, Travis rested his head on his hand and gazed at his wife.
He had feared that inviting her into his bed might fill him with guilt or discomfort, but instead, all he felt was peace.
He was determined to make this marriage work.
Not just for the children, but for each other.
There couldn’t be any more distance between them.
Travis refused to miss another blessing from God, not after being given a second chance at life.
He would dedicate the rest of his days to making Josie happy.
What troubled him was the way Josie had acted last night.
Perhaps he went too far. After all, she was the one who rejected him.
Perhaps an evening meal with candlelight could have been a better solution to bring them together.
Josie wasn’t ready for physical touch or intimacy.
One moment, she looked happy; the next, fear flashed in her eyes. He must have misread her intentions.
The thought of her past life disgusted him.
Travis wished he could turn back time and confront Marcus, take him down with his bare hands—but that was impossible.
Fate had served justice the day Marcus was buried in the ground.
Josie didn’t deserve the treatment she endured, and Travis would spend each day proving she was safe.
More than anything, he wanted to hold her, kiss her, and show her there was more to life than fear.
Travis raised his hand to caress Josie’s cheek but caught himself just in time. His heart stopped as Josie’s eyes fluttered open, and he quickly pulled back. He longed to offer her tenderness every morning, to show her how much he cared. But for now, he would rely on words of affirmation.
“Good morning, my beautiful wife.”
He wasn’t sure how she’d feel about his endearment, but it slipped out. He was relieved to finally express what he had been thinking since the day she arrived. His wife was a beautiful creation, shaped and formed by the same God who had saved their lives and brought them together.
A soft smile tugged at the corners of her strawberry lips. “Good morning.”
Travis sat against the headboard. “How did you sleep?”
“All right. How about you? Are you feeling better?” Josie sat up too, pulling the covers to her chest. Travis fought back a smile—he loved seeing his wife’s modesty.
It reminded him of their wedding night. Her beauty was undeniably tempting, but he knew he had to wait until the timing was right.
For now, he’d court Josie, cherishing every moment until the day they were ready to take this marriage further.
“I feel like I could chop some firewood later,” Travis said with a wink.
Josie exhaled dramatically. “You need to rest or else you’ll never get better in time.”
“What’s for breakfast?”
Josie stood and grabbed a gray shawl, pulling it around her shoulders. “Probably biscuits and gravy. We have plenty of flour left in the pantry, along with milk and butter on ice.” She undid her braid and ran her fingers through her waist-length hair.
“The advantages of being a wheat farmer,” Travis muttered.
He pushed the covers aside and stood in his nightshirt.
He couldn’t resist enjoying the way Josie blushed when his bare legs emerged from the covers.
She wiped the back of her neck and cleared her throat before turning her attention to Nathan.
He seemed to be sound asleep because she didn’t bother to pick him up.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” she said, darting off towards the door.
Travis’s heart sank when the door clicked shut.
Spending their first night together was an adjustment to bring them closer.
He already felt more connected to his wife than ever before, yet a barrier still remained between them.
He couldn’t tell if Josie was keeping him out or if fear held her back.
Whatever it was, he prayed she would overcome it rather than pull away.
He had cherished the warmth of her body pressed against his—it gave him hope that someday, they would leave the past behind them.
Travis grabbed a clean shirt and patched work pants.
He’d worn the same night shirt for almost a week.
He hadn’t had the energy to change into it beforehand when he was sick, but it was far better than the feel of rough pants against the sheets.
Travis still felt a little frail and dizzy but being excited about growing closer to Josie made him stronger.
He was ready to spend each day with her, eager to learn everything about her while sorting through the whirlwind of emotions stirring inside him.
Lying beside her at night stirred feelings he could barely contain, threatening to push him beyond his control.
After dressing, Travis walked out the door, finding Josie kneading the biscuit dough in a bowl atop the table.
He wanted to embrace her from behind and kiss her cheek, but it would be too much for her.
After seeing her panic when he leaned in to kiss her, he realized there were certain things he needed to approach with care.
He needed patience. Everything would be worth the wait whenever the timing was right.
Travis pulled out a chair and settled himself at the table. It felt good to be in his kitchen instead of confined to the bedroom. Josie huffed and placed her flour-covered hands on her hips.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
Travis chuckled. “You can’t keep me there for much longer. It gets lonely.”
Josie shook her head, focusing on her tasks as she rolled the dough into small balls, placing them neatly in the cast-iron pan. In just a minute or two, she put the biscuits in the oven. Josie wiped her hands on a rag, then sat in front of Travis.
“I thought we could talk about . . . last night,” she said.
Travis nodded, his ears warming. “I thought you’d bring it up.”
Josie closed her eyes, sucking in a breath then exhaling. “I am deeply sorry about what happened. I’m just . . .”
Travis leaned forward. “You don’t have to explain. I know what you went through was unacceptable—”
“It’s not just that . . .” Josie looked down at her clasped hands and released a slow breath. “Why now? Why do you want this to work?”
Travis opened his mouth, but his words were cut short by the sound of the door creaking open. Aunt Polly stepped in, bundled in her layered coats. The color had faded from her face, and she didn’t seem as happy as she had the day before.
“What is it, Aunt Polly?” Travis asked.
She stepped forward, clutching her hat in her hand and looking down. “The Walshes came down with the fever when you and Jonas did . . . the twin boy, Brendon . . . he passed on.”
Travis leaned back against the chair in shock, his jaw dropping open.
“My goodness,” Josie whispered. She pressed her hand against her chest. “Poor Caroline.”
Aunt Polly bit her lip. “He was only a year older than Gideon.” She sniffed and wiped her nose. “There are so many others who aren’t as lucky as we are . . . I just never thought it would hit this hard—especially for the Walshes.”
“I—I can’t believe it,” Travis said, his voice catching as a lump formed in his throat. “The boy was in excellent health. How could this happen so fast?”
Josie moved her gaze to the biscuits baking in the oven. “I’ll go over there to pay my respects. I must see Caroline. I’ll bring the biscuits for the children.”
“That is a wonderful thing to do,” Aunt Polly whispered. “I’ll make breakfast for the young’uns here and get them ready for the day.”
“I’ll go with you, Jo,” Travis said. “I don’t care if you want me to rest. Ronan is my friend—he was there for me when Sophie passed, and I need to be there for him now.”
Josie nodded. “I won’t protest. We’ll go as soon as the biscuits are finished.”
Travis bowed his head in prayer. The worst was over for his family, but there were so many battling this epidemic. The darkness had yet to lift.
Josie stood at the Walshes’ cabin door, holding a basket of warm biscuits.
Travis still looked pale and had a slight cough, but she would never discourage him from seeing his friends.
Despite knowing Caroline for only a few months, she felt as if they had known each other much longer.
Josie understood Caroline’s grief. She, too, had lost children—except there had been no one to mourn with her.
Travis knocked at the door, and it wasn’t long until Alice Walsh answered. Alice’s long, red hair was puffy and tangled, appearing not to have been brushed in days. Her gray dress, worn and frayed, seemed too small for her lanky frame, barely reaching her calves.
“Good morning, Alice,” Travis said, removing his hat. “We have come to pay our respects. Josie brought biscuits.”
“Thank you both,” she said, her eyes peering down. “We’re very appreciative. Please, come in.”
As soon as Josie stepped inside, she was taken aback by the cabin’s cramped space and disorder.
It had to be half the size of theirs. Dishes were piled beside the indoor water pump and clothes were hanging in every imaginable place to dry.
Given that Caroline was part of the Boston upper class, Josie assumed the home to have damask-wallpapered walls, elegant lace tablecloths, fine china displayed in a cabinet, oil paintings, and delicate trinkets adorning the shelves, even above the fireplace mantel.
But instead, it reminded her of the shacks where her father’s slaves had dwelled.