Chapter Nineteen
Amy carried a basket of folded linens across the yard while Lydia pinned the final sheet to the line, and the brisk early autumn wind snapped the fabric hard.
Caleb had ridden toward the north pasture shortly after breakfast, leaving Amy with the memory of every unfinished sentence between them.
Russ gone with him, wearing the expression of a man who knew far more than he intended to admit.
Lydia caught the final corner of the sheet before it twisted around the line and pinned it down, then reached for the towel Amy was shaking open. “You’ve folded that towel twice now.”
Amy looked down at the square of faded cloth in her hands and realized Lydia was right. “The first fold was uneven.”
Amy placed the towel aside and reached for another before Lydia could study her face too closely.
She had invited Lydia for tea because carrying her anger through the house all day threatened to make Noah and Maggie uneasy, although confiding in a woman who noticed every change in expression had begun to feel less sensible now that Lydia stood beside her.
Lydia, of course, had insisted on helping Amy with the chores first.
The children played near the porch, where Noah arranged smooth stones around a shallow trench while Maggie followed behind him and relocated each one according to rules known only to herself.
The volume of their argument about whether the stones formed a road or a river gave Amy enough confidence to believe they would not overhear.
Lydia lifted another shirt from the basket and shook it open. “Has Caleb irritated you?”
Amy’s fingers paused over a pillowcase. “Why would you assume Caleb has irritated me?”
"Because you've looked toward pasture every time a cow moves."
Amy busied herself with the pillowcase in her hands. "Caleb read a letter that belonged to me."
Lydia's smile faded. "One you'd received?"
"One I'd written to my mother."
Lydia held Caleb's shirt against the line without reaching for the pegs. "Did he realize what it was?"
Amy nodded as she fastened the pillowcase beside the sheet. "He realized soon enough. He kept reading anyway."
"Oh, Caleb," Lydia sighed before securing the shirt. "Has he apologized?"
"He keeps telling me he should've stopped." Amy watched the washing stir in the wind. "Every attempt at an apology turns into an explanation. And he hasn’t actually said the words."
Lydia handed her one of Noah's shirts. "Do you think he meant to hurt you?"
Amy pinned the little shirt beside Maggie's dress, taking longer than the task required. "I don't think he meant to." She drew a slow breath. "I just don't know whether he's been kind because he feels guilty...or because he actually cares."
Lydia looked at her with quiet understanding. "Did you ask him?"
Amy's fingers lingered on the peg. "I asked what had changed." The ache returned as clearly as it had the night before. "He read every fear I'd written about this marriage, and he still couldn't tell me how he felt."
The breeze continued to tug at the washing until Lydia pinned down the edges of the items that threatened to slip free. "Then you're carrying two hurts," she said gently. "He read thoughts that weren't his, and he couldn’t answer the question most important to you."
Amy looked toward the pasture road again, wishing the answer felt as simple as Lydia made it sound. "Yes."
Lydia rested a hand on her arm. "Those are different wounds, Amy. Don't let one hide the other."
The truth settled between them while Noah informed Maggie that rivers could not travel uphill, and Maggie replied that hers could because Eloise had taught it to do so.
Amy watched the children rebuild the line of stones and tried to decide how much she could admit without sounding like the na?ve woman she had once been.
She had promised herself that this marriage would survive through reason rather than expectation.
Caleb had needed someone to help manage the house, while Amy had needed a respectable future beyond the ruins Theodore had left behind.
Their letters had contained clear terms, careful questions, and none of the grand declarations that had once made her believe love could shield a woman from disappointment.
Those practical promises had brought her west, though they had never entirely silenced the part of her that still hoped for more from the arrangement.
“I knew what this marriage was when I accepted it,” Amy said. “Caleb never pretended he was searching for romance, and I assured him I understood.”
Lydia set the empty basket beside the wash bench. "Understanding an agreement doesn't stop a heart from wanting."
Amy managed a faint smile. "You make it sound like a business arrangement."
Lydia smiled back. "Marriage has plenty of practical parts. That doesn't mean people don't want tenderness."
Amy watched the washing sway in the breeze. "I grew up reading stories where a man knew exactly what to say." Her voice softened. "He chose the woman because he couldn't imagine a life without her."
Lydia waited for her to go on.
“I know real life isn’t like that.” Amy drew a careful breath. “I just want to know I’m here because Caleb wants me to be, not just because I happened to answer an advertisement."
Lydia reached over and squeezed her hand. "That doesn't make you foolish, Amy. It makes you human."
Hoofbeats sounded before Amy could answer, and her attention shifted across the yard.
Caleb crested the rise of the pasture, though he directed Daisy to the doorway of the barn, where he remained while speaking to Russ, who dismounted and leaned against the fence with an expression Amy couldn’t read from this distance.
Caleb looked so unlike himself that she almost missed the reason at first. His jaw was freshly shaven, removing the rough shadow he often carried through long workdays, while his clean white shirt had been tucked carefully beneath a dark vest she had seen him wear only once since arriving.
His hair still refused to remain orderly, although he had clearly made an effort.
Lydia followed Amy’s gaze and became very still beside her.
Caleb held one hand behind his back. Russ said something that made Caleb shoot him a warning glance, then the older man walked toward the bunkhouse while failing to hide his amusement.
Caleb remained near the fence, as though the distance between the barn and the wash line required more courage than anything else he’d faced so far.
“He appears unusually clean,” Lydia murmured.
Amy tried to quiet the hope rising inside her. “Perhaps Russ threatened him.”
“That wouldn’t explain whatever he’s hiding.”
Caleb finally crossed the yard, his confidence visibly fading with each step.
The man who had greeted Amy at the pickup point with an easy smile and a teasing answer for every question had disappeared.
This Caleb glanced at the ground before meeting her eyes, and the uncertainty in his expression stirred her heart far more than his swagger ever had.
Noah climbed to his feet. "Why are you wearing your good shirt?"
Caleb stopped near the children. "It was clean."
Maggie hurried over, Eloise tucked beneath one arm. "Are you going to church?"
"No."
Lydia covered her mouth while Amy busied herself with a clothespin that didn’t need adjusting before her smile could betray her.
Maggie pointed behind Caleb's back. "What's that?"
Caleb closed his eyes briefly, and Amy's amusement slipped past the hurt she'd carried all morning. He'd clearly rehearsed this walk across the yard, just for two curious children to unravel it before he'd reached her.
"Maggie," Amy said, "Noah still needs help deciding whether that river can reach the porch."
"It can," Maggie declared. "It goes uphill." She caught Noah's hand and tugged him toward the stones, though both children kept glancing back at Caleb.
Caleb approached Amy and Lydia, then removed his hat. “Good morning, Lydia.”
“It has become one,” Lydia replied, and her glance toward the hand behind his back carried enough meaning to make him shift his stance. Amy clasped her hands before her, unsure whether she should rescue him or allow the awkwardness to continue a little longer as punishment.
The flowers decided for her when Caleb brought them into view.
The bouquet was small and uneven, made from late-blooming asters mixed with sprigs of goldenrod and several pale blossoms Amy did not recognize.
Their stems had been tied with a narrow piece of twine, and one flower leaned away from the others.
She thought that Caleb had likely gathered them without knowing how a bouquet should be arranged.
They were the loveliest flowers Amy had ever received.
Caleb held them toward her while color rose along the back of his neck. “These were growing near the upper creek.”
Amy accepted them carefully, afraid any sudden movement might break the fragile effort. Their fresh scent carried damp earth and early autumn air to her, and several droplets of dew still clung to the leaves. “They’re beautiful,” she said.
Caleb looked relieved enough that Amy wondered how long he had stood beside the creek deciding which flowers to choose. “I wasn’t sure which ones you might like.”
Warmth spread through Amy’s cheeks as Lydia found a sudden need to examine the edge of the nearest sheet.
Caleb still had not offered the apology she needed, and flowers could not restore the privacy he had taken, although the effort carried no resemblance to pity.
A guilty man might purchase a polished gift from the mercantile, while Caleb had ridden toward the creek, gathered blossoms himself, and returned appearing more nervous than for a difficult negotiation.
He fiddled with his hat. “There’s a harvest festival in Copper Bend on Saturday.”
Amy waited. The announcement sounded like the beginning of a thought he had not yet decided how to finish.
“Russ and Delilah are attending,” he continued. Caleb looked past Amy toward the laundry line before forcing his attention back to her. “I thought you might want to go as well.”
Amy’s surprise must have shown on her face, because Caleb hesitated, the invitation faltering before he'd even finished asking. The man who once appeared certain he could charm her into a wagon now stood before her as if her refusal might confirm every doubt he had carried across the yard.
“You’re asking me to attend the festival with you?” she asked.
“As my wife,” he said awkwardly. “I meant that I’d like to take you.”
Lydia coughed into her fist, and Caleb ignored her with visible effort. “There will be music, and food, and whatever else people arrange when they decide ranch work hasn’t exhausted them enough.”
Amy’s mouth twitched into a small smile before she could stop it. “You make it sound irresistible.”
“I’ve never been good at invitations.”
“That has become apparent.”
The teasing left her gently, without the sharpness of their earlier arguments, and relief softened Caleb’s face. Amy looked at the flowers again while her lingering frustration struggled against the longing Lydia had uncovered only minutes earlier.
Caleb had chosen her company.
He had made himself vulnerable enough to ask, even though he avoided going into town as much as possible.
Amy still didn’t know exactly why Caleb did his best to avoid Copper Bend beyond his claims that the townsfolk held old grudges against him, but she understood how much it must have took for him to offer to spend a whole day there beside her.
“I would like to go,” she said.
Caleb searched her expression, apparently needing more certainty before believing her. “You would?”
“Yes.”
The answer brought a rare smile to Caleb’s face that transformed him before he could hide it. She had never imagined the cocky man she’d first met standing in the ranch yard with wildflowers, clean-shaven and anxious because her answer mattered to him.
“I’ll have the wagon ready before noon,” he said, before turning to retreat to the barn with clear relief.
Noah hurried after him to ask whether good shirts could be worn while repairing gates.
Maggie followed with Eloise beneath one arm, offering her opinion that flowers needed water and possibly their own chair.
Amy watched until Caleb disappeared inside the barn, then lowered her face toward the bouquet to hide the smile she could no longer contain.
Lydia waited until the door closed before moving to her side. “You were saying practical marriages don’t involve romance.”
Amy carried the flowers toward the house. "They're lovely, but flowers don't mend hurt feelings by themselves."
“Those creek weeds have turned your face pink enough to warm the wash water.”
“The wind is cold,” Amy huffed.
Lydia laughed until Noah poked his head inside to ask what she found so funny, while Amy placed the pitcher of flowers in the center of the table, deciding that answering either of them would only make matters worse.