Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
brIGIT
Mid August, Sterling Mill
We have chosen a name for our settlement that seems to grow monthly. Sterling Mill. It speaks to the sparkling flecks in the creek that first gave our farm its name and to the mill itself that has helped sustain us.
Two years have passed since I first set foot upon this land, my heart trembling with fear and secrets.
Tonight, I write by lamplight in the new house Elijah built with his own hands, while the steady hum of the grist mill turns beyond the creek.
The sound is like a heartbeat, constant and sure.
My life has become so full, I scarce recognize the woman who arrived here in another’s name.
Patrick, once a helpless babe, now runs underfoot, wild with curls and laughter.
And Elijah, my steadfast oak, looks at me in ways that tell me he sees not the falsehood I once clung to, but the truth of who I am.
I am no longer pretending I am his. I am.
Iset aside my pen as the evening settled, carrying Patrick on my hip down toward the mill where others had gathered to unload grain.
His little legs kicked, eager to be down, and the instant his feet touched the grass, he took off shrieking, a spoon clutched like a sword in his hand.
Elijah caught him up before he could tumble into the water, swinging him high until Patrick squealed for more.
The sight still made my chest ache with wonder.
How had we built all this in so short a span?
Cabins dotted the edge of the woods now, smoke rising from chimneys.
The millstones ground steadily as farmers waited their turn, laughter ringing out as though hardship itself had softened in the company of so many willing hearts.
A movement caught my attention. I shielded my eyes from the bright sun and looked across a newly cut field now full of corn. Silas strode toward us with a grin.
I ran to hug him, no longer intimidated by his boldness. Elijah followed behind, growling slightly as Silas picked me up and swung me around, causing his constant companion, that ridiculous bird, to squawk.
Elijah pulled me back into his embrace. “How’d the trip go?”
Silas beamed. “As hoped. The wagons are just an hour or so behind me. I wanted to ride ahead.”
I slipped between them, tucking my arm through each of theirs, and turned us toward the path that led home. “Let me feed you something before the supplies get here.”
The parrot tilted his head and, in a lilting voice, said, “I’ll feed you.” Then it added, “And keep you warm tonight.”
Silas’s ears turned scarlet. “Hush, you ungrateful beast.”
Before he could say more, the parrot flapped its wings and shrieked again, “Don’t leave me, Silas!” Then, with a pitiful wobble of its head, added, “Say you love me!”
Elijah nearly dropped Patrick for laughing so hard, and my boy clapped his hands, squealing, “Birdie funny, Da!”
Silas glared at the bird, muttering, “Cursed thing.”
I couldn't hold my laughter either. With him around, Silas would never have any secrets. “Someday, you’re going to find a woman who will make you give up your wayward ways.”
Silas only raised a hand as if to swear an oath. “Mark my words, that day will never come.”
As the merriment waned and neighbors drifted back to their homes, Silas continued up the hill while Elijah, Patrick, and I lingered a moment.
Elijah brushed a loose strand of hair from my cheek, his fingers lingering as his gaze held mine.
“You’ve given more to this place than I ever dreamed,” he said, low and certain.
I shook my head, throat tight. “Nay, Elijah. ’Tis you that has given me everything.”
His hand slipped into mine, warm and steady, and with Patrick on his shoulder, we followed Silas up the hill.
As we walked, I looked around, taking in the shadows of the forests, the mountain peaks that seemed to reach the sky beyond our ridge.
I heard the cries of untamed birds and the steady rush of the creek.
Some might call this wild, but I called it home.