8. Silas
eight
Silas
The afternoon sun is hot through the windows in Old Jimmy’s General Store as I select supplies—strawberry jam, honey, and softer soap for Elsie's delicate skin. Mrs. Jane Jenkins, Old Jimmy’s grand-niece, notices these changes.
Mrs. Jenkins is older than my mother, which makes me wonder how old Jimmy actually is.
Probably at least one hundred years old.
"Your young lady settling in well?" Jane asks with knowing eyes.
I nod, feeling protective of our private life. "She is."
"Good to see light in your eyes, Silas," she says. "That mountain's too beautiful to experience alone."
Her words resonate deeply. These two months with Elsie have transformed my perception of my surroundings and made me realize how blessed I am.
"The spring festival's next weekend," Mrs. Jane Jenkins continues. "You ought to bring her. Let her meet folks besides just you and your trees."
I consider this as I pay. Elsie has expressed curiosity about the town, though she's never pushed to visit. Our mountain sanctuary has allowed us to build something precious without judgment.
"We'll be there," I promise.
Driving home through the forest, I contemplate presenting ourselves as a couple to the community.
While mountain folks generally mind their business, our age difference and Elsie's arrival as my "mail-order bride" will draw curiosity.
More concerning is how others might perceive the daddy-dom-little-girl dynamic we've embraced.
The cabin comes into view with Elsie kneeling in our garden, hair golden in the sunlight. My heart swells with protectiveness and pride at how she's flourishing here.
"Daddy, you’re home! Did you remember the mason jars?" she calls as I hop out of the truck. She's determined to learn canning for summer harvests.
"Three dozen," I confirm. "And extra lids."
She approaches with newfound grace, rising to kiss my cheek on her bare tip toes.
"Thank you, Daddy," she says softly, the name now flowing naturally between us.
I kiss her palm in return. "Anything for my good girl."
Inside, she shows me her garden diagram spread across the kitchen table—rows neatly labeled in tidy handwriting, companion plantings thoughtfully arranged. Pride blooms at her initiative and investment in our shared life.
"This is excellent work," I tell her. "You've really thought this through."
Elsie explains her research on complementary planting, exemplifying the balance she's finding—embracing the guidance she craves while developing her confidence and skills. My little girl is a smart cookie and also the kind of girl who prefers to color with crayons. Perfectly balanced.
"Mrs. Jenkins mentioned the spring festival," I say. "I thought we might attend together."
Uncertainty crosses her features. "The whole town will be there? What will they think of us? Of me?"
I guide her to the sofa and sit with her on my lap—our natural configuration for important conversations.
"They'll think I'm the luckiest man on this mountain," I assure her. "Beyond that, their opinions don't matter."
Elsie nestles against me. "But you care about these people. They're your community."
"They are," I acknowledge. "But you're my priority. We don't have to go if it makes you uncomfortable."
After some consideration, she decides, "No, I want to. I want to see more of your world. I want to meet the people who knew you before me."
I warn her gently about potential questions regarding our meeting and age difference.
She meets my gaze with surprising resolve. "Let them ask. What we have isn't wrong or shameful."
"There's one more thing," I add. "Veronica Taylor will be visiting from Asheville. She comes every year. She's an old acquaintance who expressed interest in me last year. I declined."
"She wanted you romantically?" Elsie asks, eyes widening.
"She wanted something," I clarify. "I don't think romance was her primary motivation."
Understanding dawns. "She wanted a comfortable life on the mountain. With a capable man."
"You don't need to worry," I assure her. "I knew what I was looking for. She wasn't it."
"What were you looking for?" Elsie asks softly.
"Someone who needed not just security, but guidance. Someone who would find freedom in my protection rather than constraint. Someone who would let me be not just a partner but a caretaker. A Daddy."
Color rises in her cheeks. "And you found me."
"I found you," I agree, still amazed by this fact. I’m so thankful for Elsie.
She considers thoughtfully. "Veronica probably won’t like me, then."
"She might not," I acknowledge. "But you'll have me beside you. And nothing she says can touch what we have."
Determination replaces her uncertainty. "Then we'll go. Together. And everyone will see that I belong to you. That I'm your little girl."
I tighten my arms around her. "Yes. Mine to cherish. Mine to guide. Mine to protect—even from small-town gossip."
As evening settles, with Elsie secure against my side discussing festival preparations, I reflect on our journey so far. Whatever troubles await, we'll face them together. Our relationship is strong because we've embraced the truth of who we are and what we need from each other.