Epilogue #2
As Ruth watched her sister, pride swelled in her chest. Mere months ago, Clara hadn’t spoken a word in over a year, and now, the kitchen echoed with her quiet observations and careful little instructions.
“This one’s bad.” She held up a walnut with a tiny hole in the shell and frowned critically at it before dropping it into a separate pile.
“Nice big walnut.” Another went into the ‘good’ basket. “Too small … Pretty one … No, Scout.”
Scout immediately backed away from beneath the table with all the innocence in the world and what looked suspiciously like half a walnut shell hanging from his mouth.
Ruth laughed. “You’ve become quite the expert.”
Clara looked up solemnly. “For church.”
As though that explained everything, and apparently, it did.
The kitchen table had disappeared entirely beneath their work now.
Little piles of gathered treasures covered nearly every inch of space.
Rose hips lay drying on clean cloths near the stove, glowing like tiny red jewels beneath the afternoon sunlight.
Juniper berries sat sorted into neat bowls, their blueish-purple skins dusty and fragrant.
“Well then, Miss Expert,” Ruth said, reaching for one of Mrs. Turner’s old preserving jars, “how shall we package them?”
Clara immediately abandoned the walnuts and climbed onto her chair with renewed purpose. “Should be pretty.”
Ruth hid a smile. “Pretty?”
Clara nodded emphatically. “Pretty sells.”
Ruth stared at her, then huffed a laugh. ‘Pretty sells’ sounded suspiciously like something Henry had said after helping them prepare for market day last month.
A few moments, later Clara had entirely taken over proceedings. Small squares of cloth appeared from drawers and cupboards. Bits of ribbon emerged from sewing baskets.
Soon, they had begun arranging little bundles. The walnuts went into small muslin sacks tied neatly with blue ribbon. They measured juniper berries into tiny paper parcels, folded carefully and tied with twine, and packed the rose hips into jars with embellished labels.
Clara insisted that every bundle required greenery tucked beneath the ribbon. “Decoration,” she explained seriously.
Ruth was beginning to suspect that her sister possessed stronger opinions than anyone had given her credit for.
The work carried on pleasantly for over an hour. Sunlight shifted slowly across the kitchen floor while the stove crackled warmly beside them. The room smelled of herbs and walnuts and cinnamon from the loaf of bread cooling nearby.
“Not crooked,” Clara informed her sternly.
Ruth looked down; the ribbon sat perhaps a fraction to the left. “Oh dear,” she said gravely. “What a disaster.”
Clara nodded. “Fix it.”
“You’re bossy,” Ruth grumbled.
“I wonder where she gets that from?”
Ruth turned her head to see Henry leaning against the kitchen doorway with his arms folded across his chest, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Oh, so you’re back, are you?” she said. “Now that the work is all done?”
“Speaking of work …” Henry said, tilting his head toward the window.
Ruth glanced outside and then back at Henry. “Oh no,” she groaned.
Henry’s smile widened immediately. “Oh yes.”
Ruth had became so absorbed in helping Clara arrange little bundles that she’d completely lost track of time. How could she have not noticed that the room had grown darker? How the sunlight had shifted almost entirely from the windows?
And on the stove, there was nothing.
Ruth’s eyes widened. “I forgot about dinner!”
Henry pushed himself away from the doorway. “Yes,” he agreed.
Ruth covered her face with both hands. “How could I forget about dinner?”
Henry crossed the room, bent down, and kissed Ruth’s temple. “Well,” he said, glancing around the kitchen. “I suppose we’ll all be eating walnuts.”
“Absolutely not!” Clara said in horror.
Ruth stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. Henry joined in and then Clara, and they stood in the middle of the kitchen together, tears streaming down their faces.
***
A few days later, a thin frost silvered the grass around the ranch, glittering beneath the early sunlight like scattered sugar. Ruth could see her breath as she stepped out onto the porch, carrying another basket in both hands.
Behind her, Clara came hurrying through the doorway with resolute determination written across her face, carrying a basket nearly as large as herself.
“Careful,” Ruth warned, struggling to hide her amusement.
Clara frowned seriously. “I am.”
Ruth’s hand shot out as the basket tipped dangerously. “Uh-huh.”
Henry appeared behind them with a large wooden crate beneath one arm.
“Henry Collins!” Ruth exclaimed.
He looked over innocently. “What?”
“Dr. Turner told you to be careful lifting on that side!”
Henry looked down at the crate. “This?” He scoffed. “Ruth, this weighs nearly nothing.”
George snorted loudly as he passed, carrying an armful of sacks toward the wagon.
Ruth folded her arms.
Henry sighed dramatically. “Everyone in this family has become impossible.”
Clara nodded solemnly. “Impossible.”
“Come on,” Ruth said, shooting her sister a glare. “There’s still more in the house.”
Soon, their crates and baskets of gathered treasures had been carefully arranged in the back of the wagon: jars of rose hip preserves and dried herbs, black walnuts sorted into little sacks, bunches of juniper tied neatly with twine, oyster mushrooms dried for cooking, and small bundles of decorative greenery.
Clara had insisted on placing several items herself, and Ruth had quietly rearranged some afterward.
Scout ran circles around the wagon, barking excitedly, while George secured the final bundle.
Ruth brushed her hands against her skirts, then startled when strong arms suddenly wrapped around her waist from behind. She relaxed immediately as Henry nuzzled her neck and leaned back against him.
He moved to rest his chin lightly against her shoulder. “You were lost in your thoughts.”
Ruth smiled faintly. “Perhaps I was, at that.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
She elbowed him gently, and Henry chuckled.
Then, she turned slightly in his arms. “Thank you.”
His brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For everything—all of this. You’ve spent weeks helping us gather berries and dry mushrooms and sort walnuts” She glanced toward Clara, who was instructing George on how to stack walnuts properly. “I know you’d rather be working.”
Henry had recovered well, but Dr. Turner still watched him like a hawk, and Ruth knew it had been difficult these past months. Henry wasn’t a man suited to sitting still.
Hey stared at her for a moment and then the lines of his face softened. Slowly, he brushed windblown hair back from her face.
“Ruth,” he said, lowering his voice. “If it makes you happy …” He glanced toward the wagon. “And if it makes Clara happy…” Then, he leaned down and kissed her softly. “It makes me happy.”
Ruth’s heart squeezed. Somehow after everything—after the fear, pain, and loss—Henry could still love with such simple certainty.
She kissed him again before she could stop herself.
“All right lovebirds,” George called. “We’re all set!”
They broke apart, Ruth’s cheeks warm.
“Come on,” she said, taking Henry’s hand.
***
As they made their way into town, other wagons and riders joined the road as they traveled: neighbors bundled in coats and scarves, children laughing and calling to one another from wagon seats. Soon, Cottonwood Falls appeared on the horizon, growing larger as they approached.
Before long, the procession had passed the outskirts, heading toward the center of town, and as they rolled into the square, Clara gasped.
Ruth smiled.
The town square had transformed entirely.
Wooden stalls lined the streets beneath canvas awnings, and evergreen garlands had been draped from windows and railings.
Bunches of pine and cedar hung above storefronts, filling the air with a clean, sharp scent that mixed with woodsmoke and roasting chestnuts.
Women in wool coats and bonnets moved between tables, carrying baskets and packages.
Children darted through crowds with red cheeks and cold noses.
Men stood gathered near livestock pens, laughing loudly, while horses stamped and snorted clouds of steam into the chilly air.
A woman in a nearby stall sold hot cider, another pies, along with fresh bread and candied apples.
Ruth heard fiddles playing across the square while church bells rang softly overhead.
Clara stared with wide eyes. “So big.”
Henry smiled. “For a small town, Cottonwood Falls knows how to host a proper fair.”
The church had set up a booth near the center of the square beneath evergreen garlands and white ribbons. As soon as they arrived, several women hurried over.
One looked down at Clara’s baskets and clasped her hands. “Oh my goodness!”
Another peered inside. “Look at all this! Did you gather all these yourself?”
Nodding proudly, Clara stood a little straighter. “Rose hips,” she said, pointing to them, “and juniper berries. Oyster mushrooms and persimmons.”
“My stars—are those walnuts?” the first woman asked. At Clara’s nod, she clasped her hands reverently. “And all foraged from God’s green earth. You are a wonder, you blessed child!”
Ruth watched Clara trying very hard not to smile too broadly, and her heart was so full it nearly hurt.
Then, Henry cleared his throat, and she looked over to see that he looked strangely distracted.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Henry rubbed the back of his neck.
Ruth frowned. “What is it?”
He shifted on his heels. “I need to run a quick errand.”
“The whole town is here.” She looked around. “The stores are closed.”
“Yup.”
“What errand?”
Henry looked entirely innocent. “Oh, just something that can’t wait, is all.”
“Henry Collins?—?”
He stepped forward quickly and kissed her, effectively stopping her from speaking another word. “I won’t be long.”
Before she could stop him, he was already walking away through the crowd.
Ruth stood, staring after him, and then shook her head.
What on earth …
Clara tugged urgently on her hand. “Ruth.”