Four Years Later

Owen squirmed relentlessly. Lydia had given up on telling him to hold still. She tilted her head—the better to see by the light of the medical office window—and waited for him to stop wriggling long enough to add another stitch to the tidy line of sutures on his left shoulder.

“Remind me again,” she said, “how did this happen?”

“It weren’t my fault, Mrs. Whitaker,” Owen asserted unconvincingly.

Lydia cocked an eyebrow at him.

“It weren’t!” Owen grinned. “That tree just done jump right in front of me.”

She laughed. “I’m certain it did.”

“All I was doin’ was tryin’ to see if Cricket could jump over the stream. And she could! But the trouble was, I couldn’t stay on her while she did it. And then the tree jumped in front of me.” Owen craned his neck to inspect the bruised and tattered tissue of his shoulder. “And I fell on it.”

“There’s the truth.” Lydia chuckled.

“I don’t know what your pa was thinkin’, gettin’ ye that pony.” Clara shook her head, but she was smiling. “Seems like ye’ve only gotten up to more and more mischief since.”

“At least this time there weren’t any bullfrogs,” said Lydia.

The door opened. Lydia turned, a smile already on her lips.

Their fourth wedding anniversary was fast approaching, yet her heart still turned over in exactly the same way when her husband walked into the room. He was still so much the same Caleb that she’d woken up to in this very room when she was alone and terrified with nothing to guide her, not even her own memories. The same gentle eyes, the same way he buttoned his waistcoat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, the same tenderness in his hands as he rested one on her shoulder.

It was only the tiny scar on his cheekbone that reminded her who he could be when something threatened his family. Of the ferocious strength within.

“I’m heading out, darlin’.” He kissed her cheek. “Beautiful work, as always.”

She smiled as she tied off the last stitch. “Thank you. Did you find the tincture I left for Mrs. Greaves?”

“I did. Thank you for making that.”

“Of course, my love. Where are the boys?”

Giggles floated through the open window.

Caleb smiled that smile that made her heart soar. “Outside with Hattie. Driving old Buck crazy, of course.”

Lydia laughed. “I’ll go and save him as soon as I’m done here.”

“I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Four o’clock,” Lydia reminded him, “or we’ll be late.”

“My love, nothing in this universe will make me late for my little nephew’s birthday party.” Caleb kissed her cheek again. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Caleb nodded to Clara and left.

Lydia dabbed the neat row of stitches clean. “There you are, Owen. All patched up. Keep it clean and dry, and I’ll take them out in two weeks. You know how it goes, Clara.”

Clara threw her hands up. “I sure don’t got no choice, with this rascal.” But she kissed the top of Owen’s head with fierce affection anyway.

She left with her wayward offspring, leaving the medical office empty. If anyone else arrived, they would ring the bell. Lydia left the office and wandered into the kitchen.

The laughter was louder there, the wanton belly-laughs of toddlerhood, free of inhibition. Lydia leaned on the back doorframe and smiled at the sight on the back lawn. Sometimes, it was impossible to believe that this really was her life.

Hattie sat on the back porch, a quilt over her lap against the September chill. The woods beyond blazed gold and scarlet with fall. In between was the horse pasture—with Jughead Joe and Shadow grazing nose-to-nose—and the lawn, with Lydia’s whole world playing on it.

Buck lay on the grass, his gray muzzle resting between his paws. He made no effort to avoid the two little boys who were climbing all over him. They used him as a mountain for their wooden trains and horses to journey over, occasionally planting an accidental knee or elbow on his head. When this happened, he would merely wag his tail a few times, then go back to sleep.

“John,” Lydia called. “Cal, careful with old Buck. Don’t hurt him.”

The two little boys raised their identical dark heads and stared up at her with their father’s big brown eyes.

“Sorry, Mama,” said John.

“Yes, Mama,” said Cal.

Lydia couldn’t resist. She strode from the porch, snatched them both up in her arms, and smothered them with kisses.

***

People tended to laugh at the sight of Jughead Joe pulling the buggy, with his big old ears flopping and his gangly legs in all directions, but he was easily the fastest horse in Last Candle Hollow. Despite an incident involving a cup of milk and John’s Sunday best, they were still on time.

The big horse jogged up a rise and slowed at the top of the hill. Half an hour’s drive from Last Candle Hollow, Haven Ranch sprawled across an idyllic valley. Yellow-gold larches flanked both sides of the river that glistened like a satin ribbon across the bottom of the valley. The ranch house and barn basked in sunshine. Cattle roamed the hills and sheep clustered by the river. Several horses grazed in the pasture, buggies and wagons lined up outside the barn.

Caleb gave a soft chuckle. “They certainly have a whole lot of guests today.”

“Of course. Everybody in town loves Evan,” said Lydia.

“Papa, can we have a bite of cake now?” Cal begged.

“Absolutely not,” Hattie chided. “That cake’s for Evan. We’ll all be sharin’ it together. Later.”

“Pleeeeease?” John added, as if two pleas were more powerful than one.

“Later,” Lydia said, laughing. If one left Hattie to her own devices, despite her stern facade, she would let the boys get away with murder.

They drove down the hill, unhitched Joe, and headed to the ranch house. It was a magnificent thing, the biggest in Last Candle Hollow, with a great porch at the back and a smooth stretch of lawn running down to the river.

A long table ran across the lawn, covered with a checkered tablecloth and containing a harvest feast. Pies, roasts, mountainous side dishes—there was enough to feed an army. And the guests covering the lawn were as numerous as an army. Children ran and laughed in all directions. Adults stood in knots, talking and laughing.

John clutched Lydia’s hand. “Can we go play, Mama?”

“Wait, wait,” said Lydia. “We have to wish your cousin a happy birthday first.”

Running feet echoed on the back porch.

“There he is!” Caleb crouched and held out his arms.

Evan thundered toward them, his hair flying, his little arms outstretched. He ran straight past Caleb and flung his arms around Lydia’s legs. “Auntie Lyddie! Auntie Lyddie!”

Lydia swept him into her arms and kissed his forehead the way she’d done on that howling, desperate night four years ago. “Hello, sweetie.”

Evan buried his face in her chest, his arms around her neck, and seemed content to stay there.

Caleb straightened, laughing. “Well, all right, then. I see how it is.”

Margaret swept from the back door. “Oh, you can’t blame him. Lydia’s always been his favorite.”

“Margaret.” Caleb embraced her. “You look… well, wonderful.”

It was true. Margaret glowed. Her hair flowed down her back, thick and full, and her cheeks were rosy. She wore a pale green dress that made her eyes look bigger and darker than ever.

Evan finally detached himself from Lydia and held out his arms to his uncle. Her arms free, Lydia hugged Margaret. Hattie did the same, holding her for a long time, rubbing her back, like she always did.

“What do we say to Evan?” Lydia asked.

She’d rehearsed this repeatedly with the boys. John hesitated, but Cal led the way. “Happy birthday, Evan!” they chorused.

Evan giggled and kicked his legs. Caleb put him down.

“Wanna play tag?” Evan asked.

John slapped his arm. “You’re it!”

They took off running, their laughter filling the air.

A tall, bearded man strode from the back door. Rory O’Connor was a broad-shouldered, red-bearded bear of a man, with clear blue eyes that had spent his life watching the horizon. A man of the earth, scarred, gentle, everything that Margaret deserved. He slipped an arm around his slender wife, who looked like a fairy compared to his bulk, and pressed a kiss to her forehead so tender that Lydia’s heart sang for her.

She leaned into him, closing her eyes, as if she savored the moment as much as Lydia did.

“Welcome, everybody.” Rory wrung Caleb’s hand warmly and gave Lydia a gentle smile. “Thank ye for comin’.”

“We wouldn’t miss this for the world,” said Lydia, and meant it.

“Papa! Papa!” Evan came running. He had to jump to grab Rory’s massive hand. “Come and show John and Cal how we skip rocks in the river!”

Rory swept Evan onto his shoulders with effortless strength. “Yer the best rock-skipper in the whole territory, boy. Let’s go show ’em how it’s done.”

He strode away with the three little boys flocking adoringly around him.

“Margaret!” Lillian called from the table. She held a pie dish and wore the same frilly dress as always, but her eyes had changed. There was a kindness in them that had never existed before, perhaps to do with the gold ring on her finger, the curve in her belly, and the way Jerry Greaves rested his hand on the small of her back. “Where would you like me to put this? Perhaps in the middle of the table, in pride of place?”

Lydia laughed. Some things never changed.

***

The joyful afternoon gave way to an evening full of bonfires and laughter and the taste of pumpkin pie. Lillian really did bake good ones.

When evening fell, Lydia put John and Cal to bed in Evan’s room. It was nearly impossible to settle the three bouncing boys, still overexcited after the day’s celebrations. Once she’d convinced them all to pile into Evan’s bed, tucked a quilt around the three, and told them a story, she thought she had succeeded. Then John announced that he needed to use the outhouse, and the whole process began again.

It was only when Buck came in and settled at the feet of the bed that the three little boys finally went to sleep.

Lydia went downstairs to find it empty. Margaret, Hattie, and Rory were sitting on the back porch by the last coals of the bonfire, talking. Clara and Elias had taken Owen home earlier, to ensure he got some rest.

Only Caleb was in the kitchen, gazing through the window as he cupped a steaming mug of hot milk.

“Trouble?” he asked, smiling.

Lydia laughed. “Only Buck could calm them tonight.”

Caleb handed her a cup of hot milk and honey. She sipped and smiled. “Ahh. That’s lovely. Thank you.”

“Shall we join the others outside?” Caleb asked.

“I thought I’d make a start on the dishes. Give Margaret a little break.”

“In that case, I’ll help you.” Caleb set his mug aside and rolled up his sleeves.

Many women judged Caleb for his habit of helping out in the kitchen, but Lydia considered it a boon. They moved around each other with easy comfort as she filled a basin with soapy water and he stacked the dirty dishes nearby. Saying nothing, needing to say nothing, they worked in silence for a few moments.

The basin stood facing a large window that overlooked the woods. The stars twinkled above, the sky vast and tremendous. It reminded her of the night that she and Caleb had sat outside, reading poetry.

For two alone, there in the hall

is spread the table round and small;

upon the polished silver shine

the evening lamps, but, more divine,

the light of love shines over all;

Of love, that says not mine and thine,

But ours, for ours is thine and mine.

Now? she wondered. It was as good a moment as any.

“I have something to tell you,” she said.

Caleb looked at her, his dark eyes merry and dancing. “We’re having another.”

Lydia laughed. “I thought you didn’t know.”

“I am a doctor, my love, and your husband.” Caleb set the dishes aside and held out his arms. “I can’t wait.”

Lydia stepped into his embrace, burying her face in his shoulder. She had never dreamed that life could be so perfect.

“Twins again?” he wondered out loud.

“I hope not.” Lydia chuckled. “Maybe a girl.”

“Yes,” said Caleb, pulling her closer. “Maybe a girl. I hope she’s just exactly like you.”

Then he called her the secret nickname that existed only between the two of them these days, reserved for the most precious of moments.

“My kitty.”

THE END