Chapter Six
Poppy, with her fiery mane of hair secured under a practical bonnet, approached the barn where Jacob was already at work.
“Morning, Jacob,” she greeted, tugging her shawl closer around her shoulders against the nip of dawn.
“Poppy,” he acknowledged without looking up, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he continued to shovel hay into the stalls.
“Let me help you with that,” she offered, rolling up the sleeves of her dress.
Jacob paused, leaning on his pitchfork, watching her with an unreadable expression. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“I know,” Poppy replied, her movements deliberate as she picked up a spare pitchfork. “But I want to.”
Poppy stole glances at Jacob, noting the set of his jaw, the occasional furrow of his brow when his thoughts turned inward.
“Must’ve been hard...” Poppy said, breaking the quiet as they moved to the next stall. “Leaving everything behind after the war, starting over.”
Jacob’s movements slowed, his shoulders tensing beneath the fabric of his worn shirt. “It was necessary,” he said after a moment, his voice hushed as if the words were reluctant travelers from his lips.
“Is that why you chose dairy farming?” she asked gently.
A small sigh escaped him, mingling with the earthy scent of the barn. “Wanted something…peaceful,” he admitted, his pitchfork piercing the hay with less force than before. “Something that reminded me less of cannons and more of life.”
Poppy nodded. She watched as he allowed himself a brief respite, leaning against the wooden wall of the stall, his gaze distant.
“Life has a way of pushing us forward, even when we’re not ready to move,” she observed softly.
He met her eyes then, and for a fleeting second, she saw the veil lift, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability he so carefully guarded. “Sometimes, I wish it didn’t,” Jacob confessed.
Poppy reached out tentatively, her hand brushing against his arm in a gesture of solidarity. “We can’t change what’s behind us, Jacob. But maybe we can find something worth moving toward.”
Jacob’s eyes held hers. And in that shared glance, there was an unspoken understanding. His past was filled with hurt, but together they’d try to make their future better.
Later, Poppy and Jacob stood side by side, washing the milk pails at the well. The rhythmic swish of water sloshing against metal was the only sound between them, aside from the occasional snort of a cow from the barn.
“Did you always know you’d become a soldier?” Poppy asked. Her fingers were pruned from the water, but she kept scrubbing, her movements deliberate and mindful.
Jacob paused, his hands stilling over the pail. “My brother and I…we had just lost our parents to a fire. Soldiers were needed and we were both still young enough to think the world of a soldier would be so much better than working in one of the factories.”
Poppy saw the subtle tightness in his jaw. She sensed the memories crowding behind his dark eyes. “Your brother,” she pressed gently, “you were close?”
“Close as two brothers can be,” he replied. He picked up a cloth and resumed wiping the inside of the pail with more vigor than necessary. “I was born fifteen minutes before he was, and I felt like it was my job to take care of him as the older brother. We enlisted together. Promised to watch each other’s backs.”
“And then…?” Her question hung in the air, tentative yet filled with an earnest desire to understand.
He hesitated, the cloth pausing mid-wipe. “Then Shiloh happened.” His voice trembled slightly. “It was chaos—smoke, screams, mud was stained red. We got separated in a charge.” Jacob swallowed hard, the muscle in his throat working. “I found him afterward. It was too late.” He could still see the accusing look in his brother’s eyes as he was dying.
A profound sadness washed over Poppy, seeing the grief that clung to him. She stopped her work, her pail forgotten, and reached out to place a hand over his. “Jacob, I’m so sorry.”
For a moment, Jacob looked down at her hand covering his, and something unspoken passed through his expression. “I should have been there,” he said, the weight of guilt heavy in his tone. “Should’ve died instead of him. It feels like him dying allowed me to live.”
“Survivor’s guilt,” Poppy said softly, her heart aching for the man beside her. “But your life—it has a purpose, Jacob. Your brother wouldn’t want to see you this lost over his death.”
Jacob set the pail down, turning to face her fully, a haunted look in his eyes. “Sometimes it feels like I should have crawled into the coffin beside him. I can’t explain what it’s like to have an identical twin—someone who is very much a part of you. I feel like I lost half of who I am when he died.”
The confession struck Poppy deeply, and she knew this was the source of the walls he had built around himself. Understanding blossomed within her, not just of his pain, but of the immense strength it took to carry such a burden every day.
“Your brother’s memory lives on in you, Jacob. I hope you can find peace in knowing you’re living for the both of you,” she said.
