Chapter Seven
Poppy moved through the cabin with a quiet grace, her flaming red hair reflecting the warmth of the hearth. Jacob sat at the rough-hewn table, his dark eyes distant, as he carved away at a piece of wood.
"Would you like some coffee, Jacob?" Poppy asked, her voice gentle. She poured the rich, dark brew into a mug and set it down beside him, her fingers brushing his in a silent offering of love.
Jacob glanced up at her and managed a grateful nod. "Thank you, Poppy," he said. He wrapped his hands around the mug, feeling the heat seep into his skin, and watched as Poppy sat down across from him, socks on the table for her to darn.
"Lucas used to say..." Jacob started, "that coffee was the only reason to get up in the morning." His mouth twitched, a small smile on his face. "He always did appreciate the simple things."
Poppy leaned in, resting her elbow on the table, her face open and attentive. She knew how precious these stories were—tiny windows into the soul of the man she loved. "Tell me more about him," she encouraged, her heart aching for both the man before her and the brother lost.
Jacob's gaze drifted past her. "Lucas was fearless," he said softly. "During the war, he led charges that no one else would. But Lucas believed in our cause enough to risk everything."
Poppy listened, each word etching itself onto her heart. She reached out, her hand finding Jacob's where it rested on the table. She squeezed gently.
"Sometimes I think I can still hear his laugh over the sound of the cattle," Jacob continued. "It's a funny thing…how the mind plays tricks on you."
"Perhaps it's not a trick," Poppy said softly. "Maybe it's a comfort, a reminder that those we love are never truly gone from us."
"Thank you, Poppy," Jacob whispered, the weight of his gratitude palpable. "For listening…for being here."
"Always, Jacob," Poppy replied, her voice steady and sure. "I'm always here."
*****
Poppy eased the door shut behind her, the latch clicking with a finality that marked the boundary between Jacob's vulnerability and her solitude. She leaned back against the door for a moment, closing her eyes to gather the tendrils of memory that wove through the quiet room. The stories Jacob had shared about Lucas—a laugh like rolling thunder across the prairie, the way he could charm a smile from even the sternest of faces—flickered in her mind's eye.
She pulled out a sheet of paper and carried it to the table, the quill trembling slightly in her fingers. She knew the importance of capturing the essence of Jacob's words. Each anecdote, each heartfelt remembrance was meticulously transcribed, the ink flowing onto the page.
"Lucas would've loved this place" had been one thing he’d said, whispered as they watched the sun retreat behind the mountains. Poppy had nodded, imagining Lucasbeside them, his spirit as much a part of the land as the soil beneath their feet.
"His strength was unyielding," she wrote now.
"Mrs. Alexander?" The voice, warm and maternal came from the doorway. Mrs. Mitchell stood on the threshold.
"Come in, Mrs. Mitchell," Poppy called, setting aside her writing and rising to greet her visitor.
Mrs. Mitchell entered, her gaze flitting over Poppy's swollen belly before coming to rest on her face. "How are you faring, dear? You're nearly there, aren't you?"
"Eight and a half months," Poppy replied, smoothing her apron over her abdomen. The baby shifted within her, an affirmation of life that both thrilled and terrified her.
"Mercy, but you're as big as the barn," Mrs. Mitchell observed, her tone bordering on admiration and worry. "I hope you're not carrying too much of a burden." Her practiced hands, which had ushered countless new lives into the world, pressed gently against Poppy's middle.
The thawing snow outside had mostly disappeared. Calves stumbled alongside their mothers in the nearby pastures. Poppy felt a kinship with them, bound by the cycle of creation that spared no woman or cow.
"Dr. Bentley says all is well," Poppy assured her. In truth, the weight did seem more than she could bear at times, a heaviness that went beyond the physical.
"Take care, my girl," Mrs. Mitchell said, patting her hand. "I’d like you to go see Dr. Bentley. You’re too small to birth a baby of the size you’re carrying. We need to make sure you can deliver without his help."
Poppy nodded, feeling the echo of Jacob's fears mingling with her own anticipation. “I’ll go see him today.”
“I think that’s the smartest thing you could do.”
Poppy's heart raced with a mix of trepidation and resolve as she made her way to Dr. Bentley's modest clinic on the edge of town.
The door creaked open, and Dr. Bentley welcomed her with a nod. His office was sparse but clean, the smell of antiseptic mingling with the natural scent of pine from the walls. When he spotted her, he called for his wife Betty, who had become his nurse.
"Mrs. Mitchell thinks it might be too big for me to deliver without your assistance," Poppy said as she settled onto theexamination table, its leather worn smooth by the anxieties and joys of countless patients before her.
