Chapter Three
Poppy tied her apron. The kitchen of their small homestead was warm, a haven from the crisp morning air that swept across the Oregon plains. With practiced hands, she sifted through the flour, fingers grazing the coarse grains as she prepared to knead the dough for bread. She had learned to bake it just how Jacob preferred, with a touch of honey and a crust baked to golden perfection.
Every corner of the house bore evidence of Poppy’s meticulous care. Handmade curtains fluttered gently at the open windows, the floors were swept clean of the ever-encroaching dust, and wildflowers adorned the simple wooden table she recognized as Elmer’s work.
As the bread baked, releasing a comforting aroma into the room, Poppy set about preparing a hearty breakfast. She fried bacon until it sizzled and popped alongside eggs from their hens, which she cooked just shy of runny—just the way he might have liked them if he ever voiced a preference. She could remember her mother telling Sarah that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She only wished Jacob had heard the same thing.
“Breakfast is ready,” she said softly, as Jacob finally stood and dressed.
“Thank you, Poppy,” Jacob murmured, taking a seat at the head of the table. His words were polite. He began to eat with mechanical precision, each bite a function of survival rather than enjoyment.
Poppy watched him from across the table, her appetite waning in the face of his detachment. She longed to reach out, to bridge the chasm with gentle words or a tender touch, but his face spoke clearly that her touch wouldn’t be welcome.
“Is the bread to your liking?” she asked, hoping that he would open up and talk to her. Any conversation was better than no conversation.
“It’s fine,” Jacob replied without looking up.
Poppy pressed her lips together, biting back the sigh that threatened to escape. The constant longing for his affection gnawed at her insides. She knew of his past, of the brother lost on battlefields steeped in blood and sorrow. She understood that grief could be a land with no clear path forward. But she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t let her soothe him.
“Jacob,” she began, hesitating as she sought the courage to voice her feelings, “I wish we could... talk more. About anything, really.”
He paused, his fork mid-air, and for a fleeting moment, Poppy thought she saw a flicker of something more behind the guarded veil of his eyes. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.
“Maybe later, Poppy,” he said quietly.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the prairie as Poppy stood at the wooden gate, her fingers curled around the weathered post. She watched Sarah and Elmer’s wagon approach.
“Evening, Poppy,” Elmer called out, touching the brim of his hat with a calloused hand as he brought the horses to a halt. Sarah’s warm smile appeared over the edge of the wagon.
“Hello, sister,” Sarah greeted, her eyes soft with concern as she took in Poppy’s troubled expression.
“Mind if I take a moment?” Poppy asked, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying the turmoil within.
“Of course not, dear,” Sarah replied, reaching out her hand to help Poppy into the wagon.
They settled beneath the shade of an old cottonwood tree, where Hannah Scott had already spread a quilt for theirgathering. The pastor’s wife looked up from her mending, her eyes gentle but perceptive.
“Poppy,” Hannah said, setting aside her work. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world.”
“Feels like it, sometimes,” Poppy admitted, tucking a loose strand of red hair behind her ear.
“Jacob isn’t giving you any trouble, is he?” Elmer’s protective tone was softened by his underlying worry.
“It’s not trouble, exactly…” Poppy hesitated, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. “He’s just…so far away, even when he’s right beside me. I cook his favorite meals, keep the house just so, but it’s like he’s still out there on the trail, fighting ghosts I can’t see.”
Hannah reached out, placing her hand over Poppy’s. “I remember feeling much the same about Jed when we first married. He was a good man, but love wasn’t what brought us together.”
“Then how did you manage?” Poppy asked, her green eyes searching Hannah’s face for some secret way to Jacob’s heart.
“Time and patience,” Hannah said softly. “And prayer, lots of prayer. But one day, I realized I couldn’t imagine my life without him. The love came quietly, not with grand gestures or passionate declarations, but in the small moments—the shared glances, the unspoken understanding, the quiet strength we drew from each other.”
“Does it ever get easier?” Poppy’s voice trembled as she spoke.
“Love is like growing a garden,” Sarah chimed in. “You tend to it every day, even when the soil’s stubborn and the wind’s relentless. And in time, it gives back more than you put in.”
“Perhaps,” Poppy murmured. “Perhaps it’s time for me to learn the language of patience.” Poppy had once had a student who didn’t seem able to learn to read. But she worked with them every day until he was one of the best readers in the class. She couldn’t help but wonder what that kind of patience would do for love.
“Poppy,” Sarah’s voice broke through the twilight hush. “Are you coming? Supper won’t eat itself.”
