“My father ran dairy cattle.”
“He hated carrying water.”
“Smart man.”
“Lazy man.”
“That too.”
They installed a gravity line using pipe Silas had stored behind the barn for three years.
He claimed he was “saving it.”
Mabel called that another word for forgetting useful things existed.
The water reached a trough by afternoon.
Silas stared at the stream flowing without pumping.
“That simple.”
“No.”
“That obvious.”
He looked at her.
“Difference?”
“Simple means easy.”
“Obvious means we should’ve noticed sooner.”
Silas nodded.
Daisy drank.
The pigs received clean water.
The chickens got a smaller pan away from their muddy yard.
Next:
Feed.
Mabel reorganized everything.
Less waste.
Different timing.
Mineral salt for Daisy.
Crushed oyster shell obtained cheaply from Henderson’s store for hens.
Kitchen scraps separated rather than thrown indiscriminately to hogs.
Grain soaked when useful.
Feed trough repaired so pigs stopped spilling nearly ten percent into mud.
Silas watched.
“You weigh pig feed?”
“Yes.”
“They’re pigs.”
“They’re expensive stomachs with legs.”
He laughed.
Mabel looked toward him.
“You laugh now.”
“Wait until I charge you for wasting corn.”
Within twelve days, hens laid seven eggs.
Then nine.
Then eleven over three days.
Silas entered the kitchen carrying eggs like treasure.
“Mabel.”
She was kneading bread.
“What?”
“Look.”
“I know what eggs are.”
“Eleven.”
“I told you.”
He set them down.
“You’re not even pleased.”
“I’ll be pleased when they do it consistently.”
Silas leaned against the table.
His eyes traveled over Mabel.
She wore a brown dress with sleeves rolled above her elbows.
Flour covered one cheek.
Her full hips pressed against the table edge as she kneaded.
Mabel noticed his stare.
“Something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then stop examining me like livestock.”
Silas smiled.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“Seems familiar.”
She glared.
He continued.
“I was an idiot the first day.”
“Yes.”
“You could let me finish apologizing.”
“You were doing that?”
“I’m trying.”
Mabel turned back to dough.
Silas said:
“I expected…”
He stopped.
“A smaller woman.”
Mabel’s hands stopped.
Silas immediately knew he had chosen poorly.
She turned.
“Go on.”
“No.”
“Absolutely go on now.”
Silas sighed.
“I imagined someone younger.”
“Smaller.”
“Quiet.”
“Probably blonde.”
Mabel lifted an eyebrow.
“You realize I’m standing near a rolling pin.”
“I do.”
“And?”
“I was wrong.”
“About which part?”
“Every part that mattered.”
Mabel looked at him.
Silas continued:
“You work harder than anyone I’ve hired.”
“You understand things I don’t.”
“You don’t complain.”
“I complain constantly.”
“Yes.”
“But usefully.”
A reluctant smile touched her mouth.
Silas saw it.
“So.”
“So?”
“Am I forgiven?”
“No.”
He laughed.
Mabel returned to bread.
But her smile remained.
Daisy produced milk again in October.
Not much.
Enough.
Mabel adjusted feed and kept strict milking times.
The first morning Silas brought a pail containing nearly a gallon, he placed it on the table and stared at Mabel as though she had personally negotiated with the cow.
“You did it.”
“We did it.”
“I fed her.”
“Exactly.”
“You told me how.”
“Exactly.”
“Therefore you did it.”
Mabel wiped her hands.
“Silas.”
“Yes?”
“Do you intend to spend our entire arrangement arguing about who deserves credit?”
“If it keeps you talking to me.”
That was the first time he openly flirted.
Mabel froze.
Silas realized what he had said.
Neither moved.
Then Mabel looked him over deliberately.
From boots to shoulders.
Very slowly.
Silas became uncomfortable.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m deciding whether I like what I see.”
His face reddened.
Mabel smiled.
“Doesn’t feel so pleasant when somebody else does it, does it?”
She walked past him.
Silas watched.
Then laughed to himself.
He was in trouble.
The thirty-day decision arrived in October.
Silas made roast pork.
Terribly.
Mabel ate it anyway.
After supper they sat at the table with the ledger between them.
Debt remained.
But for the first time, it had stopped growing.
Silas cleared his throat.
“Thirty days.”
“I counted.”
“You want to stay?”
Mabel looked toward him.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He stared at the ledger.
“That feels like a dangerous question.”
“It is.”
Silas took time.
“I need you.”
Mabel’s face revealed nothing.
He continued quickly.
“That sounded wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t mean because you cook.”
“Good.”
“Or the pigs.”
“Very good.”
“I mean…”
He struggled.
Mabel waited.
“I like this house more when you’re in it.”
Her expression softened.
Silas continued.
“I like working with you.”
“I like arguing with you.”
“You laugh at me.”
“You refuse to let me feel sorry for myself.”
“And every morning I wake up wanting to know what impossible thing you’re going to tell me is obvious next.”
Mabel’s eyes grew warm.
“That is almost romantic.”
“Almost?”
“You mentioned pigs too early.”
Silas smiled.
“Will you marry me?”
Mabel looked toward the ledger.
Then toward him.
“Separate room stays available.”
“Of course.”
“Equal say in farm decisions.”
“Yes.”
“No selling property without both agreeing.”
“Yes.”
“My money is mine until household expenses are agreed.”
“Yes.”
“You never make another joke about my size unless you’re prepared for me to answer.”
Silas hesitated.
“That sounds less like a rule and more like a threat.”
“It’s both.”
He laughed.
“Yes.”
Mabel held out her hand.
“Then yes.”
Silas took it.
He did not release it.
Neither did she.
They married at the Brier Hollow chapel on October twenty-third, 1889.
Small ceremony.
Agnes Bell as witness.
Henderson from the store.
Two neighboring families.
Silas wore his cleanest shirt.
Mabel wore dark green.
The minister asked whether Silas took Mabel to be his wife.
He said yes too quickly.
People laughed.
Then Mabel was asked.
She looked toward Silas for several seconds.
He whispered:
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
Then:
“Yes.”
Their first kiss as husband and wife was gentle.
Brief.
But when they separated, Silas’s hand remained at her waist.
Mabel looked down.
Then at him.
“Getting confident?”
“Testing legal privileges.”
She leaned closer.
“Careful.”
“Why?”
“Marriage did not make you bulletproof.”
He laughed.
That evening they returned to the farmhouse.
Silas started toward the east bedroom.
Mabel watched.
“Where are you going?”
He turned.
“My room.”
She leaned against the doorway.
“We’re married.”
“Yes.”
“That arrangement was before marriage.”
Silas swallowed.
“You said separate room stays available.”
“Available.”
She smiled slowly.
“I didn’t say mandatory.”
Silas stared.
Mabel stepped closer.
He looked more nervous than he had during the ceremony.
That pleased her.
“Silas.”
“Yes?”
“You spent a month making jokes about the woman feeding your pigs.”
“Some jokes.”
“Several.”
“I apologized.”
“Poorly.”
She placed a hand against his vest.
“And lately you’ve been looking at me like the pigs stopped being the part of this arrangement keeping you awake.”
His breathing changed.
Mabel noticed.
“So?”
Silas asked.
“So I’m wondering whether you plan to keep hiding behind jokes all night.”
He lifted one hand.
Stopped before touching her waist.
Mabel closed the distance herself.
His hand settled around her.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her.
This time not briefly.
The east bedroom remained empty.
Winter brought the next problem.
Money.
The farm improved operationally.
Debt still existed.
Mabel negotiated with Henderson.
He respected her because she arrived with exact numbers.
“I can pay ten dollars monthly against store credit.”
Henderson looked skeptical.
“Silas never paid on schedule.”
Mabel said:
“Silas isn’t making this arrangement.”
Henderson looked toward Silas standing behind her.