Travis had escaped the cabin right after he set the heavy sofa in place on top of the ugliest rug he’d ever seen. Heaven clapped her hands with joy when he rolled the threadbare thing across the floor. Angel had taken off her shoes and said she needed to feel colors. The design was almost impossible to figure out. Heaven said it had belonged to their family for a long time. He wanted to say he could tell but thought better of it. Heaven’s face shone with excitement, and so did Angel’s. He didn’t want that light to extinguish.
Feeling as if he’d come calling without a chaperone, he left them to putter around. At least in the barn he knew there would be something to do. He spent time with Mrs. Jackson. It seemed she would be dropping her kid any day. For some reason, unlike Heaven and Angel, the goat let him get next to her. As he was in the stall with her, he started thinking about Heaven’s idea of making fancy soaps and cheese to sell. She’d need to get more goats to make it profitable. He could get them for her with the little money he had left over from purchasing the breeding mare. That horse would be coming in soon. He’d have to ride to Dryersville to get her.
Travis unfurled his bedroll onto the barn floor. He slipped his suspenders from his shoulders, wincing at the soreness.… It was one of many places on him that had taken a beating from the hailstorm. He couldn’t remember ever seeing hailstones that big. He unbuttoned his shirt and checked out the purple and green spot. It was warm to his touch; his body already doing its healing work.
It felt warmer in here tonight. He didn’t know if it was because the woman had worked him so hard or because the weather was changing. Still, it was December, and that led him to the conclusion it was Heaven’s doing that kept him warm.
He settled into his makeshift bed. The night sounds of the barn were comforting. Horse hooves rustled the hay. Pride and Joy might be feeling some soreness from the hail, too. He noticed a lack of livestock, guessing Caleb had planned to send for his daughters the minute he’d found a place to live. There was the one sad-looking cow, the two goats, a horse, some chickens, and no pigs. He was guessing they’d canned a lot of green beans, as it seemed they had them every day. Sometimes twice.
Fresh meat would be good. Maybe tomorrow he’d find a rabbit or two. A stew would go a long way to making those beans tolerable.
He stretched his hands over his head, and something soft swatted his fingers. A barn kitten. He wiggled them again, and a soft, furry ball pounced on his hand. He grasped it and brought it to his chest. A marmalade-orange fluff ball assessed him with wide green eyes.
“You’re a young one, aren’t you? Quite brave, too, to attack a defenseless man on the floor.” He stroked the kitten behind the ears and was rewarded with a noisy purr. It kneaded his chest and then settled for a rest. Travis watched as the kitten’s eyes opened and slowly closed a few times before staying shut.
He lay there thinking about what it would take to get Heaven to fall in love with him. If she weren’t so stubborn about this being her farm, her home, her whatever she wanted to claim at the moment, she might be able to see him as someone besides the man who wanted to take it all from her.
The kitten’s purr quieted. Its little body heated him as well as a woodstove would. He stroked the tiny head, and the low rumble started again. “Shh. Go back to sleep.”
Maybe Travis should tell Heaven how nice the cabin looked. That it looked like a home. But he wouldn’t. Not yet. He’d wait until she said she would marry him. Besides, the cabin had looked fine before he’d had to shove the sofa, haul furniture, and unfurl a carpet. At least she hadn’t hung curtains or spread a cloth across the sawbuck table.
Heaven flung the cotton tablecloth across the kitchen table and then straightened it so the sides were even. She then placed the lit candlestick in the middle. Taking a step back, she surveyed the room, admiring it. “We did it, Angel. It looks like home. I wish you could see it.” Heaven grasped Angel’s hands, and they twirled in a circle.
“It smells like home.” Angel’s smile spoke of pleasant memories.
Heaven released one of her sister’s hands but held on to the other. She closed her eyes and inhaled the room’s scent. She could smell Ma’s honeysuckle and an underlying trace of Pa’s cherry tobacco. Small moments of time hugged her.
“You’re right. It does smell like home and Ma and Pa. I was thinking of using one of Ma’s old skirts for curtains. Would you mind?” Heaven knew the perfect one. Ma had a white damask skirt that had a grass stain across the bottom. She could trim that piece off or fold it over, and no one would see it.
“Can I help?”
She squeezed Angel’s hand and let go. “Yes you can. We’ll work on it tomorrow. Now it’s time to blow out the candles and go to bed.”
Travis smelled the biscuits burning before he opened the door. He stepped inside the smoke-filled room. “What are you doing?”
Heaven appeared out of the haze. “Leave the door open.” She fanned the bottom of her apron, attempting to shoo the smoke from the cabin. “We were making breakfast and talking about the stories Pa used to tell. Then Angel …”
“I said we should write them down so we don’t forget them.” Angel came up behind Heaven with a dish towel flapping in the air.
“Anyway, we found some paper, and while Angel told the stories, I started writing them down.” Heaven sighed. “And we forgot about the biscuits.”
“Now our home won’t smell like Ma and Pa anymore.” Angel’s lip trembled.
Travis had no idea why she thought it smelled like them in the first place. He scratched at the wound that was healing on his head. The stitches were probably ready to come out. He’d been looking forward to those biscuits. It was the only thing these two seemed to make with any skill. “Now it will smell like breakfast all the time.” He waited for a backlash of angry retorts.
“Burnt up breakfast,” Angel said.
“Bad for your belly breakfast,” Heaven said.
Angel giggled.
Travis didn’t understand. Why weren’t they angry—if not about the biscuits—then at him? It seemed that when things like this had happened at home, his father had taken the blame. He never remembered his mother laughing about burned food.