The first half of autumn blew past so quickly, Ty scarcely could keep track of the days. He cut coal straight out of a four-foot vein in the earth just east of the edge of the township and filled the sledge twice to bring it all back. In the past, he’d done the same chore and thought nothing of it; this time, he’d come back just as filthy as always. He groaned as he caught sight of Betsy taking down her snow-white laundry. Manners demanded he stop.
“Pa said you were going after coal.” She unclipped another daintily embroidered pillowslip. “I overheard the sheriff and Mr. Schmidt talking about what a hardworking man you are. It’s plain to see they’re right.” Her smile was honest and sweet as a first spring rain.
“Yeah.” He looked down at his black hands and clothes. “I’m well past dirty, going on to squalid.”
“It’ll wash. After you dump that load, rinse your clothes and bring them over. I left the lye pot for you and banked the fire. If you do them right away and hang them in front of your fireplace tonight, they’ll dry just fine.”
He cocked his head to the side. She never ceased to astonish him. The wife of the man to whom he’d been apprenticed constantly harped about the black smudges. “You really don’t mind the coal dust mess, do you?”
Her brows rose in surprise. “You need coal to earn your living. I’ll make a deal with you. I won’t notice you’re coal black if you ignore how I get covered in wheat chaff, come harvest.”
He smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t agree, Miss Betsy. It’ll just make you look like the golden angel you are.” The shocked look on her face made him chuckle. “I’d best get going. Thanks for saving the wash water for me.”
In addition to getting the coal, Ty used the next weeks to chop over twenty cords of wood. He repaid the Larkins with four for the one he’d borrowed and knew the satisfaction of being sure he had enough fuel to heat his cabin and fire his forge for the winter. He’d also been careful to buy sufficient lamp oil, wicks, and candles over at Thomasohn’s Mercantile to keep from living in the dark. Karl and Will dropped by and helped him chink his cabin.
One day that first week, someone had slipped into his place while he worked and cleaned up the inside. The canning jar with flowers and fresh flour-sack curtains made a difference. Those touches let him think someone cared and reminded him he wasn’t a burden to be suffered any longer.
Betsy was too shy to have done the task alone. He suspected she’d pulled along a friend or two from her sewing circle. That sewing circle surely did put a gleam in her smile and gave her a bit of a break. He never once heard her complain about how much work her brothers and sisters created. She set herself to tasks and seemed to keep a glad heart, even though he sometimes wondered if she didn’t long to marry and have children and a man of her own instead of tending to her siblings. Anyone who reared kids who weren’t their responsibility and treated them well rated high in his estimation. Betsy not only did that—but also went well beyond duty and cherished her little brothers and sisters.
The cabin still felt cramped as could be. It wouldn’t take much to heat, but a man could go daft in a cabin he couldn’t sneeze in without bumping into the wall or hiccup without hitting his head on the roof. At night, when the fire burned down low, he recited Bible verses from memory to push back the bad memories of childhood. Even now, years later, he loathed dark, small places. When they were cold, that made them even worse. If he didn’t want to make a fool of himself by crawling to the Larkins’ by midwinter and begging to live in their big house, he’d best do something quick about the situation before bad weather made it impossible to build.
Word was the Thomasohn brothers were hard workers. Ty sought out Zack and asked him for a bit of help felling trees for logs. The next day, six work-hardened men showed up. By that evening, they had it all chopped and ready for a cabin raising. Their neighborliness pleased Ty.
Ty originally planned to simply add on to his existing cabin. To his surprise, Samantha Thomasohn grabbed him by the arm, yanked her biggest brother to the side, and gave them her opinion. She emphatically insisted on leaving the cabin ten feet away. “You can use it to house an apprentice, or your wife can use it as a summer cookhouse. You have plenty of logs. Fix it up right … like the Larkins’ or the Schmidts’ place.”
Though he’d love to have a plank floor, Ty knew he didn’t have time to make one. A space not far from the cabin was already fairly even and free of stumps—he presumed it had once been a vegetable patch. He chained a log behind his horses, stood on it, and had them drag back and forth over it to compact and level the ground. As foundations went, it was rugged, but recent rains actually made the ground soft enough to shape but had compacted the earth enough to let him know he’d not have any nasty dips or sinking spots later. He hoped to buy planks and add in a floor come spring.
The next sunrise, even more men appeared and set to work. Soon, women brought baskets of food. It humbled Ty, knowing his neighbors had ceased their own labors without any advance planning and done this to welcome him. The whole church family set to work, and by the day’s end, Pastor Tidewell dedicated Ty’s home to the Lord’s service.
Samantha Thomasohn was among the last to leave. Ty felt a bit awkward. Though a nice gal, she simply didn’t strike a spark in him like Betsy did. Nope—he’d already set his heart on the pretty little farm gal across from his smithy. He watched Samantha put a crock of colorful autumn leaves on the table. As she walked past him, she said quietly, “Those were Betsy’s idea. She’s not just my cousin, Mr. Walker. I count her as my dearest friend, and I do hope you keep in mind a heart as big as hers can be shattered easily.”
He smiled. “Miss Thomasohn, Miss Betsy’s a woman worthy of a man’s highest regard. Her tender heart and her love for the Lord are wondrous qualities. I can promise you, I’ll do my utmost to be considerate and mindful of her.”
Samantha nodded, drew an inky shawl about her shoulders, and slipped out the door. Ty grabbed a lantern and stretched his legs to fall into pace alongside her. “It wouldn’t do for you to find your way home alone after sunset.”
“Do you need any sugar?” Uncle Silas asked Betsy the next afternoon as she dropped off her eggs at the store. “I’m not sure I’ll get more in before Christmas.”
Betsy thought for a moment and tried to project how much sugar she needed. Most of the time, she used sorghum molasses, honey, or maple syrup for sweetening. The money in her egg account would cover a little real sugar, though. She chewed her lip and thought of how much Ty ate and how partial he was to sweets. “Yes, I’d better get two pounds.”
“Fine.” As he turned to fetch the sugar, he said over his shoulder, “That new blacksmith seems to be a fine man.”
“Handsome as sin, too,” Olivia Crabtree interjected. She looked down her nose and waggled her finger at Samantha’s father. Her widow’s weeds rustled about her thin frame as she stepped closer. “You’d better be sure of him, Silas Thomasohn. He’s working fast—mighty fast, if you ask me. I saw him with your daughter last night, strolling down the street, close to her side.”
Betsy felt her heart drop into her boots. Her ugly, too-big boots. Her suspicions were true. Ty and Samantha were fond of each other, and they were starting to court.
“You’re making a barn out of a berry box, Olivia.” Samantha’s father shook his head, “I will say, he’s a hardworking man. What do you think, Betsy?”
Betsy forced herself to agree, “Hickory Corners is fortunate. We’ve needed a blacksmith for a long while now.” She barely managed to keep a smile on her face until the storekeeper gave her the sugar. She carried it out the door and down the street. The whole time, she wanted to cry. It was silly. She ought to be happy her dearest cousin and a godly man were interested in one another. It wasn’t as if she had anything to offer him.
No, she truly was no bargain. She wrapped her braids up in a simple style instead of taking time to curl her hair. Her drab brown homespun gown looked dull as could be, and she never managed to save up quite enough for all of them to have new shoes. What with her youngers growing so fast, she couldn’t very well fritter away good coins on a cobbler’s services for herself when Karl and Marie could both get good wear out of shoes and still pass them down to Will and Greta. It never bothered her before, but now, she was acutely aware of the fact that she clomped around in ill-fitting boots a hired hand left behind two years ago.
As if her appearance weren’t enough to put a man off, Pa’s sour attitude and her four rambunctious siblings would make any sane man look for a wife elsewhere. She loved them all—but she knew she couldn’t expect a man to share her with her family. No bride saddled her groom with such a heavy burden. She didn’t think of them that way, but the men who had come around made no bones about their opinions once they learned she’d never walk off and leave Pa alone with the kids. The apostle Paul talked about how being unmarried allowed him to be a servant of the Lord. He’d been content; she’d have to learn to be content being an old maid.
But deep in her heart, Betsy wept. She wanted to serve God, and she loved her family. Still, seeing how happy Elsa and Shane Gerhard were left her aching with a loneliness she couldn’t put into words. Betsy knew in her head Ty Walker would never be hers, but somehow, somewhere, she’d forgotten to keep that fact straight in her heart. He was a wonderful man, and he’d make some woman—probably her very own cousin—a happy bride. Some things in life just happened. This was one of them, and it hurt something fierce. For the first time, Betsy caught a glimpse of the anguish Pa felt in being widowed.