Epilogue

KANSAS

1870

Gabe ducked under the black curtain and adjusted the big, brass-barreled lens once more.

“All right, I think we’re ready.” He dropped the prepared glass plate into the slot. The stoic group of Sioux Indians sitting before him didn’t move. Didn’t even appear to blink in the bright sunshine. Tall grasses swayed in the warm wind around them.

“One, two, three.”

Her husband removed the lens cover, and Cassie watched as he ticked off the seconds. They’d traveled through the breathtaking beauty of the Ozarks and were now picking their way through the prairie lands of Kansas. She’d watched and assisted him in his work in every conceivable circumstance. So much so, she could read his thoughts and calculate the plate exposure time. He was a brilliant photographer.

She moved to cover her still-flat stomach with her hand. She hadn’t yet told him about the new life growing inside. He would likely be just as overjoyed as he’d been with their first little one. Fresh love for Gabe flooded her anew, stinging her eyes with unshed tears. She’d never seen such a loving, gentle father.

Irritated with herself, she swiped the moisture away. Love had turned her into a blubbering mess. What teasing she would endure if Granny could see her now.

“Done!”

Ducking out from under the curtain, Gabe straightened and moved to talk with the interpreter, shaking hands and thanking each one of the Indians, offering them gifts for their willingness to be photographed. When he gave a small stack of beaver pelts to the man with the most elaborate headdress, his beaming smile bathed his face in incalculable wrinkles. Gabe looked back and sought her eyes. Grinning, she shook her head. No matter who he was with, her handsome husband was a charmer.

“Momma, look! I pick dese for you.”

She turned to see their son toddling toward them, his chubby legs sprinting as fast as he dared. One arm was hidden behind his back. The tall grasses and hills made an ideal playground for a curious little boy.

“And what do you have hidden behind your back, Jacob Jonah Avery?” She ruffled his brown curls as his dimpled grin widened. She tickled his tummy just before he thrust his pudgy arm forward, a wilting bouquet of dandelions held in his fist. Their downy yellow heads bobbed in the gentle breeze.

She swallowed, flooded with bittersweet memories. Gabe walked up behind their son, his lips curving gently.

“Don’t like them, Mama?”

The plaintive question caused her to swing her focus back to the green-eyed boy staring at her in worry. She grasped the flowers and tugged her son into a hug, nuzzling his neck until he burst into giggles. “I love them, darling. How did you know? Dandelions happen to be my favorite.”

He wrapped his little arms around her neck. “Why?”

Kissing his nose, she murmured, “Because anytime you see dandelions blooming in mortar, hope remains.”