Page 107 of Homestead

“You ready?” Jimmy asks as he comes behind me and wraps his arms around me, rubbing my belly in the same way I was before.

“Yeah. I’m ready. It will be nice in here once we get everything, won’t it?”

“Yep. It’ll be real nice and pretty. Gonna eventually have to think about what to do about space though.”

I frown and look back at him over my shoulder.

He kisses me. “When we have more than one baby.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I turn around and wrap my arms around his neck. He smells like Jimmy and he looks like Jimmy. My big, gruff, protective, warmhearted bear of a man. “We’ll start with one and see how it goes.”

“Yeah. That sounds good.” He leans down to kiss me. “But I gotta say it’s gonna be hard to go back to pulling out every time when we have sex. Gettin’ pretty spoiled lately.”

I giggle at that and bury my face in his flannel shirt. “You can do it. I have faith in you.”

He tightens his arms around me into a hard hug and murmurs, “Good. ’Cause I’m never gonna let you down.”

EPILOGUE

Today is bakingday so the whole cabin is filled with the warm scent of fresh bread. It hits me strongly as I come in from using the outhouse, and the familiar smell makes me happy.

Feels like home.

The newly baked loaves are cooling on the counter, and the kitchen is neat and clean. The windows are open to let in a breeze because it’s always stuffy in the house in July when I use the stove. I’m about to collapse on the couch with a book for a little while when I hear soft fussing from the nursery.

Sammy must have woken up from his nap.

It’s only been an hour, and he usually sleeps for at least two in the afternoon. I was hoping for another hour of rest. I wait for a minute to see if he settles himself back down to sleep, but when his fussing turns into crying, I walk into his small room and pick him up.

He takes after his father. He’s a big chunk of a fella with chubby cheeks and sober eyes that were gray at first but, at five months, are starting to shift to brown.

He babbles cheerfully when I carry him to the couch. Also like his dad, he’s always hungry and easy to make happy.

I’m wearing one of Jimmy’s cotton button-up shirts because it’s easy to open for breastfeeding. When I free my right breast and arrange Sammy in my lap, he latches on and begins sucking with more enthusiasm than grace.

I was terrified after I gave birth that I’d have trouble with nursing. It’s not like formula is readily available in this world, so if I couldn’t produce enough milk, then I couldn’t feed my own baby. One of the deepest reliefs of my life has been having a plentiful supply for Sammy and very little discomfort and frustration with the process.

Once the initial stress passed, I’ve actually enjoyed feeding him. The closeness. Being able to provide what my child needs in such an intimate way.

I’ve felt weak and needy for so much of my life that it’s genuinely satisfying. Sammy relies entirely on me, and I’m capable of giving him what he needs.

I’m wiping dribble off his chin when a noise from the back door makes me glance over. Jimmy has come in from outside smelling like summer air—a mingling of dirt and herbs and pine trees.

I smile as he washes his hands and face in the kitchen and then wanders over to slouch down on the other side of the couch.

He grins at us endearingly. “Kind of early for snack time, isn’t it?” We’ve worked hard to get Sammy on as regular a schedule as possible, and Jimmy knows it as well as I do.

“He woke up. Sometimes food is more important than sleep.”

“I can sympathize.”

“I know you can. Pretty soon he’s going to be competing with you in emptying his plate. He’s already acting interested in our food.”

“So when should we start him on regular food?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure. You’re mom suggested around six months, so he might still have another month. But she said that when he’s trying to reach for our food, then it’s reasonable to get started.”

“Well, he was sure grabbing for my eggs this morning.”

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