the saplings by hand they would dry out more quickly than the petticoat pinned on the clothesline.
As far as she could see, the sky stretched away with as pure a blue as she’d ever seen. The appearance of a big black cloud would be welcome. How many hours of work wouldn’t a good downpour save?
“Well, then.” Emma gathered up her skirt in one hand and grabbed hold of the wagon’s wooden seat with the other to pull herself up. “I suppose new Mr. Hoppety Tree is ready for a good long drink, don’t you?”
“Maybe after that he’ll grow an apple.”
“A big fat red one,” Emma pronounced cheerfully to cover the sorrow that nipped at her heart knowing that Lucy wouldn’t be here to eat that apple.
Emma clicked to the team. They turned toward the barn door, then set out at a slow pace toward the grove of tender young trees.
“Step carefully, ladies. We don’t want to overturn the water.”
“Do horsies know words?”
“Maybe one or two.”
“Fluffy and Princess know lots of words.”
“They don’t know stay outside,” Emma pointed out.
Lucy sighed and spread her palms. “They know it—they just don’t like it.”
Emma touched Lucy’s chin and lifted her face. “It’s your job to make them like it.”
“Just like you make me like to wear a bonnet?”
Hopefully, Lucy would have more luck. Emma tugged and straightened the pink bow under the child’s chin. “Yes, something like that.”
“They won’t—oh! Mama Emma, look!” Lucy bounced up and pointed her finger at a fat red cow. “A cow got inside the fence!”
Cut again! Lands, Lawrence Pendragon was a persistent man. Did he think he could wear her down with a snip of wire?
At least only one cow had gotten through and hadn’t noticed yet how sweet and green the young trees were.
“Wait here in the wagon, baby, while I shoo the pesky thing away.”
With each step she took, parched grass cracked underfoot. Far off, the baked horizon shimmered in waves of dry heat.
Luckily the bovine didn’t need more than a well-placed whack with a shovel on its rump to set it scurrying for the open range.
Emma lifted Lucy from the front of the wagon, then set her down in the back.
“Take the little bucket and fill up the big one for me,” she said. “We’d better get this finished soon so that Papa or Uncle Billy can come back and mend the fence before supper.”
“Okay, Mama.” Lucy filled her bucket three times, dumping it into the big one.
Emma lifted the large pail with both hands. The weight of it cut the iron handle into her palm. After watering only five trees, her dress had begun to stick to her sweating skin.
Red welts chafed the creases of her palms. She’d have to hide them from Matt since he’d use her aching hands as proof that she needed a husband to take care of the heavy work.
All she really needed was to remember to bring along Matt’s big leather gloves.
“Can my new dress be blue?”
“Blue with flowers, or pure blue?” she called over her shoulder, nearly breathless as she dumped the water into the dirt well ringing a sapling.
A hired man to work the place might be a good idea, although he’d probably expect to be fed on a daily basis. A husband, even a hungry one, wouldn’t require a salary.
“Blast,” she muttered under her breath. She wouldn’t come around to that way of thinking, no matter how much less it would cost. At least a hired man could be let go when she didn’t need him anymore, and he wouldn’t expect to sleep in the house.
“Blue with apples.”
It might take some time to find blue apple fabric. The thought snuck up from the back of her mind and pleased her before she had a chance to think better of it.
Precious time that she could use to adjust to Matt’s leaving. She could use it to soak up the sight of him sitting tall on Thunder’s back, the way he did early each morning, looking out over the homestead as if he was judging what kind of day it might be. Most times he turned to look at her standing on the porch with a grin shining on his face.
Matt loved this life. It showed in his smile and the flash of sudden humor that came to him all at once for no reason that she could think of. Any time of day she heard it in his song, whether he sang to the horses or the nail