It wasn’t until he’d passed Holly on the stairs that she realized he’d said our daughter, not your daughter. Somehow, it sounded kind of nice.

Holly brought her notebooks and spread them out on the bed like she always did, and then looked up at her mother. Lily sat down and opened the journal.

“Look, Mama, the new page isn’t as yellow as the ones Ophelia wrote on,” Holly noticed.

“Darlin’ girl, more than half a century has passed since we first started reading,” Lily told her.

Just like that, she thought, in a twinkling of an eye, or rather in the time in Comfort, history had been changed. Lily’s breath caught in her chest when she saw that a new person had started writing.

“Rachel O’Riley Callahan, August 1920,” Lily said.

“But I wanted to hear more about Jenny,” Holly moaned.

“Evidently, it’s been passed down,” Lily said, and then went on:

Mama gave me this journal last week. I’ve chosen to begin writing in it today since women are now allowed to vote in all the states. In Oklahoma we have had that right for almost two years. I was the first one in line to vote when the law was passed here in our state. I’m glad that I helped fight for the right. Hopefully, it will teach my daughter to stand up for herself and be independent. I’m thirty-three years old and have a wonderful, understanding husband, who has never held me back. We’ve been married thirteen years, and my daughter went with me on the first day I could vote. I hope she remembers that day forever. Mama still lives on the original homestead, two miles down the road from me, and loves her grandchildren. She misses Granny Matilda, but then we all do. We buried her here in Dodsworth, and we visit her grave often. Mama says it makes her feel closer to Granny Matilda. I hate to think of the day that I lose my mother. She’s been a rock to me my whole life, and always encouraged me to take up for myself and never let anyone run over me.

Tears rolled down Holly’s cheeks. “I didn’t want Matilda to die.”

Lily wrapped her up in her arms. “Don’t think of it like that. Be grateful that you got to read a little bit about her, and maybe learn that you had a strong woman in your past.”

“But, Mama, it’s like I know these women for real, not just on the page.” Holly wiped the tears away with her sweater sleeve.

“And someday you’ll add your pages to the journal, and some young lady will get to know you the same way,” Lily assured her.

“I hope so,” Holly said. “I want to write about my first days here in Comfort, and tell about my goat and my friend Faith and all kinds of things.”