Daddy always called her his special little girl. She was, she knew it. She didn’t know how yet, but there was a seed of something buried deep in the soil of her heart, something special, that no one else had. As she looked at Harry, his hair slicked back, wearing his one and only suit, she felt the stirrings in her breast, felt the gift of her specialness sprouting and taking root within the nourishment of newness, surprise, Harry, love.

The trip took longer than she had expected. By the time they pulled into a tiny station with a tinier sign that identified it as Morgan, Illinois, she was filthy and exhausted. Dust clung to the inside of her nostrils and behind her teeth. She felt not at all ready to meet Harry’s­­­­ hometown.

Harry helped her down from the train, then handed her the heavy cloth bags she was to carry to their home. They walked down the main street, each with two suitcases, stopping frequently to shake hands somberly with old friends. Harry seemed to know everyone; he ducked in and out of shops, systematically introducing her to every person they met in the two sweltering blocks of town. People offered their condolences on the death of his parents, their greetings, their pleasure at seeing Harry come back to run the farm. He gracefully declined offers to take them out there, much to Fern’s disappointment, but Hiram McRae, who owned the general store, said he’d drop some things off for them later. Then they walked out of town and kept walking.

The bags were heavy banging against her legs, and it was hot and her clothes were stifling, but Fern would not complain. She would not start their marriage grumbling. They walked down the main street until it branched off in three directions, and Harry guided her down the rutted dirt road for another half mile, to their new home. Harry became a silent stranger as soon as they left the town of Morgan, but she respected his grief, both for his fallen dreams and for his dead parents. She could feel the memories of his childhood closing in on him with every step. She kept her mind busy dreaming of setting up housekeeping, of eating fresh fruit in the shade, of their children playing on the lawn. She tried hard not to think of her best clothes being ruined by perspiration stains, or their wedding night.

The road took a turn to the right, and there was the farm. It had been beautiful once. Fern could almost see the way it had been, when Harry was a child. The way it would be again. They would make it even better for their children.