For now, however, it was a shambling wreck. Harry had been away at school for three years, and it was clear the farm had been neglected the entire time. The house and barn needed painting, the weeds had overcome the yard and were taking over the buildings, the chicken coop had collapsed, and a rusted hulk of a car with no wheels leaned crazily on two blocks.

Fern heard Harry curse under his breath, but she wouldn’t let anything spoil this, their first real day of marriage. It was too new, too special; there would never be another first day like this, not ever again. She consciously put a lilt in her walk. This was a project they could work on together, be proud of together, a lifetime work of making the farm beautiful, a happy place to be, a healthy place.

They walked up the sagging porch steps, through the torn screen door and into the house.

It was stark. The furniture was heavy, wooden, and unadorned. The big room housed both kitchen and living area, with a wood-burning stove and scarred enamel sink. Filthy curtains that had been red-checked hung in faded tatters above the sink; the cupboards were open and the dishes filled with dirt. Dingy sheets were spread over the sofa and the overstuffed chair. The place had a look of hot summertime in the dust bowl.

They carried their bags into the bedroom, where Harry immediately changed into overalls and a white T-shirt while Fern modestly turned her back. Fern unpacked the bags, hanging their clothes next to the ones in the closet, and put on a cool housedress. Without a word to each other, they went to work, Harry outside, Fern inside.

She discovered a rather pretty, though faded, green and pink floral print on the sofa and chair. Under another filthy, dusty sheet, the bedspread was a hand-sewn quilt in a starburst pattern of gold and brown calico. She changed the linen, dusted, swept, and washed dishes. She hummed to herself as she worked. Her new husband would be pleased with their life here. She would make it so.

At sundown, neighbors came over with fried chicken, cold beer, and news of the neighborhood. Sam and Addie Smith lived on the next farm over. They’d taken all the livestock to their place when Harry’s folks took sick, and were mighty glad to see him and his pretty little bride come home.

Harry and Sam went out on the porch after dinner for a beer and a smoke, while Addie and Fern cleaned up the dishes. Fern admired Addie’s strong, plain hands, her generous size, and the way she wasted no motions in cleaning up after dinner. Fern felt young and small and inadequate next to this obviously capable woman.

When they had finished, they sat at the scrubbed wooden table with fresh coffee.

“So. Here you are. Now what?”