“Maybe you brought her here to know peace,” he said. “No landlords knocking. No debts. Just open sky.”
Without thinking, she leaned her head against his shoulder.
Autumn deepened. The few cottonwood trees along the creek turned gold. Martha had good days and bad ones. On a good day, she reached for Harrison’s hand.
“Take care of my girl,” she told him gently. “She doesn’t need riches. She needs kindness.”
“She’ll have it,” he promised.
They were married in a simple ceremony before the fireplace, with the town reverend and two neighbors as witnesses. Martha watched from a chair wrapped in blankets, smiling faintly.
It was the last week she could stand.
One quiet morning, with sunrise filtering through the window, Martha passed peacefully while Rebecca held her hand.
The grief was deep—but not hopeless.
They buried her beside the creek, beneath the cottonwoods she loved.
