Your farm is on land that was taken from them. Do you plan to give it back?”
She stared at him with pursed lips.
“We all make our way in an imperfect world,” Jeremy said.
She sighed. “That’s what I always say. You can’t change the world. All you
can do is look after your little corner of it.”
“That’s a simplistic way to look at it, though not without merit. Let me go get
that coffee.”
Olivia was relieved to have the conversation over. What kind of girl wanted
to chat about Andrew Jackson and the Battle of New Orleans? One who didn’t
know how to socialize, that’s who. One who especially didn’t know how to talk
to a man.
She suddenly felt sad. She hadn’t spent a single minute being homesick for
Five Rocks, but Jeremy’s cozy little cabin had aroused a vague longing to have a
place on God’s earth that she cared about, where she wanted to spend her life. A
place that would feel like a real home, with people she loved and wanted to take
care of. Where she would belong. And Uncle Scruggs’ cabin wasn’t going to be
it.
Neither was Jeremy’s. When she’d first stepped into his cabin she couldn’t
help but picture herself nestled among the pillows in that welcoming bed,
reading Jane Austen while Jeremy sat at the table, hunched over one of his
articles. He would glance up at her with soft eyes, smile, and read out a sentence
for her approval. But this vision required them to be at ease with one another, and she found it hard to imagine feeling that way with Jeremy. He would
probably give her a reading list and quiz her on every book.
In any case, he wasn’t interested. She was in his home only because they had
met by chance. True, today he had finally been forthcoming about himself, but
he hadn’t asked a single question about her. He had ignored several opportunities
to lay a gentlemanly hand on her. There had been no lingering gazes.
And she was no longer certain she wanted him to look at her that way. Was it
supposed to be this exhausting to spend time with a man? Her girlish ideas of love had always included a lot of laughing together. There was much to admire
about Jeremy, but where was the fun?
“Cold or not, windows make such a difference,” she said, stepping outside.
“Those were a gift to myself. I join a poker game at a tavern in Northville every other Saturday night. Play so badly, I’m the most popular man at the table.
Usually allow myself to lose five dollars and quit, but one night I won a big pot.
So I bought a hand-tooled saddle for Ernest, a comforter stuffed with goose
feathers, and the glass for those windows.”
“How did you get it back here without breaking?”
“That was the hard part. Rigged a travois to Ernest and rode real slow. I didn’t
do the final cut until I got it here. Had to buy a special tool.”
“Well, it’s a lovely home. You must be proud of it.”
He poured ground coffee into the pot, filled it with water, and set it on the
