Tumbling Down
by JoLyn

The noise came first.  A low moaning that came from no specific direction but rose up to her.  Long seconds ticked by as Agnes searched her experience for the cause of the sound:  rampaging herds of horses, far-off river rapids, felled tree trunks?  The noise reached up through the earth to embrace her and then the movement began.  The floorboards vibrated and the hum stretched through her heels, up her legs, racing along the nerves in her back to congregate in the base of her skull.  Still fumbling through twenty-nine years of memory, Agnes could not reconcile what was happening now with anything she had felt before.

And then the earth shifted.  A table began to dance across the floor in jerks—its irregular movements reminding her of Mr. Malley’s drunken lurching at the last barn dance before the town elders escorted him out.  The pewter dishware, normally so orderly, began to irregularly dive off the open shelves of the kitchen cupboard.  The metal pings being swallowed by the increasing groaning of the land.  The one fancy china plate was the last to jump ship, belly-flopping to the ground and exploding into sharp shards on the worn wood.

The house shifted again and Agnes, not expecting her land to do anything other than what it had always done for every day of her life, was thrown off balance, stumbling toward the stove with open palms.  Hoping to avoid the inevitable burns, Agnes swung to the side at the last moment and rammed her shins into the wood box instead.  She went sprawling over the top, ripping her every-day dress, slamming her shoulder and face into the rough-hewn wall.

The house increasingly shuddered.  Tremors released years of dirt trapped between floorboards down from the upper story.  The few window panes, unable to flex, cracked in half.  The staircase began to twist and pop with the earth’s movements.

Agnes pushed herself away from the wall and rushed through the doorway onto the porch where she stumbled into her husband Ben who had been about his chores outside.  Agnes and Ben clutched each for support both physical and emotional.   The two were bound by a desire to be anywhere but where they were when the shaking began.

“It’s an earthquake!” Ben shouted in her ear, finally yanking her by the arm into the front yard.  As they clutched each other and made their way away from the house, Agnes realized the earthquake had at last peaked.  The groaning and shaking faded away as though the earth has spent all its fury.  The low moan of the earth was now replaced by the terrified lowing of protesting animals.   How many of their livestock were injured?

Agnes wondered if Hell itself, deep underground had decided to revolt.

The couple turned in circles, Agnes trying to survey the damage and assess if she were really wide awake or had dreamt the last two minutes.  The outhouse—never a very solid structure—lay flat; the barn stood, but she couldn’t see how bad things were inside; cross pieces of the corral fence were lying feet from where they should be.  The two recently acquired colts, skittish even on a good day, were long gone.  Fortunately, Mabel and Barney, the family’s two reliable horses remained with their flanks pressed close together running up and down the length of the corral.  As Agnes watched, their frenzied movements began to calm.  Agnes hoped their demeanor meant the earthquake was gone for good.  From the safety of the front yard, Agnes finally turned back toward the house.  Even though the earthquake had stopped, the house must have kept rocking.  She watched as the top of the chimney silently teetered to the side and collapsed.  She and Ben cocked their heads and followed the bricks as they crashed through the lean-to by the kitchen door and onto the dirt. She had helped her father drive those bricks in from town.  Loaded up the baskets that the men heaved up to the roof.  Observed the painstaking efforts with mortar and trowel.  So much work.

Agnes dropped to her knees and then gingerly lay on her stomach, stretching out, palms down on the ground, wondering if it were the earth or just her body that felt like it was still slightly swaying.

Agnes inhaled and exhaled with thudding lungs.  Her heart staccatoed within her rib cage, so fast it was physically painful.  She tried to control her breathing.  She sensed Ben next to her and turned her head slightly so that he came into view.  He was calmly sitting next to her in the yard, those impossibly long legs sprawled out in front of him.  His fingers were laced together and he seemed to be contemplating.  Ben noticed her gaze on him.  He brushed the dark web of hair off her face and rested his hand on the back of her shoulder for the briefest moment.  Agnes couldn’t imagine how his hand stayed so steady when she didn’t know if she would ever return to normal.  She wasn’t accustomed to Ben touching her; everything about the day felt off-kilter.

“I reckon the first thing to do is check on the livestock in the barn and then saddle up Mabel and Barney and see after those colts.  We can look for them as we ride over to the Weatherby place.  Head over to the Rutherfords after that.  Check on how they all fared.  Those two colts might have come to their senses before they got too far.”

Ben’s matter-of-fact tone prompted Agnes to snap out of her daze.  She pushed herself to a sitting position, knees to her chest in a ball of energy and hyper-awareness.  She ran her hands down her shins and felt the twin lumps where she had collided with the wood box.  She assessed the rest of her body.  She rotated her shoulder where she had slammed into the wall.  Nothing broken or out of place, but she knew it would hurt and she’d be favoring that arm for a while.  Her face was scratched from the wall’s wooden planks.  It stung as she touched it.  She gingerly felt with her fingers from her brow line down to her jaw.  Her fingers came away speckled with blood.  She wiped them on the underside of her apron and finally looked Ben full in the face.

“Looks like you’re not too far gone,” he said quietly.  Kindly.  No, she supposed she was not too far gone.  Shaken up both body and spirit, but alive.

“And you, are you all right?  She asked Ben.  Her language sounded out of place in this land that had suddenly turned foreign to her.  Ben only smiled in response, stood up, and reached a hand to Agnes.  She appreciated the help.  She felt slightly off balance as she stood.  Her muscles were taut as though she was ready to run a race.  Her body was preparing itself for flight in case the shaking began again.

Ben headed for the house and she followed him.  Upon reaching the porch, Ben extended his arm and shook a supporting beam which held steady.  He made his way up the stairs, testing the integrity of the home.  With his solid farmer hands, he tested out the door frame and then disappeared inside.  He called for Agnes, trying to draw her inside, but Agnes, remembering the dancing staircase and demolished chimney, balked at the porch, refusing to re-enter the house.  What if the whole thing decided to just surrender to fright and collapse like she had minutes earlier?  She hollered for Ben to check to make sure the fire was completely out and to gather some food and any doctoring supplies he thought might come in handy.

Agnes realized her torn dress revealed a wide swath of petticoat.  On any ordinary day, being seen out and about in such an outfit would be unthinkable, but Agnes was beyond caring and figured everyone else would be too.   It would have to do as she wasn’t going to enter the house to change clothes.

As Ben continued preparations in the home, Agnes went to the well and dropped the bucket in.  They would want water during the search and she wanted to clean the blood from her face.  She turned the crank one last time and pulled the full bucket toward her.  She caught her wavering reflection; sections of her hair had pulled from her braid and quivered in the air.  Medusa, she thought as she went to pull a dipper of water.  She crinkled her nose.  The water was giving off an evil smell.  She couldn’t place it.  It was reminiscent of something from the blacksmith’s shop or eggs that the hens laid outside the roost and were unwittingly discovered rotten month later.   Agnes’s shoulders dropped in defeat.  If the well were gone, she didn’t want to think about what they would have to do.  

Hauling water from the creek was drudgery.  They’d done it when Agnes first arrived at the homestead as a child, before the well was dug.  They usually only stored enough for drinking and cooking because hauling the water home in the dust or mud was such dirty work.  It was hardly worth the effort to haul all the water to take a bath.  Better to keep yourself clean by cutting down on the heaving around the buckets in the first place.  The creek always felt too close to take the time to ready the wagon to go to it.  But by the time Agnes had managed to make it back home on foot with two sloshing buckets, she always regretted her decision.

Agnes hoped the foul well water was temporary and supposed they would have to stop by the creek and collect water there before searching for the two colts.  Unlike the optimistic Ben, she thought there was little chance of finding them.  She was sure they were terrified and had likely quit their home for the next county by now.

Ben had saddled up the amiable Mabel and Barney who, now that the ground had settled, were back to their normal plodding selves.

“Barn’s not too bad,” Ben reported.  “Everybody’s a little jittery, but they’ll pull through.  They sure sounded worse than they were.”  Structurally, the barn’s fine—just a mess.  It’s the corral we’ll have to fix when we get back.  House seems stable too.”  He held Mabel’s reins as Agnes hitched up her skirts and settled herself astride the mare with her petticoats exposed to the knee.  Agnes wondered what Ben thought of her appearance.  In truth, Agnes spent a lot of time wondering what Ben, this near stranger that she had married, thought about her.  

Ben didn’t bat an eye at her attire, but just turned Barney south.  Even though Ben was not miserly with words, it was always hard for Agnes to guess how he was feeling.  He talked about the farm and chores and crops, sometimes even some philosophy and religion, but never about himself.  And certainly never about her.  “Nothing to do about the windows now.  I’ll tack up oilcloth later.  Good thing it’s summer.  And the chimney—well, we’ll just have to cook outside till we get a group together to help.  No telling how long that’s going to be.  Now that outhouse . . . “

Agnes thought about their neighbors—wondered if her home had been the hardest hit or if they had gotten off easy compared to others.  She interrupted Ben’s report to give him the ugly news about the well and tell him they needed to stop by the creek first.  Ben’s expression turned grim.  Agnes noted that at last, some bit of today’s events had affected that steady calm.  In the moments since the earthquake, she had both appreciated Ben’s rock-steadiness and been slightly resentful that he was all about planning and action, when she just wanted to curl up like a baby and process what had happened.

In short order, they rounded the last corner to the creek.  Nothing but large, still puddles remained.  Agnes slid off her horse in disbelief.  She blinked her eyes.  The creek looked like it did in late summer, when it was drying up.  At this time of year, the creek was always running—running heavy enough to warn kids about playing in it—to have a realistic chance of a little fishing.  Ben headed down the bank and immediately sank up to his knees in mud.  He flopped backward to the dry bank and somehow managed to extricate both legs with boots still attached.  He looked up to Agnes who stood on the bank intermittently rubbing her eyes in perplexity.  Where had the water gone?  A whole creek suddenly disappeared.  Of course, that much water couldn’t actually disappear; it couldn’t evaporate into thin air that quickly.  It had to have flown somewhere.  How could an entire creek disappear into a long series of puddles, mud bogs, and maybe even quicksand?  Perhaps the shaking had been much worse wherever the creek flowed from.

Maybe the creek had changed its course.  If its new route didn’t skirt the homestead like this one had, then Ben and Agnes knew they were in for a sorry time of it.  Ben trudged up the small ravine toward Agnes and dropped to the ground.  He pulled off his boots and let the mud slurp its way out.  His whole body slumped.  It was disconcerting to see Ben defeated.  Agnes awkwardly reached down to touch his shoulder, her turn to comfort him.

“We’ll find a way,” she reassured him.  But she wondered how.

Ben shoved his feet back into his boots with sudden determination and the couple climbed back on the horses.  Ben led the way up hill and they soon emerged from their property onto the main route that ran past their neighbors’ homes all the way into town.  Years of being harnessed  together meant that Barney and Mabel soon settled into a comfortable side by side rhythm.  

Agnes reflected that if there current situation weren’t so terrible, riding together would actually be nice.  Agnes liked that they had a shared purpose: looking for the horses, checking on the neighbors, speeding ahead in companionable silence.  So much of their time was spent apart.  In the long summer hours since they had been married, Ben was either in the fields or the barn.  Agnes busy in the house.  It almost felt like they were on an adventure.  Agnes found that just being in Ben’s company was calming.  She wondered how it would have been if she had still been living alone when the earthquake struck.

The two topped a small ridge and peered down on the Weatherby homestead situated halfway down a small rise and surrounded by cottonwoods.  Everything seemed to be in one piece.   Smoke even puffed lazily from the chimney.  Ben spurred his horse on and Agnes matched his pace.  Hans Weatherby saw them coming and waved as they cantered into the yard.

“I bet you’re looking for those two colts of yours.  Practically broke their way into the corral trying to herd up with our horses.  I thought they were going to do worse damage than the quake itself.”

Ben quickly dismounted and Hans slapped him on the shoulder like they had known each other all their lives.  Ben came to assist Agnes off her horse and Hans gave her a polite nod.  It struck Agnes as funny that it was she and Hans who had known each other all their lives and yet he always treated her so formally.  A lot of people did.  She hadn’t noticed it so much when her parents were alive--maybe because everyone treated them that way too.  But since she had started spending time in Ben’s company whenever there was a social event, it stood out how she didn’t quite fit in.  She wondered what it was about Ben that put people at ease right away.  And what it was about her that made her so standoffish.

“Ernestine is in the house,” Hans directed her as he motioned for Ben to follow him.  Agnes watched the men retreat, deep in conversation, and then made her way toward the clapboard home.  From the porch, Ernestine saw her coming.

“We were hoping you would be along soon.”  Ernestine looked harried.  She tried to descend the stairs toward Agnes, but two small children had attached themselves to her legs like lichen on a log.  The two and four year olds cried inconsolably.  And in Ernestine’s arms was her youngest son, born just a few weeks before.  

In contrast, the Weatherby family’s two oldest children were practically giddy with excitement and ran toward Agnes, nearly knocking her over.  “Did you get to go rocking at your place too, Miss Agnes?” Dean the eight year old asked with a gleeful grin.  The two boys grabbed Agnes’s hands and escorted her up the porch steps.  In spite of herself, Agnes found herself responding to Dean’s enthusiasm.  Perhaps the earthquake wasn’t as bad as she remembered.  For a moment she shut her eyes and relived the terror of trying to leave the bucking house and sobered up.  No, it really had been awful.

Ernestine threw her hands up in exasperation and turned on Dean.  “I wish you would take this more seriously.  And, you know you should call her Mrs. Spencer now.”  Ernestine reached out with her free hand to pinch Dean’s ear, but her range was hampered by the children clutching  her skirts.  Agnes was happy to see Dean was able to dance out of range of his mother’s fingers.  Normally Ernestine’s discipline was a lot of bluster, but Agnes could tell that she was on her last nerve.  

Agnes advised Dean and his excited brother to see if they could help their father.  Simultaneously, she reached down and picked up one of the bawling youngsters.  Little Sally buried her face in Agnes’s shoulder leaving a wide swath of mucus over Agnes’s bodice.  Agnes wasn’t all that  used to small children and tried her best to ignore the smear across her chest.  With the large tear across her knees, the dress was done for anyway.  She felt relieved and a bit proud of herself when Sally’s choking sobs began to subside.  Ernestine picked up the other leg-hugger and sank into a wicker chair on the porch, her lap full to capacity with both the infant and her toddler.  She motioned for Agnes to take a seat.  Agnes was grateful; she still felt a bit unsteady after the quake and didn’t want to drop Sally.  

Agnes had always liked Ernestine and counted her as a friend.  Probably her best friend if truth be told.  She wasn’t sure Ernestine would say the same about her.  Ernestine was only slightly older than Agnes, but couldn’t help being a bit matronly toward her.  Ernestine had just had her fifth child.  In some ways, Agnes felt like she didn’t know anything compared to her.  

Steadily rocking back and forth in their chairs, the two exchanged their tremor stories and comforted the children.   

Ben startled Agnes when he started talking.  She whirled to face him and caught a smile on his face.  Was it the sight of her comforting the little girl?  But Ben’s face quickly became somber again.  He rested his arms on the porch railing.  “Hans said their well smells fine.  We’re going to go check on the Rutherfords and swing by the creek on the way.  Hopefully it’s running here.”

Hans joined the three.  “Don’t give up hope yet.  It could be the creek got dammed up and just needs to build enough force to break free.  Comes off the river near Allentown.  Could be they got hit harder than we did.”

It was hard not knowing what was going on--to not know how others were faring.  It was hard not knowing if that earthquake was only the herald of worse to come.  Agnes didn’t know how she would survive another one.  How would she ever sleep worrying that another could strike at any time?  Internally, Agnes still felt like her world was shaking.  Even Ben’s calm demeanor might not be enough to make her trembling subside.

Ben looked quizzically at Agnes as Hans spoke.  He murmured low so that only Agnes could hear.  “Will you be all right if I leave you here?”  Agnes was touched by the concern in his eyes.  His tone and words felt intimate.  She thought of their wild tandem run from the porch, the way Ben brushed the hair from her face directly after the earthquake.  Maybe there was something growing there between the two of them.  When they decided to marry, Agnes felt it safer to make her heart like the stony ground in the parable of the sower.  She didn’t want to expose her heart and yet perhaps in these months together, Ben, ever the farmer, had discovered some fertile soil with which to plant himself in her soul.

Agnes nodded her assent.  She would be fine.  From the safety of the front porch, she would help Ernestine comfort the youngest and keep an eye on the oldest and listen to her work out her anxieties and fears about that day’s tremor.  With quick waves, Hans and Ben mounted their horses and headed for the Rutherfords’ place.  As Agnes watched the two men ride off, she was reminded of other men, years before, leaving too.  Agnes nestled the sniffling Sally closer on her lap and remembered.

The town had been surprised when all their boys signed up and left for the glory of war.  Agnes’s father had forbidden 19 year old Peter and 17 year old Josiah to volunteer and yet when the town threw together a hasty farewell parade for the newly declared soldiers as they marched out of town, there were Peter and Josiah with their friends.  Most of the personal belongings they had smuggled out of the house were secreted away in army issue rucksacks.  Their regiment was garbed with a mix of ill-fitting uniforms, homespun cottons, and cocky, youthful smiles.

Agnes had been allowed to go to the parade, but her parents had declared it a foolish waste of time and stayed home.  They were not keen on war, especially when it was so far away and they had no dog in the fight.  Her parents had come to Kansas to be away from people and government oversights and political and philosophical arguments.  Her father’s refusal to engage in the war and support their hometown regiment is why there was no confrontation between father and sons in the town streets.  By the time Agnes was able to rush home to report to her father that their boys had signed up, they were long gone.  And her father too betrayed to go after them.

After the war shuddered to a close, they thought some local boy would find his way home.  Maybe the letters informing them of deaths or prisoners of war or missing in actions were wrong.  Maybe a miracle would show up one day in the form of a boy turned man with a peg leg and shell-shock, carrying his belonging and memories of their town with him.  

But, not one came home.  

They found out after the war that Kansas had lost more men per capita than any other state fighting for the union.  Agnes could never quite figure out why their boys had gone.  She supposed the romance of war had seduced them.  To her, the union felt years and millions of miles away from their edge of the wilderness.   

Peter and Josiah had always been the gregarious ones in the family, getting together with friends and bursting with energy in the social situations that made Agnes cringe.  With time, Agnes was able to overcome some of the shyness that had plagued her as a child, but small talk was always painful and if Agnes could avoid it, she would.  Folks were friendly enough; she was frequently invited to quilting bees and the like, but often she would decline.  On the occasions she forced herself to accept, she had to give herself a pep talk to go and after coming home, she felt strung so tight that she would need time to unwind.  In this regard, Agnes took after her parents.  They were not so sociable either.  While the boys were away, the family drifted toward becoming more isolated.

And so eventually, after the brothers disappeared in the fighting, her mother withered away with cancer and her father abruptly died of a stroke, Agnes was left alone.  The farm was hers, and as smart as Agnes was, she couldn’t run it on her own.  Even after her brothers had gone to war, her father had consented for help with the animals in the barn, but he resolutely refused her help in the fields.  A farmer’s daughter, Agnes did not know how to farm.  It was good land, but the war had decimated the economy.  Agnes had no way to pay hired hands.  Sleepless nights of going round and round in her head for a solution to keep the farm led Agnes to consider that a husband might fix the problem.  If she could convince someone to marry her, he would also own the farm and have a vested interest in its survival.  How to find someone able-bodied and honest, though?

Agnes’s plight was brought up in church council.  People felt for the girl whose family had all suffered a demise in the preceding few years.  23 years old when her brothers left to fight, Agnes was now pushing 30 and there was a dearth of eligible men in town.  A whole generation of young men Agnes’s age were wiped out.  The remaining single boys were just coming of age and here was Agnes feeling old enough to be their mother.  There was currently no old-timer widow available to consider as a husband--a fact which made Agnes undeniably happy.

Mrs. Larson, the only one who could coax a tune out of the church organ, volunteered that her cousin’s son might be willing.  She didn’t know if there was a young lady in his life, but she had recently heard through the family grapevine that he had survived the war and was eager to move west.  He was about the right age, hopefully unattached, and knew farming.  Agnes swallowed her pride, threw all her eggs in one basket, and asked Mrs. Larson to send an inquiry to him.

Benjamin was a farmer by birth and choice, but he had been pressed into service as a medic during the war, ushering patients and often bodies on stretchers to temporary havens.  Orphaned just as he became an adult and having few family ties, he yearned to leave his battle memories as much as he could and start fresh somewhere.  He had been delighted when Mrs. Larson’s letter appeared.  Ben had never met her, but he knew that she and his mother were quite close while they were growing up as cousins in Pennsylvania.  She was thrilled to hear he survived the war and had a proposal for him to consider.  A young, or rather youngish, woman was in need of a husband to make a go of it on her farm.  Would he be interested in initiating a correspondence?  

Yes, he would.

The intent of their acquaintance and courtship was clear from the get-go. Agnes and Ben exchanged letters over the course of a few months while Agnes’s fields lay neglected and her anxiety grew.  Agnes was not asking for love, she was asking for a man to help save her farm.  She hoped to find someone honest and passably kind who would share the farm with her and not commandeer it.  To expect love in the bargain was more than Agnes would even consider. And so when Ben’s letters seemed to prove that Mrs. Larson was right, that he was intelligent and skilled with an acceptable amount of education to boot, Agnes decided to take a leap of faith and felt the time was right to invite him to come to Kansas.

Ben came to town on the afternoon train.  Agnes, Mrs. Larson and a gaggle of church ladies met his train.  Agnes was secretly pleased with his appearance as he descended the car’s steps.  He was certainly tall and looked strong.  His face was a bit gaunt and pale, but Agnes had heard that riding the train didn’t agree with everyone.  He was not classically handsome, his nose especially being large and sharp and his ample forehead made even larger by his receding hairline.  But that worked for Agnes; she didn’t suppose herself much of a beauty.  They would be a good match.  Agnes had heard that the handsome ones often had a wandering eye and she wouldn’t want him distracted from his work.

His manners were more than satisfactory and Agnes detected signs of intelligence and some education.  The three of them passed a polite evening by sharing supper together at Mrs. Larson’s home.  Ben spent the night in the one inn in town and that next morning they were married by the somewhat reluctant pastor even before Ben had seen the farm.  It was spring and the weather conditions had been favorable the last few weeks.  Agnes was getting anxious about not getting the crop in.  She spent her honeymoon giving Ben a tour of the farm, including the bedroom that had belonged to Peter and Josiah and would now be all his.  Ben was busy in the fields by that afternoon.  Agnes had a late supper ready for him when he came home from his new fields, stomping the soil from his land off his boots before ascending the porch.  Wash day was the next day, Wednesday.  She told him if he left his clothes in the hall, she would gather them up in the morning.  They bid each other a courteous good night and began their marriage.

It wasn’t long before Hans and Ben returned from the Rutherford place, reporting that there were no injuries and with all those sons and daughters about, there were plenty of hands to fix the damage wreaked by the earthquake.  Agnes noticed that Ben seemed agitated, but even then, it didn’t take long to round up the still skittish colts from the safety of the Weatherbys’ corral.  Ben fashioned two leads from rope in his saddlebag and spoke reassuringly to the horses as he fitted their makeshift harnesses.  Agnes was reluctant to give up the warmth and comfort of Sally who dozed loose-limbed in her lap.  Ernestine gave Agnes an uncustomary hug and told her to come back soon.  Agnes thought this an invitation she would accept; she had felt some semblance of peace rocking with Ernestine in her wicker chairs.

Agnes and Ben rode in companionable silence for a distance before Ben started in.  “The creek’s not running near Hans and Ernestine’s place either.  If we have to, Hans said we can haul water from their well for a bit, but that sure isn’t a permanent solution.  If our well really has been ruined, I’m not sure what we’ll do.”  Agnes could tell how invested Ben was in their farm.  She had to admire how he had plunged into this marriage deal with both feet.  

There was no real way around it, if the well were gone, then what choices did they have?  Agnes pondered on it as Barney and Mabel carried them back home, the two runaway horses tethered behind.  Agnes figured Ben was contemplating the water situation too, but other things were on his mind.  His voice interrupted her reverie.

“You know that couple we heard tell of a few weeks ago at church?  The ones who settled into Old Man Torgensen’s place?”  Agnes secretly smiled as she continued to ride ahead.  Torgensen had died a year before Ben even arrived in town and yet in the months he had spent here, he had picked up the local news and made it his own.  Agnes realized Ben was looking to her for a response.  She did remember that people seemed all awhirl about some couple, but she had stayed out of the gossip.  She generally tried to stay out of the gossip.  

“Only vaguely,” she answered, flicking her eyes away from the trail momentarily to answer Ben.

Ben nodded.  He didn’t seem to mind that Agnes didn’t care about the town going-ons as much as he did.  “Looks as though this new couple is a negro man and a white woman.  Folks think the wife is expecting and a lot of people are uneasy about it.”

Agnes could suddenly see why this couple’s arrival had caused a stir.  How had she missed this news?  Maybe she should suffer through some gossip to make sure she wasn’t ignorant of the world--or what constituted her world anyway.

“The Rutherfords are talking like the earthquake was a sign from God.”  He looked over to Agnes to gauge her reaction.  He continued when she nodded.  “That maybe God is showing forth his vengeance on this family and the whole town too for letting them stay here.”

The idea sounded absurd to Agnes.  She wasn’t sure exactly what caused earthquakes, but she knew it was a lot bigger than to be caused by the choices a few people made.  Agnes had religion--she always made sure to say her prayers.  But, she thought at the end of the day, maybe God just let earthquakes happen.   When the earth needed to move, that’s what it did and it paid no mind to the people who walked atop it.  Agnes considered Ben’s news.

“The Rutherfords have always been a bit fanatical.  They might be the only ones talking.”

“I don’t know, people seemed a bit unnerved to think the races are mixing and that this man and woman are probably living in sin to boot.  Nobody seems to know exactly what the marriage laws are in the different states.  When they first came to town to buy supplies, the woman referred to him as her husband.  Word is they got a cold reception at Miller’s store.  I think they’ve been holed up ever since.  They sure haven’t tried to make it to church.”

Agnes couldn’t imagine anyone getting a very warm reception from Mrs. Miller the merchant, perched behind the counter like she was on a throne.  She could only imagine what this new couple might have faced.

Agnes considered.  “Kansans have a way of talking things up, but in the end they tend to leave well enough alone.  That’s why most of us moved here.  We don’t like people meddling in our business.  No matter what we may think about what others are up to, we give them space too.”

“Maybe we should ride by and check how they’re doing, maybe let them know what kind of talk is going around.”

Agnes wondered about the corral that needed fixing, the broken windows and dishes, the collapsed chimney, the terrifying lack of water.  She was longing to get back home, assess all that was wrong and try to fix up what she could.

“Shouldn’t we wait until tomorrow?  There’s so much that needs to get done and the daylight isn’t going to last forever.”

Ben conceded, but he looked troubled about it.

Agnes’s heart started beating fast as they rode into the yard and she remembered how the earth had betrayed her earlier that day.  She forced herself to breathe and focus.  What to do first?  Ben hitched the horses and he and Agnes worked together to cobble together some repairs for the corral.

“That should hold for now.  I’ll cut down some timbers tomorrow and finish the job right,” Ben offered.  With the horses secure, they turned to the well. Ben couldn’t detect the foul odor that Agnes had smelled right after the earthquake.  Agnes couldn’t either, but she didn’t feel ready to test the water.  Ben went to the barn and caught two kittens from where they had nestled into the hay.  He deposited them into a crate along with a scrap of burlap sack and a dish of well water.  “They’ll be our canary in a coal mine,” he explained.  Agnes had a sour taste in her mouth from putting the innocent creatures at risk, but she supposed Ben’s experiment was better than one of them trying the water and being wrong.  Hopefully, the kittens would be just fine in the morning.

Ben hitched Barney and Mabel to the wagon and he and Agnes rode down to the river with their water barrels.  The river still wasn’t running right, but there was more water than when they had surveyed it earlier in the day.  They managed to put together a few full barrels to take back to the house, but they had to wrangle them through thick, squelchy mud to do it.  The two looked a fright by the time they loaded themselves back on the wagon along with their cache.  Ooze splattered them from head to toe.  At one point, Agnes had gotten mud in her eyes, but only made it worse when she tried to wipe it away with her mucky hands.  She tried to find a clean bit of apron to do the job, but finally Ben had come to her rescue with a surprisingly clean handkerchief.

The effects of the trembler would be felt for a long time.  There wasn’t much to do about the chimney and collapsed lean-to outside the kitchen for now. Upon closer inspection, Ben determined the stovepipe for the oven was fine, so they could keep cooking indoors for now.

When all was done in the yard that could be done, Agnes turned toward the house.  Her body was aching from her slight injuries in the earthquake and the physical exertion of trying to restore some semblance of normalcy to their lives.  Ben came up behind her as she faced the house with hesitation.  Was she ready to return to the scene of the crime, so to speak?  Ben quietly took her hand and led her haltingly up the steps.  Agnes felt the steady pressure of Ben’s hand in hers clearly.  It calmed her soul while at the same time quickened the beating of her heart.

The kitchen was a mess, dishes scattered everywhere, the one fancy broken china plate bearing witness that sometimes things, once broken, can’t be made whole again.  Agnes decided she wasn’t going to let the earthquake break her and set forth cleaning with a fury that surprised Ben.  She wasn’t going to let this quake win.  She was going to prove to the world that it would take a lot more to collapse her than just some shaking.  Agnes made the broom her weapon of choice and did battle with the kitchen and front room while Ben tacked up oilcloth around the windows that had broken completely.  

As night fell, the two finally flopped into chairs in the front room.  Agnes tried to concentrate as they discussed tomorrow’s projects, but her eyelids were so heavy, it felt like they were being tugged down by forces outside her control.  The next morning, Agnes couldn’t remember going to bed, but there she was, still filthy and with a quilt laid over the top of her.  Ben must have carried her up.

Agnes had never felt such a kinship with Ben as she did yesterday.  She tried to remind herself why it was she refused to consider her marriage more than a business arrangement.  That wasn’t what Ben had signed up for.  Who was to say he would even want her?  She was unwilling to risk her heart.  She knew that--just like her china plate--if it ever got broken, it could never be fixed right again.

The sound of a whacking hammer interrupted Agnes’s thoughts.  The sun was already streaming in through the cracked window.  Dust motes whirled lazily in the shaft of light.  How long had she slept? She forced her stiff body to the window and saw Ben trying to salvage the outhouse.  In the scurry to do all the repairs yesterday, Agnes had forgotten all about the outhouse.  Luckily, she had been able to use it under the cover of darkness last night.  But in the bright light of day, she was grateful that Ben was trying to cobble something together so they could have some modicum of privacy.

How much had she missed just lying in bed? Her chores!  She was sure the two milk cows would be lowing in pain by now.  She scrambled down the stairs and stopped short when she saw the buckets of milk Ben had left by the kitchen door.  Close by was a bucketful of water with a washcloth hanging on the edge.  She took a deep breath and  checked the porch to see how the kittens had fared overnight.

The kittens pounced on her hand as she reached into the crate.  In gratitude for unknowingly risking their lives, she brought them into the kitchen and set them on the floor along with a saucer of the cream Ben had milked for her this morning.  Agnes scratched behind their ears and considered releasing these two from the barn and making them a permanent addition to the household.  While the kittens enjoyed their breakfast, Agnes gratefully dipped the washcloth into the bucket and cleaned her face.

“River’s running again.”  

Agnes startled and dropped the washcloth in the bucket with a splash.  Ben had entered without her even knowing.  She composed herself and turned to face him.  She thought about how she was glad he was seeing her with a clean face and then immediately thought about how silly that was.  

“It’s not at the level it was, but at least it’s flowing.  No more mud baths.  At least not til the end of the summer anyway.”  Ben was smiling at her.  She wondered what he was thinking.  She was never good at guessing.  Maybe about how ridiculous they had looked after gathering the water yesterday.  “And the well looks to be all right too.”  He paused, still grinning at her.

I should say something, Agnes thought.  “Yes,” she said hollowly.  

Was that all she had to say?  Goodness, woman, she thought:  speak!  Ben waited for her to continue.  “Yes, that’s good news about the river.”  Another pause.  “And the well.”  She felt so chagrined she had slept the morning away.  “And thank you for the water and doing my chores.”  Agnes trailed off.  Ben really was a good man.  She reached down and picked up one of the kittens to cover her awkwardness.

Is this what love was?  This doing for others?  Letting her sleep, fixing the outhouse.

Ben picked up the other kitten and ran his fingers down its back.  “I thought I might hitch up the wagon and head over to Old Man Torgensen’s place today. That couple should know that people are talking.  And then I thought I’d head into town afterward.  I want to pick up some lumber to finish fixing that outhouse.  See how people are doing, maybe get more news about the river.”

“That sounds good.”  Agnes thought about all that she needed to do here on the farm while Ben was in town.

“Would you like to come with me?”  Ben glanced at Agnes briefly and the turned his attention to the kitten in his arms, suddenly almost self-conscious.    

They didn’t often go places together.  Church was one of the few places they accompanied each other.  It fulfilled their religious duty and let them socialize enough with the folks in town.  They each had their separate responsibilities on the farm.  But, uncharacteristically, Agnes was eager to go.  She wanted to see if the camaraderie she felt with Ben yesterday would remain.

A diminutive woman began waving from the porch as soon as they came in sight of the ramshackle Torgensen place.  When they pulled into the yard, Agnes saw through the window the silhouette of a man setting a rifle in the corner and then he too came out to greet them.  He had to duck to fit through the doorway.

Agnes had imagined delivering their news and being on their way, but the couple was treating the visit as a social call.  Agnes felt embarrassed that she was empty-handed.  Maybe she should have baked an apple pie or at least brought some preserves.

Ben jumped down from the wagon and then came around to help Agnes down.  Agnes, true to form in most social situations, was feeling awkward again and her feet balked.  Ben, possibly sensing her discomfort, lightly took her elbow and guided her forward.  “We’re the Spencers.  We came to check on how you fared during the quake.”

“I’m Solomon Williams.  This is my wife Beth.”  Beth raised her hand in friendly greeting and Solomon stepped forward and put his hand on Beth’s shoulder protectively.  Solomon was the first negro Agnes had ever seen, much less met.  She had lived in the same town her entire life and everyone she knew personally was white.  Everyone knew about the bleeding Kansas territory and the slave question during the war, but slavery was a foreign concept to Agnes.  When she was a child she sometimes saw Indians from the Pawnee and Osage tribes and knew some of the women had white husbands, but with the reservations nowadays, no Indians came passing through.  She knew the current laws permitted all men to become landowners and people had speculated in town that there would be an influx of ex-slave homesteaders, but as far as she knew, Solomon was the first non-white to lay claim.  And bringing his white wife with him.  

Fortunately, the earthquake hadn’t hit the Williams too hard.  There was plenty to do at the farm to make it both comfortable and profitable, so the tremor didn’t damage anything that wasn’t in disrepair already.  The couples exchanged pleasantries and Beth invited them in.  There was hardly anything in the way of furniture:  a squat bench, a large log turned on end to function as a table and one comfortable rocker which Beth offered to Agnes.  Beth had a way of making Agnes feel at ease--maybe it was the way Beth seemed to listen carefully and didn’t judge or her witty sense of humor.  Whatever it was, Agnes took an immediate shine to her.

As they visited, Agnes couldn’t help thinking there wasn’t much about this couple physically that matched.   The different skin colors was a bit jarring to her, but she found--surprisingly, happily--that it didn’t bother her at all.  Additionally, Mrs. Williams was very short in stature and plump with a round, cherubic face.  Solomon was taller even than Ben and was solidly built.  He was deliberate and solemn and each movement seemed pre-determined and calculated.  Beth flitted about like some small bird.  She wasn’t manic, but energy seemed to radiate from her body.  Even just sitting there, she practically hummed with vitality.  Beth figuratively embraced them with open arms while Solomon’s welcomeness was much more reserved.

No, Agnes observed, not much matched physical wise, but the looks they gave each other paralleled the exact same love and tenderness.  When Beth and Solomon gazed fondly at each other momentarily, Beth felt like an intruder on something special.  They sat close together on the small bench.  Beth’s feet barely touched the ground while Solomon’s stretched out substantially.  Agnes glanced from her chair across to where Ben sat on the upturned log.  Did he sense their passion too?

When Beth got up to offer them some refreshment, Agnes could see where her dress was beginning to strain across her abdomen.  She hadn’t mentioned it yet, but the town was right--she must be expecting.  The buttons on that dress weren’t going to be able to do their job much longer.  Beth caught Agnes looking and ran a hand over the bump self-consciously.  Agnes spoke without considering her words first.  “I know how hard it is to start up new on a homestead.  You’re about the same height as my late mother.  You’re welcome to come by our home and see if there’s anything from her wardrobe you could make over.”  

Beth’s eyes lit up.  “Thank you!  We weren’t able to bring much with us.”  Her countenance clouded over for an instant, but it passed quickly and sunny Beth was back.

“I’m glad you can use them.  They’re certainly not doing me any good.”  They all laughed at that comment.  Agnes could look most grown men straight in the eye.

Beth returned with water for everyone and a plate of humble bread.  “I’m sorry we don’t have any butter or jam.”  She looked from Agnes to Ben and said with a friendly tone, “And how did you two meet?”

Agnes started a bit.  She had never had to explain their unconventional marriage to anyone.  The whole town knew their business.  She was sure people wondered just how married they were, so to speak, but no one had the gall to ask and she wasn’t about to inform anyone.

“It’s a little unconventional,” Agnes stalled, wondering what to say next.

Ben interrupted.  “My mother’s cousin, Mrs. Larson, introduced us.  She plays the organ for the congregation.  You can meet her when you come to church.”

Agnes was grateful for Ben saving her from an awkward conversation, but was surprised he had invited them to church.  He was so casual about it, it sounded like they would be welcomed by the whole town.

Beth’s eyes twinkled.  “I hope we can meet her.  And it sounds like there may be more to your story.  But, that can wait for another time.”

Ben finally stood.  “We really need to get going to town for that lumber, but it was nice to have met you.”  He rocked back and forth and stuck his calloused hands in his pockets for a moment and then pulled them back out.  He cleared his throat.  “We also wanted to say that there’s been some talk.  Umm, we don’t know how many people.  But, some people are talking like the earthquake is related to your moving here.  That maybe it’s God’s wrath for letting you be here.”  The last sentence especially seemed to pain Ben to say it.

Quiet Solomon looked confused for an instant and then surprised them by giving a throaty, mirthful laugh.  “The Lord and I are on good speaking terms.  I doubt the earthquake is my fault, but I’ll check in with Him just to make sure.”  And then with more composure, “There’s nothing Beth and I and Maggie here,” motioning to the rifle in the corner, “can’t handle.”

The Williams saw Ben and Agnes out.  They climbed on the wagon and Ben pointed the horses toward town.  “What a remarkable couple,” Agnes said.  She hadn’t heard their whole history, but she found herself hoping that she would have another opportunity to visit and get to know them better.  She wondered how a couple could fall so deeply in love that they would defy much of society and try and build a life together.  She recalled the energy that seemed to zip between the two as they sat on the bench together.  

On their once a week forays to Sunday meeting, she and Ben routinely kept their distance on the wagon seat.  Agnes had developed a unique and guarded way to sit while traveling along the bumpy road; she braced one foot against the side of the wagon and then locked her elbows and held tight to the bench so she wouldn’t accidentally collide with Ben and embarrass them both.  It wasn’t comfortable, but it avoided the discomfort of unintended contact with Ben and it seemed the lesser of evils.  Agnes realized she was doing it now out of habit.  She forced herself to relax and adopt a posture more like Ben’s.  She released her death grip from the plank and laid her hands stiffly in her lap--still not quite right, but an improvement.  Now she and Ben swayed in tandem as they drew closer to town.  Agnes realized the rocking of the wagon was slowly moving her and Ben toward each other on the swaybacked plank.  She allowed herself to draw closer.  They hardly ever touched each other without a good reason.  Did she have a good reason now?

******************************

It was good to hear the news from other folks in town.  It was hard to know how much of the stories were fact and how much was supposition, though. Agnes found that despite her typical difficulty in reaching out to others, it brought relief to connect with people who had shared the ordeal.  It sounded like most folks in the vicinity had been shaken like Agnes and Ben, but most had weathered it fine.  A shed at the blacksmith’s had burned down when the white hot embers had scattered.  A barn that everyone knew hadn’t been constructed very well in the first place had fallen down.  Surprisingly, few injuries were reported among man and beast alike.  Rumor had it that the river had dammed up near Allentown and that is why the creeks around town had run low.  The river had sought a new course for a bit and then finally burst through the dam, creating quite a lot of damage upriver.  Time would tell how much of the gossip was true.

Ben picked up the lumber in town and made an order for bricks to replace those ones from the chimney that had broken.  He even got a few offers from men loitering in the general store to come and help build again when he was ready.  Ben and Agnes headed back home, determined to set things right on the farm and get back to a sense of normalcy.

Ben and Agnes found their usual seats toward the back of the chapel and waited for the services to begin.  They nodded their hellos, but most visiting was reserved for after the services.  This new pastor was even greener in town than Ben.  The old pastor who had married them had only recently gone back east to live with a daughter when his rheumatism made it hard to care for himself.  Pastor Templeton had just graduated from the seminary and arrived in  town shortly after being ordained.  He was eager and well-meaning and had big ideas that didn’t always sit well with the town.  But most people felt like they were going to get him trained to their suiting as time passed and that he would soon understand how the town liked its religion served up.  He liked to hear himself talk and the orations stretched on longer than could easily be endured on a hard, wooden pew without some squirming, but most people forgave him for it because of his youth, his good humor, and his genuine concern for people.  Luckily, with each passing Sunday, the sermon was a little bit shorter and more concise.

Pastor Templeton was about ten minutes into his speech when the door creaked open and Beth stuck her head in.  Agnes was one of the few who heard and turned in time to see Solomon looming behind her.  So, they really were going to give church a chance, Agnes thought.  Next to her, Ben gestured to Beth and then scooted closer to Agnes, making room for both the diminutive Beth and the mammoth Solomon on their row.  The two had cleaned up as well as they could, but their clothes were worn nearly through.  Agnes was pressed between the shellacked wall and Ben’s body.  They were pressed hot together from knee to shoulder.  She didn’t know why, but was surprised by how solid he felt next to her.  When Agnes turned to Ben, she could see fine beads of sweat springing up along his upper lip and forehead.  

The Williams had entered the chapel unobtrusively and few would have probably known they were present until the end of services if Pastor Templeton’s voice hadn’t started to run down like an old clock when he saw them take seats next to the Spencers.  After just a moment, he regained his composure and returned to his notes with authority, but by that time most people had turned to see why he had faltered in the first place.  A wave of unease washed through the congregation.  

“Go ahead and preach on there, Pastor,” Ben called out in a voice with only the barest hint of a quaver, even as Mr. Rutherford on the second row stood and glared with malice at the younger couples in the back.  There was an awful lot of shuffling and uncomfortable muttering going on in the congregation.  Mothers pulled their children closer.  Fathers tried to keep an eye on both the Pastor and Rutherford at the front of the room and the Spencers and the Williams in the back.  Beth sat ramrod straight, her natural vitality condensed to her small space on the back row.  Solomon brushed his large knuckles reassuringly against her folded hands.

Agnes overheard Solomon whispering to Ben, “I wish I’d brought Maggie in with me.”

Ben replied by tugging on the lapel of his Sunday suit, revealing a small filigreed pistol tucked close to his vest.  Agnes was shocked; that fancy pistol looked like something a gambler would sport.  She didn’t even know he owned it.  Apparently, the things she didn’t know about Ben could fill their barn.  “Sometimes God’s word need a little firepower behind it,” Ben muttered to Solomon in return.

Agnes didn’t think the Williams would actually come to church and now she was scared.  Violence was no stranger to either Ben or Solomon.  Ben was reluctant to talk about his time in the war, but the ragged edge to his voice when he talked about certain events, told Agnes more than his words ever did.  And Solomon hadn’t been exactly forthcoming with his life story either, but his initial wariness when they first pulled up to the yard for their visit made Agnes suspect it hadn’t been a bed of roses.

Mr. Rutherford had begun to shake his finger and sputter when Pastor Templeton’s voice rang assertively from the pulpit.  “I am abandoning my original text.  From Acts we read, And He hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth.”

“Preacher!” Rutherford angrily appealed.

“From first John:  If a man say I love God and hateth his brother, he is a liar:  for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?  And this commandment have we from him.  That he who loveth God love his brother also.”  Templeton thundered, striking his fist on the pulpit.

Agnes exhaled.  She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath.  She knew there were plenty of Bible verses that could be interpreted as pro-slavery and support the claim that people of different races had no business marrying one another.  She loved that Pastor Templeton had decided to take a stand.  The town thought they were molding this pastor to represent them.  But, it was he who would mold the town.  In coming years he would become a bedrock of the community.  Folks realized, even as his oration continued that day, that they would look back and see this short sermon as the moment that defined him and cemented his place in the town.  Even if people disagreed, most chose to respect him for his views and authority.

Thankfully, the pastor made the rest of his remarks short and sweet--which endeared him to most of the congregation.  When the final hymn was sung and the last communal “amen” echoed through the church, the Rutherfords and a few other families rushed out shooting daggers at the couples in the back.

“I guess we know who isn’t on the welcoming committee,” Ben said to Beth and Solomon as the exodus swept by them.

“Give them time.  There’s always next week,” Solomon remarked dryly.

Few people came to greet Beth and Solomon that day, but, thanks to Ben and Pastor Templeton, some level of tolerance permeated the town.  Agnes tried to figure out what people were thinking.  Maybe that Kansas was part of the union and that they had submitted to be ruled by Washington.  These people’s sons had not come back from a war fought in part over a man’s right to self-determination.  And as Kansans, most of them, no matter their personal feelings on the matter, liked to leave well enough alone.  Seeing as how there was no negro church in the area, was it their place to deny this man and his wife access to God?  

After church, Ben and Agnes accompanied Solomon and Beth to their home, making sure they were safe.  From the wagon behind, Agnes watched how Beth snuggled close to Solomon.  The thought crossed her mind that they truly were one flesh.  Was that something she wanted for herself?  She glanced at Ben who drove the horses stoically.  It had been a stressful day for them all.  The Williams waved as they turned off to their own place.  After seeing them enter their home, Ben slapped the reins and headed to their place with hunched shoulders.

The two drove on silently.  Agnes reflected on the events at the church.  She wondered about Ben’s courage and composure, the surprising pistol, and the gulf between what she knew and didn’t know about Ben.  She never was very good at discovering what was going on in his mind, but she figured there was no time like the present to find out.  “What are you thinking, Ben?” Agnes asked almost flippantly.

Ben’s response was immediate and vehement, so at odds with the tone she had asked her question.  “I’m wondering if you’ll ever give me a chance.  I want a love like theirs.  Am I not a good man, Agnes?  Do I not deserve to be loved?”

Agnes was astonished.  She hadn’t expected an outburst like this.

“I fell for you through your letters.  You were smart and witty and were offering me a whole new life.  It was a dream come true.  I hoped--especially after I met you that first day--that there would be more, but I couldn’t assume that you would want me.  I came and I’m trying to be a good farmer and a good husband, but sometimes I feel like an intruder in your life.  If you could, I think you would run the farm by yourself.  I feel like a necessary evil.  What right do I have to claim not only your farm but you too?”

Agnes was stunned and said the first thing that came to her mind.  “Loving isn’t the same as claiming someone.  Of course I don’t want to be claimed.  I’m not part of some land grab.”  Agnes couldn’t believe she’d brought up the word “love.”  

“I don’t understand.  What are you saying?”

“I don’t know!”  And Agnes didn’t know.  She wasn’t sure what she wanted and couldn’t remember why she had made decisions in the first place.  She thought she knew herself, but now realized she didn’t even know her own heart.

“I thought when I arrived that there might eventually be a chance for something between us.  But in those first months you put a definite stop to it.  You made it clear you never wanted me for more than a husband in name only.”

Agnes thought back to the second or third month they were together.  Ben would linger in the front room while she finished her mending.  She recollected the time he asked if she would read aloud and she had deliberately sighed, telling him she didn’t want to be disturbed even though she enjoyed spending time with him.  How he had tried to help with the dishes and Agnes had become agitated thinking he didn’t think she was up to the task of completing her own chores.  She had spent a lot of time pushing him away in those first few months.  She wanted to make it clear that there was no expectation of more than a business deal for either of them.

In those early months too, she recognized the signs of loneliness in him--the signs she knew only too well because they ate at her gut too.  The gnawing that happened when she thought of her brothers, mother and father abandoning her.  She tried to drown those feelings within herself.  Acknowledging Ben’s loneliness and trying to help him would have brought all those feelings flailing violently to the surface.  It hurt to love and lose.  And so she had done nothing to help him.  And she had done nothing to risk her heart.

She was awkward and she knew people thought she was cold.  Recently, she had found herself softening toward him.  He really was such a good man.  But what if she had offered up her heart to him and he didn’t want it?  It would be humiliating and pathetic to be yoked to a man who had rejected her.

“I’m sorry I’m so cold.  I don’t know how to do this.”

“But, you’re not cold Agnes.  Lately, you’ve chosen to be warm and kind to me.  I think it’s who you really are and I think you’ve had to work hard to freeze me out in the past.”

Ben was right.  It was hard to choose not to like him.  She had to work at it.  And over the course of these last few weeks, she found she was failing.  She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she thought she loved him.

“Would it hurt so much to try?”

Maybe.  Love was painful.  And beautiful.  Agnes had been looking off into the distance, but now through watery eyes she turned to Ben.  Yes, it would hurt so much--it was scary--this risking her heart.  But, she believed Ben was worth it.

She wasn’t sure about this tumbling down into love.  The quake had shaken their land, but she wondered if it had taken an earthquake to shake some sense into her soul too.

She made a decision.  To answer his question, she slipped her hand beneath his arm.  She nestled her head momentarily beneath his chin.  Ben tentatively kissed the top of her head.  She didn’t know how to do this, but she was willing to try.  “Let’s hurry home,” she said.

Ben wasted no time ordering the horses to giddyup.


The End