Page 2 of Poppy’s Prayers (Clover Creek Community #8)
Jacob paced the floorboards of his humble farmhouse. He paused before the mirror, scrutinizing the man who stared back at him with eyes the color of a stormy sky.
“Poppy,” he murmured to his reflection. “I have come to like you more than I ever thought possible.” He cleared his throat, trying again. “Miss Poppy, would you do me the honor—no, no.”
A former Union soldier, he was no stranger to facing fearsome battles, but the prospect of asking Poppy to marry him had him shaking. His brother’s memory haunted him, a silent reminder that life’s moments were fleeting and precious.
The ring, a simple band of gold with an engraving of two joined hands, felt heavy in his pocket, its weight a testament to the gravity of his intentions.
*****
Meanwhile, the Clover Creek schoolhouse buzzed with the laughter and chatter of children. Poppy stood amidst her pupils, her flaming red hair adding color to the simply decorated schoolroom.
“Settle down now, children,” she said, her voice a gentle lilt that immediately drew the room into attentive silence. She moved between the desks with grace, offering a smile here, a word of encouragement there.
“Remember, patience is just like planting a seed,” Poppy explained. “It needs time to grow, but with enough care and attention, it will blossom beautifully.”
Her gaze settled on a small girl struggling with her letters, and Poppy knelt beside her, guiding the child’s hand with tender patience.
Poppy rang the bell, signaling the end of the school day, and the children scurried out, leaving Poppy alone with her thoughts. Her gaze kept scanning for Jacob, who was usually there to walk her home. She tried not to be too disappointed, knowing the man had work to do.
Jacob walked toward the Clover Creek schoolhouse. In his pocket, he carried a small leather pouch, its contents more precious than anything he’d ever owned.
Poppy was tidying the day’s lessons, her fingers brushing over the worn wooden surfaces of the desks as if imprinting upon them the knowledge they had absorbed.
“Poppy,” Jacob called out softly as he stepped into the classroom.
She turned toward him, her green eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Jacob,” she greeted.
Jacob closed the distance between them thinking of the new life he was determined to build here in this untamed land. He stood before her now, a former Union soldier, his dark hair and eyes a stark contrast to the softness that seemed to envelop her.
“Poppy,” he said again, his tone more intimate this time, “I’ve come to ask you something.” His hand trembled slightly as he reached into his pocket and withdrew the leather pouch.
Her breath caught, and a delicate flush crept over her cheeks.
Jacob took a deep breath, steadying himself against the tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He opened the pouch and revealed a simple gold band.
“Out here, life’s tough and full of uncertainty,” Jacob started. “But one thing I’m certain of is how I feel about you. You’ve brought learning and light to this place, just like you’ve brought hope to my heart.”
He knelt down on one knee. The humble schoolroom became a chapel of promise in that moment.
“Poppy,” Jacob continued, “will you marry me? Will you share this hard but beautiful life with me?”
Tears glistened in Poppy’s eyes, the weight of her own grief and struggles finding solace in the bond Jacob offered. She looked upon the man who had seen the horrors of war and emerged seeking peace, who now laid bare his heart before her. And in the quiet resolve of his gaze, she saw not only the shadows of loss but also the glimmer of a shared dream.
“Yes, Jacob,” she whispered. “Yes, I will.”
He slid the simple gold band onto her finger. She gazed down at her hand, turning it this way and that to catch the light streaming through the windows of the schoolhouse.
*****
Jacob stood near the altar of the Clover Creek Church, his heart thrumming like a drumbeat against his ribs. Memories of loss and survival from his time as a Union soldier swirled in his mind. He could almost hear the rhythmic clop of hooves and the distant bugle calls that haunted his dreams.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” whispered his future sister-in-law, her hand resting briefly on his arm before she joined the other attendees.
“Very,” Jacob murmured, though his eyes never left the entrance, awaiting Poppy.
When she finally appeared at the doorway, his heart skipped a beat. Her hair was crowned with delicate white blossoms. She stepped forward, her green eyes finding his, and the world outside faded into insignificance.
Poppy’s hand found Jacob’s, and he felt the tremor of his fingers as if they belonged to another man. Pastor Scott looked between them before clearing his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”
Her hand was warm and comforting in his, an anchor amidst the churning sea of his emotions.
As the pastor told Jacob he may kiss the bride, the congregation erupted into applause.
It seemed the entire community was there for the wedding and reception. Everyone had brought a dish, and they all gathered together to eat the food.
The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread, blending with the sweet perfume of wildflowers that adorned the tables.
“May your love be as steadfast as the mountains,” Mr. Williams said.
“And as fertile as the valleys that cradle our rivers,” another added.
Though she had never enjoyed being the center of attention, Poppy was happy to be there and have her love for Jacob celebrated. Now that school was out for the summer, they would have months to get used to one another.
Poppy’s fingers traced the intricate lace of her wedding dress, the fabric whispering secrets of a new life as she sought out Margaret Prewitt in the quiet solitude of the boarding house kitchen.
“Margaret?” Poppy’s voice fluttered like the wings of a sparrow, uncertain yet yearning for guidance.
“Ah, my friend,” Margaret said, turning from where she stood by the fireplace. Her face softened at the sight of the young bride. “Come sit with me.”
“Margaret, I…” Poppy began, hesitating as she perched on a wooden stool across from the older woman. “I want to be a good wife to Jacob, to build a life as strong as the one you have carved here. But I fear I know so little about…well, about marriage.”
“Dear girl,” Margaret replied, taking Poppy’s hands in hers, warm and steady. “There is no one way to make a marriage work. It’s like tending a garden—you plant the seeds, you water them, but most importantly, you must give them time to grow.”
“Time,” Poppy echoed, her eyes reflecting the flicker of firelight.
“And patience,” Margaret continued, releasing Poppy’s hands and gesturing expressively. “You two will need to learn each other’s ways. It’s a dance, Poppy. You never know if you’ll lead or follow.”
“Communication too, I suppose?” Poppy ventured.
“Without a doubt,” Margaret affirmed, nodding. “Speak your truths, Poppy, even when it’s hard. Especially then. Don’t let silence take root between you, lest it grows thorns.”
“And compromise?”
“Ah,” Margaret laughed softly. “Compromise is the very soil of marriage. You give a little, he gives a little, and in the middle, you find happiness. It was that way with my first husband, and even more so with Jamie. He loves the girls from my first marriage, and he also loves his own children dearly. But the answer is always meeting in the middle.”
“Thank you, Margaret,” Poppy said. “I will do all I can to be an obedient wife. I’m not sure I have it in me, but I will try.”
“Remember this,” Margaret added. “Love is a choice you make every day, not just when the trail is easy and the sun is shining. It’s choosing each other, again and again, even when the storms come.”
“I will remember,” Poppy promised. She would choose Jacob, choose love, each day, no matter what life might throw their way.
*****
Jacob stood at the threshold of his small farmhouse, his dark eyes taking in the simple furnishings that he had arranged with care.
Poppy’s presence behind him, her hand light on his arm, was a warm reminder that he was here, now, on the cusp of a new beginning. Her touch seemed to steady the tremors of the past that threatened to rise within him. Turning to face her, Jacob saw the flicker of anticipation in her eyes.
“Jacob,” she whispered, a gentle entreaty laced with the strength that had first drawn him to her.
He could only nod, his voice momentarily lost as he reached out to lightly caress a stray curl that had escaped.
The cabin seemed to hold its breath as Jacob took Poppy’s hand and led her to the edge of the bed, the quilt beneath them a patchwork of community and care. They sat side by side.
“Are you nervous?” Jacob asked.
“Jacob Alexander,” Poppy said with quiet conviction, her green eyes meeting his steadily. “There is no place I would rather be than here, with you.”
He leaned forward, capturing her lips in a kiss. As they slowly laid down, hands exploring with a surprising tenderness, a sigh escaped Poppy. It was a sound that seemed to carry away the remnants of apprehension, leaving only the profound intimacy of two souls embarking on life’s journey together.
The night unfolded with a rhythm as old as time. And in the quiet after, with Poppy’s head resting against his chest, Jacob allowed himself to truly believe— perhaps for the first time since his brother had fallen in battle—he had found a place to call home.
*****
Poppy stood in the heart of their farmhouse kitchen, her red hair pinned back neatly as she stirred a pot of stew. The aroma of herbs and tender meat filled the air, a scent that promised warmth and comfort. She had embraced her new role with enthusiasm. Every corner of the home bloomed with her touch, from the freshly laundered curtains to the wildflowers gracing the table.
“Jacob will love this,” she murmured to herself. She glanced out the window. Any moment now, he would return from the fields, and they would sit together, enjoying one another’s company.
But Jacob did not come. Poppy served herself a bowl of stew, eating alone at the wooden table set for two. The chair across from her remained empty.
Later, Jacob finally appeared. He moved with a weariness that seemed to weigh upon his shoulders, a silent testament to the heavy load he carried within.
“Evening, Poppy,” he said.
“Evening,” she replied, rising to greet him. “Dinner’s ready. It’s still warm.”
“Thank you,” he nodded focusing on the bowl she placed before him. He ate with an absent-mindedness that she’d never seen.
She watched him, worrying. Since their vows were exchanged beneath the small church’s wooden beams, she had witnessed the growing chasms of silence between them.
Each day, Jacob’s distance seemed to widen. His brother’s loss at war was a wound that time had yet to heal, and it kept him tethered to yesteryears, even as Poppy reached for a future together. She wished she knew the right words to say to soothe him, but she had no idea what would make him feel better.
“Are you all right?” she finally asked. She kept her voice soft, but she wanted to jump up and yell at him to talk to her.
He looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers briefly before finding refuge in the depths of his stew. “I’m fine.”
“Jacob—” she started, but he stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a scrape that echoed too loudly in the quiet room.
“Need to check on the cows one last time before bed,” he said, and without waiting for a response, he was gone.
Poppy sat there, surrounded by the life they had built, and felt an aching solitude. With a sigh, she cleared the table, her mind replaying Margaret’s advice. Communication, compromise, patience; she clung to these words like lifelines.
Yet as she washed the dishes, Poppy realized that choosing love was more than just a daily decision. It was an act of courage. Even as she wished she knew how to close the gap between them, she realized that Jacob would have to let go of his past before that could happen.
As she prepared for bed, folding the quilt back with care, Poppy allowed herself a moment to imagine a future where the walls echoed with the sounds of joy, not just the creaks of solitude. She wanted what her siblings had found.
*****
The wind howled outside the wooden confines of their farmhouse. Poppy sat by the hearth. The fire’s warmth was a stark contrast to the cold that had crept into her bones. She wished she could find a way to get Jacob to communicate with her, but with every day, she felt as if she loved him more, and it seemed he slipped further away.
In the dim light, her hands moved methodically, mending a tear in one of Jacob’s shirts. The thread looped over and under, a whisper-soft sound amidst the creaking of the homestead that surrounded them.
“Life wasn’t supposed to be this lonesome,” she murmured. Her red hair, usually so fiery and vibrant, lay limp across her shoulders, echoing her weary spirit. She said her tenth prayer of the day, begging her Heavenly Father to help Jacob confide in her.
There was no reply, no comforting embrace—just the endless wind and the memory of Jacob’s dark eyes avoiding hers. The brother he’d lost on the battlefield haunted more than just his dreams. It seemed to prevent him from being able to warm up to Poppy as his wife.
Poppy knew that whatever may come, she would stand by Jacob’s side, enduring the hardships, sharing in the triumphs, and weathering each storm together.
“Love is a journey,” she whispered into the silence. “And we’ve only just begun.”
As Poppy slipped beneath the quilt, she held tightly to that sliver of hope. In the quiet moments before sleep claimed her, she envisioned a time when laughter would replace the somber tones that now resonated through their home. A time when Jacob’s touch would convey love.