Page 7 of Poppy’s Prayers (Clover Creek Community #8)

Poppy moved through the cabin with a quiet grace, her flaming red hair reflecting the warmth of the hearth. Jacob sat at the rough-hewn table, his dark eyes distant, as he carved away at a piece of wood.

"Would you like some coffee, Jacob?" Poppy asked, her voice gentle. She poured the rich, dark brew into a mug and set it down beside him, her fingers brushing his in a silent offering of love.

Jacob glanced up at her and managed a grateful nod. "Thank you, Poppy," he said. He wrapped his hands around the mug, feeling the heat seep into his skin, and watched as Poppy sat down across from him, socks on the table for her to darn.

"Lucas used to say..." Jacob started, "that coffee was the only reason to get up in the morning." His mouth twitched, a small smile on his face. "He always did appreciate the simple things."

Poppy leaned in, resting her elbow on the table, her face open and attentive. She knew how precious these stories were—tiny windows into the soul of the man she loved. "Tell me more about him," she encouraged, her heart aching for both the man before her and the brother lost.

Jacob's gaze drifted past her. "Lucas was fearless," he said softly. "During the war, he led charges that no one else would. But Lucas believed in our cause enough to risk everything."

Poppy listened, each word etching itself onto her heart. She reached out, her hand finding Jacob's where it rested on the table. She squeezed gently.

"Sometimes I think I can still hear his laugh over the sound of the cattle," Jacob continued. "It's a funny thing…how the mind plays tricks on you."

"Perhaps it's not a trick," Poppy said softly. "Maybe it's a comfort, a reminder that those we love are never truly gone from us."

"Thank you, Poppy," Jacob whispered, the weight of his gratitude palpable. "For listening…for being here."

"Always, Jacob," Poppy replied, her voice steady and sure. "I'm always here."

*****

Poppy eased the door shut behind her, the latch clicking with a finality that marked the boundary between Jacob's vulnerability and her solitude. She leaned back against the door for a moment, closing her eyes to gather the tendrils of memory that wove through the quiet room. The stories Jacob had shared about Lucas—a laugh like rolling thunder across the prairie, the way he could charm a smile from even the sternest of faces—flickered in her mind's eye.

She pulled out a sheet of paper and carried it to the table, the quill trembling slightly in her fingers. She knew the importance of capturing the essence of Jacob's words. Each anecdote, each heartfelt remembrance was meticulously transcribed, the ink flowing onto the page.

"Lucas would've loved this place" had been one thing he’d said, whispered as they watched the sun retreat behind the mountains. Poppy had nodded, imagining Lucasbeside them, his spirit as much a part of the land as the soil beneath their feet.

"His strength was unyielding," she wrote now.

"Mrs. Alexander?" The voice, warm and maternal came from the doorway. Mrs. Mitchell stood on the threshold.

"Come in, Mrs. Mitchell," Poppy called, setting aside her writing and rising to greet her visitor.

Mrs. Mitchell entered, her gaze flitting over Poppy's swollen belly before coming to rest on her face. "How are you faring, dear? You're nearly there, aren't you?"

"Eight and a half months," Poppy replied, smoothing her apron over her abdomen. The baby shifted within her, an affirmation of life that both thrilled and terrified her.

"Mercy, but you're as big as the barn," Mrs. Mitchell observed, her tone bordering on admiration and worry. "I hope you're not carrying too much of a burden." Her practiced hands, which had ushered countless new lives into the world, pressed gently against Poppy's middle.

The thawing snow outside had mostly disappeared. Calves stumbled alongside their mothers in the nearby pastures. Poppy felt a kinship with them, bound by the cycle of creation that spared no woman or cow.

"Dr. Bentley says all is well," Poppy assured her. In truth, the weight did seem more than she could bear at times, a heaviness that went beyond the physical.

"Take care, my girl," Mrs. Mitchell said, patting her hand. "I’d like you to go see Dr. Bentley. You’re too small to birth a baby of the size you’re carrying. We need to make sure you can deliver without his help."

Poppy nodded, feeling the echo of Jacob's fears mingling with her own anticipation. “I’ll go see him today.”

“I think that’s the smartest thing you could do.”

Poppy's heart raced with a mix of trepidation and resolve as she made her way to Dr. Bentley's modest clinic on the edge of town.

The door creaked open, and Dr. Bentley welcomed her with a nod. His office was sparse but clean, the smell of antiseptic mingling with the natural scent of pine from the walls. When he spotted her, he called for his wife Betty, who had become his nurse.

"Mrs. Mitchell thinks it might be too big for me to deliver without your assistance," Poppy said as she settled onto the examination table, its leather worn smooth by the anxieties and joys of countless patients before her.

Dr. Bentley offered a kind, if somewhat weary, smile as he retrieved his stethoscope. "Possibly, or it could be twins. Let's have a listen," he said.

Poppy lay back, her hands resting protectively over her swollen belly, her thoughts drifting to Jacob. She imagined him out in the fields and wished he could share in this moment.

The cold metal of the stethoscope pressed against her skin, and she flinched slightly, a small gasp escaping her lips. Dr. Bentley's practiced hands moved deftly, seeking the rhythmic drumming that would confirm or dispel his suspicions.

"Ah," he murmured after a moment. "Two distinct heartbeats. Strong and steady."

Her breath caught in her chest, a swell of emotions flooding her. Twins. The word echoed in her mind, a chorus of joy and fear, a double blessing that brought with it the reminder of Jacob's loss—his twin, Lucas, forever a presence in their lives.

"Thank you, Dr. Bentley," Poppy managed to say, the words thick with unshed tears. She rose from the table, steadied by a newfound sense of purpose.

"Take care now," Dr. Bentley called after her as she stepped outside.

Betty waved to her, having not said a single word during her visit, but Betty had always been more interested in books than people.

As she walked home, she thought of the work that would accompany twins, but she hoped their birth would somehow help Jacob. Her hand rested unconsciously on her belly, envisioning not one, but two new lives entrusted to her care.

Jacob was repairing a fence when she arrived, his dark hair clinging to his forehead. He straightened up as she approached, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his dark eyes finding hers.

"Jacob," she said, the excitement bubbling forth, irrepressible. "Dr. Bentley listened, and he heard two heartbeats. Twins, Jacob. We're going to have twins."

His reaction was a tapestry of emotions—astonishment, joy, and an underlying current of fear that she knew all too well.

Jacob stood motionless for a long moment, the news of twins rooting him to the spot. The fence post he had been mending seemed suddenly inconsequential. He looked out over the land that stretched before them, their own slice of promise in this rugged territory.

"Twins," he finally said. "That's…that’s remarkable, Poppy."

The smile on her face was radiant. Jacob saw himself reflected in those eyes—a man both bolstered by love and burdened by memories. He knew all too well the bond between twins.

"Are you all right with this, Jacob?" Poppy asked gently, stepping closer to him.

He nodded, the motion sending a few more droplets of sweat to the ground, merging with the soil. "I am," he affirmed, though his brow creased with the gravity of responsibility. "It's just…a lot to take in."

She reached out, her palm warm against his cheek. "We'll take it one day at a time."

That afternoon, Jacob harnessed the horse to the plow, his hooves churning up mud and melting snow. He would make sure Poppy had land ready when she wanted to plant her kitchen garden.

Jacob maneuvered the plow through the rich, dark soil. He glanced back occasionally at the neat furrows, envisioning the vegetables that would soon sprout there, nurtured by Poppy's tender care.

"Looks good, Jacob," Poppy called from where she sat on the porch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her hands were as busy as ever as she sewed a little gown for one of the babies.

"Good enough for your tomatoes and cucumbers?" he called back.

"Perfect," she replied.

Jacob finished the last row and wiped his brow. The plow rested now at the edge of the freshly turned ground. Jacob leaned against the wooden handle, allowing himself a moment of pride mingled with a prayer for the strength to meet the challenges ahead.

"Come inside," Poppy urged softly. "You've done more than enough for today."

In the quiet that followed, Jacob felt a whisper of peace settle around him. With each step, the fears that clung like burs to his heart loosened ever so slightly. He knew the journey ahead was uncertain, but Jacob also knew one thing for certain—he wouldn't have to walk it alone.

*****

Poppy knelt in the freshly plowed plot, her hands cradling the tender beginnings of what would soon be a vibrant kitchen garden. Each seed she nestled into the soil was a promise for the future. Planting was her favorite part of gardening because it was a new growth and a new beginning.

"Looks like you've got enough green beans there to feed the whole town," Sarah observed with a chuckle, joining her sister amidst the neat rows of planting mounds.

"Jacob did a fine job," Poppy said, brushing a loose strand of red hair from her face. Her fingers felt the earth, cool and yielding, a stark contrast to the swollen tightness of her belly. "He's been... different lately. It's like he's finally finding his way back to himself."

Sarah squatted beside her, her hands mirroring Poppy's motions as they worked side by side, planting seeds that held hope for the coming months. "And how are you feeling about that?"

"Hopeful," Poppy replied, her voice ripe with sincerity. "I see the change in him. It's subtle, but it's there. When he speaks of Lucas now, it's with a kind of peace. It’s as if sharing his memories is helping him."

"That's good, Poppy. Real good," Sarah said, her words trailing off as she focused on pressing a kernel of corn into the ground.

The two women continued their quiet labor throughout the day, each lost in thoughts of the past and dreams of what was yet to come.

With dusk came a weariness that settled deep in Poppy's bones. She leaned back against the porch's wooden railing, her hands resting on the swell of her belly. Jacob had come out to join her, watching the horizon swallow the sun with a reverence reserved for the end of hard-won days.

"I feel like the last two months have brought us closer," Poppy said, offering Jacob a smile that spoke of pride and love intertwined.

"Do you now?" Jacob replied, his dark eyes reflecting the twilight. "Well, I'm trying, for you and for them." His gaze dropped to her abdomen, where their future lay hidden beneath layers of fabric and flesh.

As night took hold, Jacob helped Poppy to bed. But sleep proved elusive for Poppy. A pressure building within her, rhythmic and undeniable, whispered of imminent arrival. With each passing moment, the whispers grew into declarations—she was going into labor.

"Jacob," she called. "It's time."

In an instant, the calm of the evening shattered, replaced by the sharp focus of necessity. Jacob sprang into action, his earlier fears subdued by the urgency of the moment.

Jacob's hands shook as he latched the door behind him and plunged into the darkened world beyond their modest homestead.

"Sarah!" he called out as he reached the neighboring cabin, his voice carrying an edge of desperation.

The door swung open, and Sarah stood there, her eyes widening with immediate understanding. She had raised Poppy from a girl; she knew what the late-hour visit signified.

"Poppy?" she asked.

"Going into labor," Jacob managed to say.

"Elmer!" Sarah didn't waste a moment, turning to shout over her shoulder, summoning her husband. Her older children could stay with the younger ones, but she needed to be with her sister.

Elmer King emerged, rubbing sleep from his eyes but snapping to attention at the sight of Jacob's expression.

"Go for Dr. Bentley and Mrs. Mitchell. Now, Elmer!" Sarah's directions were swift, her tone leaving no room for question.

Without a word, Elmer grabbed his coat and hat, the weariness gone from his face. He vanished into the night, the crunch of his boots fading as he set out on his errand.

"Come," Sarah said softly. "You're no use to Poppy fretting outside. Let's get you back to her."

Together, they retraced Jacob's frantic steps beneath a sky sprinkled with uncaring stars. Sarah's presence was both a comfort and a reminder of the weight of responsibility resting on Jacob's shoulders. Inside, Poppy was fighting her own battle.

As they entered the warm glow of the cabin, Jacob's gaze landed once again on his wife, her face etched with both pain and determination. He took his place beside her, his hand finding hers, their fingers intertwining.