Chapter 1.
Previously…
Wilma stood by the stove, pouring steaming water into two mismatched mugs, the faint scent of chamomile mingling with the fresh-baked bread. Iris sat at the kitchen table with her chin propped in her hand.
"Here you go, dear," Wilma said, setting a mug in front of Iris. Wilma settled across from her, cradling her own mug.
Iris glanced at Wilma, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "I still can't believe Chess crashed into the shop and then set it on fire. It's like he can't help himself, always finding some way to mess things up. What did he have against that shop?"
Wilma chuckled. "Oh, Iris, I know he's been a handful, but he's young. We all make mistakes. The important part is what we do after. He's offered to fix it, so that counts for something."
Iris huffed. "Offered, sure. But will he actually follow through? That's the real question."
"You'd be surprised what people can do when given a chance to make things right. Sometimes, it's the mistakes that shape us the most."
Iris nodded slowly. "Yeah well, he'll be shaped into something special with all the mistakes he's made."
“That’s possibly true. He might surprise us all one day.”
The familiar sound of hooves on gravel drew their attention. Iris sprang to her feet and looked out the window, her earlier mood lifting slightly. "It's Ada and Adaline."
Wilma's face lit up with a broad smile. "Wonderful."
They both headed to the door to greet them. "I've got something to share with you both!" Wilma announced as soon as she opened the front door.
Ada climbed down from the buggy carefully, her movements still showing traces of her recent injury. "Oh? What's that, Wilma?"
“Come sit and I’ll tell you.”
They settled onto the porch chairs. Romeo slipped out through the door and found a sunny spot near their feet, curling up contentedly. Wilma clasped her hands together, her eyes shining with anticipation. "I've decided what to do with the old shop. I'm going with Chess's idea to turn it into a mini guest house!"
Adaline's eyebrows shot up in surprise, her mouth opening slightly before she let out a delighted laugh. "A little guest house? That's wonderful. I knew you were considering that and I think it’s a great idea.”
Before Wilma could respond, Ada's brow furrowed slightly. "You didn't think to discuss that with me before you made up your mind?”
Wilma chuckled lightly. "It just seems right. The foundation is still good, and we could use a place for visitors during harvest season and well, any other time of year.”
Ada laughed, shaking her head. "Well, sometimes the best ideas come just like that. It sounds like a wonderful plan, Wilma."
They began discussing all the possibilities, their voices weaving together with enthusiasm.
"Imagine the cozy quilts on each bed," Adaline suggested, her hands gesturing animatedly. "And fresh flowers from the garden in little vases. It'll be like a home away from home for anyone who stays."
Iris leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We could have paying guests and even bake fresh bread for them. The smell alone would make them feel welcome."
Ada remained quiet for a moment, then gave a small nod. "I suppose it could be a good way to bring in some extra income for you, Wilma. And the building will be put to good use."
“There would be a small kitchen. Nothing fancy, but enough for guests to make their own breakfast if they want,” Wilma said.
As they continued to talk, ideas flowed freely—curtains made from old linens, and a small rocking chair by the window.
"Of course," Wilma added, "None of this can start until after the harvest."
"Oh yes. That's coming up soon. I can barely wait," Adaline said.
The conversation drifted to harvest preparations, but then they heard the distant clip-clop of another buggy approaching. Iris sat on the front steps, her chin resting on her knees, her eyes distant.
The slow, steady sound of the buggy drew closer. Not one of theirs. The rhythm of the hooves was unfamiliar, sharper, more deliberate. Romeo's ears perked up, and he raised his head to watch.
"Who's that?" Ada asked, squinting against the morning sun.
Wilma stood to get a better look, her hand shading her eyes. "I'm not sure. I can't recognize the driver. I don't think he's from around these parts."
The buggy rolled to a stop in front of the house. The driver climbed down slowly, his movements precise and deliberate. He pulled off his hat, revealing short, silver-streaked hair and a face tanned and angular. His clothes were plain and well-worn.
He took one step forward and called out. "There you are."
Ada sucked in a breath, and for a moment, even the crickets went silent. Romeo stood, fur bristling slightly, and moved under one of the chairs.
Iris stared at him. There was something about him — the way he stood, like he belonged there, like he'd been there before. Like he knew exactly where he was and why.
"There you are," he said again, his gaze locked onto Wilma's. "It's been a long time."
Wilma's hand found the porch railing, her fingers gripping it tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes... her eyes were sharp as glass.
She stood and moved over to the top of the steps, drawing herself up straight. "What do you want?"
His reply came without hesitation. "Not much. Just what's owed to me."
The present…
Wilma’s fingers curled tighter around the porch’s wooden railing, but her expression didn’t change. Her voice was shaky. “I don’t know why you’re here.”
The tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward again. He still held his hat in one hand, turning it slowly between his fingers. “I’d say that’s a matter of perspective,” he replied. His tone was calm, almost amused.
Ada shot a glance at Wilma, then at Iris, who was still frozen on the steps. The moment stretched.
Wilma let out a slow breath, steadying herself. “You should have written first.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Is that so?”
“It would’ve saved you the trouble of showing up unannounced and then I’d know who you are and what this is about.”
Ada gave a nod. “Wilma’s not good with surprises.”
His gaze flickered, just briefly, toward Iris before returning to Wilma. “Some things are better handled in person.”
Adaline made a small sound in her throat. “If you’re here for trouble, we don’t want any part of it.”
The man chuckled, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t call it trouble. More like unfinished business.”
The air was thick with tension. The wind picked up slightly, rustling the trees in the yard. The horse gave a restless stamp of its hoof.
“Who are you?” Iris asked.
His eyes flicked to her, studying her for a moment. “Name’s Silas.”
Something clicked in Wilma’s mind. “Silas?” She looked at him harder, studying his face, imagining his younger self.
Silas took another step forward. “You knew my brother.”
Wilma’s voice was sharper this time. “Josiah?”
Ada gasped; then a silence settled over the porch.
“Josiah?” Adaline whispered to Iris. “Who’s that? Isn’t Josiah Cherish’s oldest son?”
“Josiah was my grandfather’s name, too,” Iris whispered back.
Wilma hesitated, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re not Silas. You’re lying.”
Silas let out a soft chuckle. “Am I?”
Ada glanced between them. “Josiah’s younger brother? He was just a boy when—”
“When Josiah married me,” Wilma finished, her voice distant, as if she was speaking to a memory. Her face changed then, her expression flickering through something softer, something disbelieving. “Is it really you?”
“I’m Silas Baker.”
“You were just a child.”
Silas spread his arms slightly, as if presenting himself. “I was. Not anymore. I was eighteen when I left.”
Wilma took a slow step forward, peering at him. For the first time, she truly saw him.
“So what is it you want?” Ada asked. “What does Wilma ‘owe’ you?”
Then, to the shock of everyone, Silas let out a deep laugh. “Oh, Wilma,” he said, shaking his head. “You should see the look on your face.”
Ada blinked. “What—”
He grinned. “You think I came here for some grand reason? I came here because it’s been too long. And honestly?” He leaned against the porch railing, still chuckling. “I just wanted to see if you’d recognize me.”
Wilma let out a soft chuckle. “Silas, you always were full of mischief. Where are you living?”
“Far away.”
Ada huffed. “You mean to tell us you came all this way just to stir up trouble?”
Silas smirked. “A little. But mostly, I figured it was about time I stopped being a stranger.”
Wilma let out a long breath, looking him over once more. “Well then, you better come inside before the night gets too cold. This is Iris, my granddaughter and you already know Ada. This is Ada’s granddaughter, Adaline.”
“I certainly know Ada. I’ve got a good memory.”
“Hello, Uncle Silas,” Iris said. “You have to be my great uncle, right?”
“I’d say so, but you can call me Silas.”
“No. I prefer Uncle Silas if that’s all right.”
“Fine by me.” As they moved toward the door, Silas winked at Iris. "Your grandmother ever tell you about the time she chased me through the orchard with a broom?"
"No," Iris grinned, "but I have a feeling we're about to hear all the stories and I can’t wait."
“I don’t remember that at all,” Wilma said with a laugh. “I probably felt like it at times.”
And just like that, the tension in the air melted away, replaced by something far more familiar—something almost like home.
Just then, the back door creaked open, and Matthew stepped inside from the orchard, wiping his hands on a cloth. He paused when he saw the unfamiliar man. Wilma turned to him and gestured toward Silas. "Matthew, this is Silas. He's Josiah's younger brother. Silas, this is Matthew, Ada's nephew. He's been staying here with me and Iris."
Both men stepped forward and shook hands. "Nice to meet you," Matthew said, studying Silas carefully.
"Likewise," Silas replied.
Adaline folded her arms. "Where are you staying, Silas?"
"With the Williamsons," he said. "I just arrived today, and I’m borrowing one of their horses and buggies."
"How long will you be staying?" Ada asked.
Silas shrugged. "No plans to leave anytime soon. I've been out of the community for a few years, but I've decided it's time to come back for good." Silas glanced between Matthew and Iris, his gaze lingering. He lifted an eyebrow. "Are you two courting?"
Wilma's eyes grew wide. "Absolutely not!" she blurted, looking horrified.
Silas chuckled as Iris’s cheeks heated. Matthew, on the other hand, said nothing, simply shaking his head slightly with an unreadable expression.
“Silas, why don't you stay for supper? No need to rush off, is there?" Wilma asked.
Silas grinned. "I'd like that."
An hour later Wilma and Iris began bringing dishes to the table – a steaming pot of beef soup thick with vegetables, a loaf of bread, and pickled beans from last summer's garden.
They all sat down at the table and bowed their heads to say their silent prayers. After a moment of quiet prayer, they began passing the dishes, the clink of spoons and soft requests for bread the only sounds.
Wilma watched as Silas took his first spoonful of soup and noticed how his eyes closed briefly in appreciation.
“Ah, Wilma, you still make the soup just like I remember. Though I'll admit, after forty years of my own cooking, just about anything would taste good."
"Did you really do your own cooking all that time?" Iris asked, reaching for the butter. "Never married, never had someone to cook for you?"
"Iris.” Ada shot Iris a frown, but Silas waved away her concern.
"It's a fair question," he said, then took another spoonful of soup before continuing. "I got pretty good at basic things. Beans, cookies, coffee strong enough to wake the dead. But there was someone, once. If you're interested to know, Sarah was her name." Something flickered across his weathered face - a shadow of old pain, quickly hidden behind a smile. "She was a fine cook. Made the best apple dumplings you ever tasted. But she took sick in '89, didn't make it to spring." He stirred his soup slowly. "After that, well... I never found anyone who measured up."
The kitchen grew quiet, even the crickets outside seeming to pause their song.
"I'm sorry," Wilma said gently. "You never wrote to tell us."
Silas shrugged, reaching for more bread. "Easier to keep moving, I suppose. But lately..." He looked around the kitchen, taking in their faces. "Lately I've been thinking about home. About all the things I left behind. Wilma, I'm sorry I didn't make it back for Josiah's funeral. And I'm sorry I haven't been around.”
“Well, now you're back, and we can all get to know you again," Wilma said firmly.
"And I've got years of memories to share. I’ve got a lot to tell about the time I worked as a guide in Yellowstone. Had this city fellow convinced he'd seen a ghost bear..."
As they ate, Silas's stories flowed as freely as the lemonade Ada kept pouring. Tales of mountains and deserts, of stranger-than-fiction characters he'd met along the way, of close calls and lucky breaks. His hands moved as he talked, painting pictures in the air between bites of bread and spoonfuls of soup.
"So there I was," he was saying, "stranded in the middle of nowhere with this circus performer and his trained bear..."
Wilma noticed how Iris hung on every word, her eyes bright with fascination. The girl had recovered from her earlier embarrassment, though her cheeks still colored slightly whenever she glanced at Matthew.
"What happened to the bear?" Iris asked eagerly.
"Well, now, that's where things get interesting. You see, this bear had a particular fondness for molasses cookies..."
The cherry pie disappeared as Silas's stories continued. Matthew ate quietly, offering occasional small smiles at the funnier parts but mostly keeping quiet.
"So this city fellow," Silas continued, accepting a second piece of pie, "spent three days convinced he'd seen a ghost bear. Turned out to be Old Joe Miller's white mule that had gotten loose." He looked at his empty bowl. "This food was too good. Almost makes my railroad camp cooking seem like a crime against my stomach."
"Your railroad camp cooking?" Ada raised an eyebrow.
"I survived. We all survived."
"Are you coming to the meeting on Sunday? The whole community will want to see you," Wilma said.
"I’ll be there. I’m looking forward to it."
"Everyone is still the same, nothing much has changed," Ada said
"Some things never change. It’s good to be sitting here with family again."
The word 'family' settled over them like a blessing. Even Ada's worried expression softened a bit as she poured the last of the lemonade into Silas's glass. "Tell us another tale,” she said, finally sitting down herself. "Tell us about those years out west."
And as Silas began another tale, Wilma saw how the tension had eased from everyone's shoulders, how even Matthew had relaxed into his chair.
"How about a game of Rook?" Silas suggested, patting his coat pocket. "I always keep a deck handy."
"I should check on the horses first," Matthew said, rising from his chair. "Make sure they're settled for the night."
"I'll go with you," Iris said quickly. "I want to make sure Lightning got enough water. He was acting strange earlier."
Ada opened her mouth as if to object, but Wilma caught her eye and gave a slight shake of her head. The night air would do the young people good.
