Free A Home at Trail's End by Melody A. Carlson

dress. “The same color as her eyes. And when a bride wears blue it means her love will be true.”
    Elizabeth sighed. “Oh, Ruth, my love will be true no matter—”
    â€œYou’re right,” Clara said to Ruth. “Your mother does need a pretty blue dress for her wedding day.”
    â€œBut we haven’t even set a wedding day,” Elizabeth reminded her. “For all I know it might not be until next year.”
    Clara waved her hand at Elizabeth. “Now, I’m sure you have shopping to attend to. Ruth and I will take care of this little matter ourselves.”
    Elizabeth just shook her head, and chuckling at how her mother and daughter had just joined forces against her, she went off to see what she could find on her list.
    The men, wanting to make good use of the first part of the day, arrived later in the afternoon—just in time for the potluck picnic. Asa and Matthew came in the wagon, and Elizabeth almost asked why Brady hadn’t come. But then she stopped herself. Of course, she knew. As a colored man, Brady had not been accepted into the community. And although this wasn’t surprising to Elizabeth, she still felt badly for Brady’s sake. His life, it seemed, would continue to be an isolated one. Sometimes she wondered if he missed the old days, when James had kept numerous slaves to help with the farm. But even thinking of this felt foreign to her now. And wrong.
    â€œI figured you womenfolk would need a wagon to haul all your wares back,” Asa teased as they were sitting out in the churchyard to eat.
    â€œI still want to go back for a couple of things,” Clara told him.
    â€œSo do I,” Elizabeth said. “I got to thinking they might run out of sugar before the next shipment arrives.”
    â€œMaybe we should have brought two wagons,” Asa teased.
    Clara gave him a dismissive wave as they walked away.
    â€œNext year will be different,” Elizabeth said to Clara as they returned to the mercantile. “Besides eggs and dairy products, we’ll have grown our own produce for trading.”
    â€œAnd perhaps we’ll have a couple foals by then as well.”
    â€œYou think so?” Elizabeth wasn’t so sure. Matthew’s stallion and their only hope of a sire had foundered on the rich grass shortly after they arrived. “Isn’t Storm still having trouble with his feet?”
    â€œHe’s much improved, but his back feet are still very tender,” Clara told her. “However, Asa mentioned that the Thompsons have a very nice stallion that he’s considering.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œHe’s already making arrangements with Mr. Thompson to take Penny over for a visit. I’m sure he could take Molly too.”
    â€œHas he seen their stallion yet?” Elizabeth trusted her father’s sensibility about horses, but she was surprised he’d agree to a sire he’d never seen.
    â€œNo. But Mr. Thompson claims he’s a handsome horse.”
    â€œWell, as much as I’d love a foal by next year, I’d prefer to hear Father’s assessment of the Thompsons’ stallion after he’s seen it.”
    â€œThat’s wise.” She chuckled. “Asa might very well get Penny over there and decide to bring her right back home.”
    â€œI expect that Storm should be recovered before long.”
    â€œAnd we do know his bloodlines,” Clara agreed.
    â€œIt would be so wonderful to have foals by next year.” Elizabeth was well aware of the value of a good horse in these parts. Selling a yearling could be more profitable than a bumper crop.
    They were nearly to the mercantile when Flo came over to speak to them, proudly pointing out where Bert had started to build what would one day be their home and blacksmith shop. “It don’t look like much yet, but Bert says it will have a roof by Thanksgiving. And he’ll put a tall front on it like the