He's going to need a proper cradle, Yates announced one evening about a week after the birth as they sat before the fire with Samuel sleeping in Delilah's arms. Been thinking about the design. Figured I could start on it tomorrow. You don't have to do that, Delilah protested gently. The drawer works fine for now.
They had been using a padded drawer from the dresser as a makeshift crib. My son deserves a proper cradle," Yates replied with a firmness that borked no argument. "Besides, it'll be something he can pass down to his own children someday." The casual reference to a future stretching decades ahead, a future they would build together, warmed Delilah to her core. This was what she had always wanted without fully understanding it. Not just a husband or a home, but a partner in creating a legacy that would outlast them both.
Spring arrived with a gentle persistence, melting the snow and awakening the valley to new life. As the weather warmed, Delilah began taking Samuel outside for short periods, showing him the world that would be his home. The baby thrived, growing stronger each day, his dark eyes so like Yates's, taking in everything with a solemn curiosity that made both parents smile. With the changing season came new challenges and opportunities. Yates began the process of expanding their small herd, purchasing additional cattle with money saved from their careful management over the winter.
The garden needed planting. The cabin required repairs after the harsh winter, and plans for a proper barn could no longer be delayed. Yet amid the work, there were moments of pure contentment that Delila treasured. Yates teaching her to ride the gentle mare he'd acquired for her. Family meals on the cabin's small porch as the evening cooled, watching her husband rock their son to sleep while humming old trail songs.
One warm May evening, as they sat outside enjoying the lengthening twilight, Samuel sleeping peacefully in the cradle Yates had crafted with such care, Delilah voiced a thought that had been forming for some time. "I've been thinking about the future," she began, her fingers intertwined with her husbands. "About what we're building here." Yates squeezed her hand encouragingly. "What about it? My father's medical books, she said, the words coming more confidently now.
I've been studying them again along with the midwifair guide. There's no doctor closer than 20 m, and even he's getting on in years. You're thinking of practicing medicine? Yates asked, his tone curious rather than dismissive? Delilah nodded.
Not formally. I know that would be difficult for a woman, but I could help with births, treat common ailments. My father taught me more than most people realized. She glanced at him uncertainly. What do you think?