What about you? I've always wanted children. Amelia admitted. Teaching was fulfilling, but I hoped for my own family, too. Carrick crossed to her, taking her hands in his.
Then we'll have them, God willing. Not just to inherit the ranch, but to raise with love. The Christmas service in Willow Creek's church was a joyous affair. The building overflowed with families from miles around. the children's pageant drawing proud smiles from parents and grandparents alike. Afterward, the community gathered for a feast in the newly constructed town hall.
Carrick and Amelia returned home late, pleasantly exhausted from the celebrations. In their bedroom, Carrick presented Amelia with a small package wrapped in brown paper. "Merry Christmas," he said somewhat shily. Inside was a beautiful leatherbound journal, its pages blank and waiting. For your thoughts, Carrick explained, "You mentioned once that you used to keep a journal in Boston."
Touched by his thoughtfulness, Amelia retrieved her gift to him from its hiding place, a hand knitted scarf in deep blue wool, a project she'd worked on in secret during the long evenings. It's perfect, he declared, immediately wrapping it around his neck despite the warmth of the room. Later, as they lay together in the darkness, Amelia whispered, "This has been the happiest Christmas of my life." Carrick's arms tightened around her. "Mine, too," he murmured.
"And it's just the first of many." In January, Willow Creek School officially opened in a converted storefront while the proper schoolhouse was being built. Amelia taught 15 students ranging in age from 6 to 16, 3 days each week. The work was challenging but deeply satisfying, and she returned to the ranch each evening with stories of her pupils progress and amusing anecdotes about their questions. Carrick listened attentively, proud of his wife's accomplishments.
On days when the weather was particularly harsh, he would ride into town to escort her home, unwilling to let her make the journey alone through snow or sleet. "You're too protective," she chided one blustery afternoon as they rode side by side. "Just cautious," he corrected. "Wy winters don't forgive carelessness. February brought a severe blizzard that isolated the ranch for nearly a week.
They stayed close to the house, venturing out only to tend to essential chores with ropes tied between buildings to prevent getting lost in the white out conditions. During those snowbound days, they grew even closer, sharing stories they hadn't yet told each other. Carrick's experiences during the war that had changed him so profoundly. Amelia's complicated relationship with her status conscious parents. You miss Boston at all?
Carrick asked one night as they lay before the fire, the wind howling outside. Amelia considered the question honestly. I miss certain things, the libraries, the concerts, some of my former students, but not the life itself. She traced patterns on his chest with her fingertip. This feels more real. somehow more meaningful.
"Even when you're snowed in with only me for company," he teased. "Especially then," she replied, pressing a kiss to his lips. As winter gave way to spring, the ranch burst into new activity. Cving season meant long days and sometimes nights for both of them, with Amelia quickly learning to assist with difficult births. Her calm competence impressed even the most experienced ranch hands who returned for the season.
"Mrs. Montgomery's got a real knack," Hank, the eldest hand, told Carrick admiringly. "Save that breach calf that would have been lost for sure." Carrick's chest swelled with pride. "She's remarkable," he agreed, watching as Amelia expertly bottlefed an orphaned calf. In April, just as the last patches of snow were melting from the north-facing slopes, Amelia confirmed what she'd suspected for several weeks.