When it was over, their early embarrassment returned to them and they could only hope that, in time, it would do so less and less.

Nor was Libbie so afraid of her new husband anymore, or so fearful of the idea of babies, and in the days that followed they stayed near each other until they began to grow quite comfortable around each other’s nakedness.

The new surroundings were another matter. When Caleum left during the day to go work on the land, Libbie felt utterly deserted out there on the far side of the lake. She would busy herself with cleaning in the morning, but, the place lacking furniture, she was soon done. She would then plan the meals for midday and evening, but as there were only the two of them it was no great affair. Afternoons were spent in the chores of the farm and those did not vary, so she was soon bored by the ones in her own house as she had been in her parents’.

Her only respite from this tedium would come when she thought of some excuse to walk the half mile to the main house for a visit. Sensing how alone she felt on these occasions, Adelia would also come over and visit out there when she could. The main topic of their discussion then was how the rooms should best be finished. As the weather worsened, though, neither of them could make the trip as easily or as frequently. When winter fastened its grip, Adelia encouraged Libbie to throw herself into this work, as the only way she would ever feel at home in her new place. “You have to make it your own,” she admonished, with a mixture of sympathy and firmness. “It is your only home now.”

Libbie took this advice perhaps too much to heart that first winter. The wallpaper she decorated the living room with was an almost exact match from her mother’s house, the only difference being a graduation of color from straw yellow to gold. The furniture she ordered was the same as well, so much so that when the cabinetmaker was uncertain of something she had described he would go by the Darson house to reexamine the original. The only thing she made exception for was the fabric she used to decorate the windows, bedclothes, and cushions. “Each of these has its own character,” she claimed, examining the material.“It’s own thing it needs to be to bring the house lively.”

It was as she set about trying to create the house dressings and furniture that she began to find the character of her new rooms. A blue that was originally intended to upholster the sofa might instead become curtains for the windows. The eggshell-colored material meant to be used for the curtains then become the bed sham, and the burgundy she had intended to use as a simple design for pillows turned into a foot-stool for Caleum.

Her husband was happy she had found something to apply her attention to, and he was not in the least bothered by some of the bolder choices she had made, finding the house both more comfortable and more an expression of his wife’s personality instead of merely a miniature version of the place where she had grown up. As her work progressed the bare rooms became a welcome retreat for them when that cold winter stretched on longer than usual.

In the morning Caleum would leave before daybreak to attend to the winter work of the farm. During the morning hours, if she had no other substantial chores, Libbie would sit by the window, doing her sewing or embroidering, staring out at the white blanket of snow spread over the hill country. She was by herself all day and all those long hours, surrounded by the still whiteness of the landscape and her own work inside.

She began slowly to grow used to it and, though she had not forgotten her childhood home, was even able to imagine a future for herself there. When the holiday season arrived, though, she began to grow terribly sick after Caleum had gone. She wanted nothing more then than to return to her father’s house, where she knew she would be well cared for. Instead, she took to her bed.

When Caleum returned in late afternoon and she finally stood again, she was still light-headed as nausea gripped her entire body. Alarmed by this, Caleum did the only thing he could think of, which was to go to the main house for help.

When she heard Libbie was sick Adelia took immediate charge, telling Rebecca, her maid, to pack a basket with salts, medicinal roots, and certain herbs that she pointed out in one of the cupboards in the kitchen. When the parcel was prepared, they set out for the other house.

They found Libbie lying in bed, shaking and terrified, as she was so often that first year. Adelia began by asking her when it all started and the exact nature of her symptoms, as Caleum sat helpless and very still at her side.

As Adelia slowly began to hone in on the exact nature of her complaint, she asked Rebecca and Caleum to leave the room so she might have privacy with Libbie. The two of them then spent about twenty minutes talking alone together. Adelia, when she had finished her interview, left the bedroom and mixed a potion of ginger and wild yam root, which she said would make the nausea go away, and told Rebecca to take it to Libbie in her room. She then gave instructions for Caleum to go out and dig up a pound of choice clay.

“What is the clay for?” he asked.

“Just go, dear,” Adelia answered. “I will tell you everything when you return.”

Caleum went off, annoyed that he was being treated like a child again. Nevertheless he took a shovel from the barn and walked half a mile out to the hillside, where they always dug the best clay for firing bricks. After throwing off the snow that had accumulated on top of the ground he attacked the frozen earth with an edge of the shovel, until he had carved the outline of a square. He then stood on top of the shovel with all his weight trying to break this portion free of the ground around it.

The clay, which was beige in summer, was dark with frost and coldness, and it took him the better part of an hour to remove enough to satisfy Adelia’s demand. Once he had, he hastened back across the frozen fields to the house, so Libbie’s pain might be eased and to learn what was the matter with his wife that she needed dirt.

When he reentered the warm house, he found Libbie sitting up without discomfort for the first time that day, for which he was already thankful to his aunt. Adelia was not done with her cure, however, but took a small piece of the clay he had brought back and fed it to Libbie. “Take the same amount every morning,” Adelia instructed, after Libbie had swallowed the medicine. “You’ll see you feel better directly.”

“What is the matter with her?” Caleum asked, no longer able to remain patient and beginning to fear he had married a sickly woman.

“Why, she is pregnant,” Adelia replied.

Libbie looked at him and smiled weakly. He smiled back at her. She did not seem as afraid as she had been when he first brought her there to Stonehouses. The same, though, could not be said of Caleum himself.

“What do you suppose of that?” he asked, of no one in particular.

“I suppose it means you’re going to have a child,” Adelia answered, with a tone that struck him as slightly mocking.

“Thank you,” Caleum retorted. “Whatever would I do without such sound advice?”

Seeing that he was not happy as would be expected but nervous about Libbie’s new state, Adelia was softer with him. “You should be thankful,” she said. “It has been a long time since Stonehouses was blessed with the sound of a baby’s crying and laughter.”

“Of course, Aunt Adelia,” Caleum said, “I am very glad for it. It is just that I am anxious to do everything properly.”

“You will, husband,” Libbie said to him, knowing how important that was to him. “It isn’t, after all, like I am first ever to have a child.”

In the days that followed, though, both Caleum and Libbie were nervous about even the smallest things, so that instead of simply taking a pinch of clay with her fingers to eat each morning, Caleum and Libbie took a balance and weighed the exact amount so it should never fluctuate from what Adelia prescribed.