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a fine team.”
    “Byce say so.” Jamie smiled up at her.
    “Ah.”
That explains it
.
    “Do t’gether,” Jamie recited carefully, “wurk dun better.”
    “Yore a big help. You do a lot for yore ma.” Daisy waited for him to look at her. “Yore a good boy and a fine worker all by yoreself. Remember that, Jamie.”
    “‘Es, Ma.” Her son nodded happily as Daisy sloshed some water onto the floor and they began to scrub.
    They giggled and made zigzags and circles as they cleaned. Jamie liked to help clean, and this was one of his favorite things about Miz Willow’s house. He could help with the floors without anybody carrying him.
    Daisy handed him a dry rag and took one herself. She dried a swath through the middle of the cabin, while Jamie scooched around to help mop up the water. After they finished, Daisy helped him get ready for bed. It’d been a long day.
    As she wove her needle through the intricate mesh of the netting she used to create fine filet lace, Daisy fumed. She’d always tried to let Jamie think he could do things as well as anybody else.
    “Wurk dun better. …”
The words echoed in her mind and rankled. Bryce had no call to tell her son the work he did alone wasn’t good enough. Come to think of it, he’d said something like that to her the other day—about asking for help. Well, she didn’t need Bryce’s help, and she didn’t want Jamie thinking he did, either. She and her son worked hard, loved each other, and made it through each day grateful for what they had. It might not be much, and they might not do things the way everybody else did, but her son was just as good as any other boy in the holler. And she wouldn’t allow Bryce to let Jamie think otherwise.
    When that Bryce Chance gets back, I’ll have a little chat with him
, Daisy decided.
We don’t need him trying to change anything
.

    “Yore fixin’ to make a powerful change with this.” The general store owner, Mr. Norton, thumped the big crate decisively.
    “Yep,” Bryce agreed, eyeing the crate with grave misgiving. It seemed a lot larger than he’d expected. Maybe they’d packed it in with a lot of stuff so it’d have safe shipping.
    “Let’s get ‘er into yore wagon.” Mr. Norton punctuated the order by narrowly missing the spittoon sitting outside the store. “Aw, now I’ll hafta clean that.”
    Bryce doubted it. From the looks of that spittoon and the porch around it, Mr. Norton rarely cleaned it—but he missed often.
    The enormous crate barely fit in the wagon, and even then, it took Bryce, Mr. Norton, and three other men who’d happened to see them struggling and lent a hand. Cast iron made for a heavy load.
    “Thank you, gentlemen.” Bryce slapped his hat back on his head before shaking their hands. He was set to go when he remembered something.
    “Mr. Norton, would you mind bringin’ out that mirror you already wrapped up?” He wondered what Daisy would say when he showed it to her. It was tangible proof that he’d listened. He’d probably get one of those glowing smiles of hers that made him feel warm clear down to his toes. He jumped onto the buckboard and flicked the reins. It was time to get back home.
    Good thing I started out early this morning
, Bryce reflected. The horses were having a rough go of it.
I understand why—the thing’s heavier’n an ox stuck in a mudhole
.
    He pulled the wagon over to the side of the road when he heard the unmistakable gurgle of a mountain stream. He unhitched the team and led them to the water, letting them drink their fill and cool off.
    “There you go, girls. You’ve worked hard today, and we’ve still got a ways to go.” Bryce spoke softly, patting the faithful mares’ necks one after another. “I’ll give you some sugar lumps later, after your rubdown. But first we’ve got to get back. Ready?”
    Both horses nosed his palm one last time with velvety muzzles before giving soft whickers and turning around.
    “Good girls.” Bryce let them