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of that. It was at that moment that Julia realized there would probably be no hired help for the house. Mr. Snelling had written that a widowed woman came every morning to clean and prepare dinner. Julia would only have had to serve and do the dishes. Those chores alone seemed at that time a daunting task. She hadn’t understood daunting until now.
    “Do you employ any inside help, Mr. Shelling?” she asked.
    “It’s Jake, Julia. We’re married. Inside help?” he asked. “You mean like a cleaning woman or a cook?”
    She nodded.
    “Didn’t make much sense to have somebody clean up after me. I’ve been taking care of things for myself for a long time. I eat at the bunkhouse. Woman from town does come and do the washing once a week,” he replied.
    Julia slowly sat down on one of the chairs. She looked around the kitchen and knew she had little idea where to begin. “May I have a glass of water?”
    He pumped the water into the sink for a while before filling a glass. “My sisters and their families will be here in about an hour. I suppose we ought to know something about each other by then. I’d say things will be a little awkward since they were expecting a six foot tall Swedish woman.”
    Julia gulped. “Your family’s coming to call tonight? In an hour?”
    He nodded. “You first.”
    “Me first?”
    “Tell me something about yourself. You’re my wife,” her husband said.
    “But we’re getting company. I should change, I should …” Julia replied.
    “Just family. And your dressed fancier than my sisters will be. Tell me why you came here to marry Snelling.”
    “Well, Mr. Snelling placed an ad in the Boston Globe for a wife last year. I answered, and we corresponded. He seemed like a kind man in his letters and I agreed to come here and marry him. And help him take care of his mother.”
    “And?”
    “And what?” she asked.
    “Come on, Julia. Your family obviously comes from money. Stylish clothes,” he said and swept a hand from her head to her toes. “Two trunks full of stuff. Four cases. You’re a lady. You’re running from something. What is it?”
    Julia felt her cheeks redden. “I don’t know what you mean.” Her lip trembled, and she lowered her lashes.
    “If you’re running from the law or another husband, I want to know right now,” he said.
    Julia’s mouth dropped. “How dare you. How dare you imply that I’m some sort of fugitive or … or runaway.”
    “Ok, Ok,” he said.
    “I came here with honest intentions of marrying Mr. Snelling. That’s all. And what about you? You could be a murderer for all I know,” she said.
    “I’m no murderer. Don’t imagine Pastor Phillips would have married any woman to a murderer. Tell me about your family.”
    Certainly he hadn’t heard of the Crawford family or her own eccentricities this far west. Julia couldn’t imagine what else could concern him. But he was her husband now and she conceded he had some right to know.
    “My family? What do you want to know?” Julia asked.
    * * *
    The whole, long, silent ride home he’d wondered what brought this woman to Cedar Ridge. He didn’t want a sheriff or a husband showing up at his door in a month or so. Her denial of any wrongdoing seemed honest enough. But now she was blushing and bowing her head with a simple question about her family. He didn’t think the subject was that complicated or should cause a woman to whisper as if she were ashamed.
    “Are your parents alive? Do you have brothers and sisters?” he asked.
    “William and Jane Crawford are my parents. Their home is in Boston. My sister Jolene is the oldest and married. She and her husband Turner Crenshaw have one child, William. My sister Jennifer is twenty-one. Jillian is ten.”
    Jake watched intently as she gave far from a warm description of her family. Her face lit up only once when she mentioned the youngest sister. Jillian. An odd wistful look betrayed her when she named her sister’s husband.
    “All J’s,