Chapter 15 - The Harvest
Martha Vance walked down the wooden porch steps, her blue patterned dress swaying gently in the morning breeze. She walked with a steady, unhurried pace across the gravel driveway, her eyes fixed entirely on the young woman standing outside the iron gate.
Stephanie flinched, pulling her hand back as if she expected the older woman to turn away in disgust—to repeat the very judgment Stephanie had hurled at her in the cathedral just twenty-four hours ago.
Instead, Martha stopped two feet away from the gate. She looked down at Stephanie’s mud-stained rubber boots, then up at her pale, tired face.
“You walk like someone who’s never carried a heavy basket in her life,” Martha said, her voice surprisingly gentle, carrying the warmth of a hearth fire on a winter evening.
Stephanie let out a ragged, breathless laugh that sounded half like a sob. “I haven't. My father always had servants carry everything.”
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“Well, it’s a good thing the corn harvest doesn't care about servants,” Martha said, reaching out her weathered, calloused hand and unlatching the
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