Chapter 1: Coming Home to Maple Heights

Ten years scrubbing floors in other people’s homes, and now I was back in Maple Heights, never expecting Marcus Taylor—the town’s workhorse—to show up on my porch with a marriage proposal.

Sometimes I catch myself grinning at how things turned out. Marcus was a familiar face—everybody in Maple Heights knew him as the Taylor family’s workhorse, always the first to roll up his sleeves and the last to quit. I used to think marrying into a big family like that meant spending the rest of my days bustling around for everyone else, just like I’d done for strangers all those years. That was the last thing I wanted for myself.

I’d had enough of being invisible, of my hands always smelling like bleach and my dreams shrinking smaller every year.

But after we got married, I realized Marcus was more like a guard dog—anyone who gave me trouble, he’d stand up for me, no matter what.

He surprised me, that’s for sure. I never expected him to be the kind of man who’d raise his voice for my sake, but he was. And once the dust settled, I could see it clear as day: this marriage wasn’t a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t what I’d dreamed about as a girl, but with Marcus by my side, I decided to make the best of it.

My old boss’s daughter married into a wealthy family in Savannah. When Mrs. Carter was picking staff to go with her, she asked who wanted to come.

I was just a rough-and-tumble girl working in the back, handling laundry, scrubbing floors, and keeping the kitchen fire going for Aunt Linda. Most days, my hands smelled like soap and woodsmoke. Sometimes I’d hum along with the radio, just to make the hours pass quicker.

Everyone else promised to go to the ends of the earth for Miss Carter, to be with her through thick and thin.

But I thought of home, just a two-hour drive away by pickup, and my parents, who could only visit every few months. Sunday dinners, Dad’s jokes around the table, Mom humming as she gardened—those were the things that stuck in my mind.

I knelt and begged Mrs. Carter to let me buy out my contract and go home.

Both Mrs. Carter and Miss Carter were kind. They not only gave me my release papers, but also five hundred dollars as a send-off.

They were headed to Savannah and didn’t care about old clothes, so they gave them to me. I thanked them, bundling up two big bags with old bedsheets. It felt like Christmas morning, even if the clothes were a little worn at the elbows.

I asked Derek, the young manager, to take me to the county clerk’s office to officially end my employment.

I bought a pound of the best pipe tobacco for my dad and grandpa, a bottle of whiskey, ten pounds of brown sugar, ten pounds of salt... The hired pickup was loaded to the brim for the ride home. I tucked my little sister’s favorite candy in my bag, hoping she hadn’t outgrown sweets in my absence.

The closer I got, the more excited I felt.

I stood at the familiar, yet somehow strange, front porch, eyes stinging.

"Sis! Sis!"

With a shout, my little brother called out, "Hey, y’all! Sis is home!" His voice carried down the drive, and I could hear doors banging open all over the house.

I didn’t have to carry a thing. My two younger brothers were strong, and my teary-eyed dad and a couple of smiling uncles all helped. Someone handed me a glass of lemonade as soon as I set foot inside. The sharp tang of lemonade hit my tongue as I stepped inside, and the screen door slammed behind me, just like it had when I was a kid.

Grandpa thanked the driver and invited him in for coffee and a night’s rest, but he had to get back on the road. There was always a hot pot of coffee brewing in our kitchen, and Grandpa wouldn’t let anyone leave thirsty if he could help it.

Grandma held my hand, repeating how much I’d been through. Her grip was papery, but strong as ever. She wiped her eyes on her apron and kept squeezing my fingers like she couldn’t believe I was real.

My little sister fetched water for me, helped in the kitchen, and kept sitting close, her love obvious even without words. She plopped down beside me on the porch swing, every now and then leaning her head against my shoulder.

Because I’d come home, the whole family gathered. The living room couldn’t fit everyone, so we spilled out onto the front porch.

It was lively. Laughter spilled out into the warm dusk, fireflies blinking in the yard. Someone started a game of horseshoes. Uncle Frank strummed his guitar and the youngest cousins chased each other through the grass.

After dinner, I started handing out gifts: Grandpa’s tobacco, silver rings for Grandma and Mom, a pound of brown sugar and a pound of salt for each family, a bottle of whiskey for one uncle, slingshots for the little brothers, red hair ribbons for the sisters.

Every sibling got a set of old clothes. If they didn’t fit, they could be altered. My oldest brother held up a shirt, grinning, "Well, if it’s too small for me, little Mikey’ll grow into it soon enough!"

Even though they were hand-me-downs, they were all good cotton—the kind of fabric my family never bought for themselves. There was a kind of pride in wearing something sturdy, even if it was secondhand. It meant we looked after each other.

That night, I slept with my little sister. She’d only been four when I left, chasing the pickup and crying. Now, at fourteen, she hugged me and sobbed, "Sis, I’m so glad you’re home."

I held her until her breathing slowed and she drifted off. Lying there, I listened to the crickets outside and the low rumble of my brothers’ voices through the wall, comforted by the familiar sounds of home.

Now that I was back, I naturally had to visit my grandparents and Uncle Jeff’s family. After making the rounds, five or six days passed before I finally got a good night’s sleep. Then the matchmaker showed up.

She brought a proposal from Marcus Taylor, from our town.

I remembered him. His family lived at the edge of Maple Heights. A few days ago, on my way back from Grandpa’s, his mom had stopped me to chat. He happened to come back, carrying two huge bundles of firewood, and stood under the porch roof looking at me for a long time.

I hadn’t paid him much attention then.

After I got home, my mom mentioned his family too.

They were pretty well-off, but the oldest sister-in-law was tough as nails, the second sister-in-law was a cousin from his dad’s side, the fourth brother had married a teacher’s daughter, and yet at twenty-two, Marcus was still single.

He was the Taylor family’s workhorse, always doing the hardest, dirtiest jobs. Whoever married him would have a rough life.

I didn’t want to marry into that. I’d seen too many women lose themselves in a crowd of in-laws, and I wasn’t about to be one of them.

As soon as the matchmaker finished, I refused.

My parents exchanged looks. Mom quickly tried to smooth things over with the matchmaker—after all, I still needed to marry, and if I ticked off the matchmaker, it’d be hard to find another good family. Mom patted my knee, her eyes pleading for me to be polite, even as my stomach twisted.

I knew my own worth. Compared to someone like Miss Carter, even her main maids were better than me.

Being able to read a little and learning to cook from Aunt Linda was already the luckiest thing in my life.

The good marriage my parents and I hoped for was one with no worries about food or money, decent in-laws, a husband who cared for me, and easygoing sisters-in-law.

The Taylor family... better to let it go.

After the matchmaker left, Mom sat me down:

"The Taylors may have a different last name, but they brought money when they moved here—otherwise, they couldn’t have bought that land and built such a big house.

If you really marry in, you won’t go hungry. Marcus is strong, honest, and reliable. Whenever someone hires him in town, he never slacks off.

You’re twenty now. The older men left are either widowers with kids—if you marry in, you’ll be a stepmom, which is tough these days.

As for younger guys—people say a woman three years older is a treasure, but if you marry someone immature, you’ll end up doing everything and suffering for it.

Don’t be so quick to turn Marcus down. Let your dad invite him over to help around the house. Watch him, talk to him, see what kind of man he is, and if he’s worth your trust. If you really don’t like him, we won’t force you."

My parents always had my best interests at heart. They’d never hurt me.

I nodded. I trusted them, even if my heart was still restless. I decided to at least hear Marcus out, for their sakes.

But unexpectedly, Marcus came over first.

He was the type who couldn’t get three words out without blushing. In the living room, his face was red and his neck stiff, couldn’t say a thing. He fiddled with his cap, nervously running a thumb around the brim. His ears were beet red, and he kept twisting his cap in his hands, glancing everywhere but at me.

"I can hunt. I’m strong. I can chop wood. I’ll treat my wife right and protect her. Please consider me."

As soon as he finished, he didn’t wait for my reply and hurried out.

Thud—

"Oh man, Marcus, did you fall?"

"Ma’am, I’m fine..."

Mom sounded surprised, Marcus was flustered. I walked out of the living room, but he was already gone from the front gate. I spotted his boots scuffing the gravel as he disappeared down the drive.

Mom frowned and asked in a low voice, "What did you say to Marcus?"

"I didn’t say a word."

"Not a word, and he got so flustered?"

Mom clearly didn’t believe me, but she still let Dad invite Marcus over to help with the yard.

We weren’t short on strong backs—even my two younger brothers were sturdy, not to mention a couple of uncles, and Grandpa could still mow the lawn.

Marcus must have known what my parents were thinking.

He really worked hard and ate a lot. The man could clear a brush pile in half the time it took anyone else, sweat pouring down his brow, never pausing for a break.

When I served him food, his hands shook as he took the plate.

He didn’t dare look at me, nor did he talk to me. It was almost comical, the way his face turned beet red whenever I passed by.

There wasn’t much yard work, so he couldn’t come every day.

On the last day, after dinner, I walked him to the gate.

Marcus stammered, "You, you... would you be willing?"

I thought over Mom’s words. I was twenty, and it really wasn’t easy to find a match.

Those I liked might not like me back.

Besides, the Taylor family was close to my mom’s family. The whole Maple Heights was basically my relatives. Even if the Taylors bullied me, they’d have to think twice.

"Aside from the usual wedding gifts, I want five hundred dollars as a nest egg."

When I worked as a housekeeper, I had monthly pay and tips, all saved by my parents. Mom said it was over four hundred. She’d add some to make it six, and Mrs. Carter had given me five hundred.

With over a thousand in private savings, I felt secure.

"Alright, wait for me."

Marcus went back and told his parents I wanted two thousand as a nest egg.

"She’s not made of gold—how dare Natalie ask for so much?"