#lucyburbfh

John doesn’t even bother to pull on his boots before wandering toward the kitchen, while Lucy and Laura arrive still wrapped in their nightclothes and shawls, hair unbrushed in their eagerness to reach the table before breakfast is served.

“The smell woke me,” Laura admits shamelessly.

“It woke everybody,” Lucy agrees, mouth watering. At the stove, Jennifer looks deeply satisfied by the reaction. After weeks of soups, preserves, and endless garden vegetables, the holiday breakfast feels almost luxurious. Even little Louise appears at last clutching her doll beneath one arm and demanding extra salt pork before she has even sat down. The meal is loud, warm, and cheerful in a way only crowded family breakfasts can be.

At one point, while the girls argue over who deserves to dip the last of the toast in the grease, and John has finally put on his clothes, he catches Jennifer beside the stove and gently slips an arm around her waist.

“You spoil us,” he murmurs.

“One decent breakfast and suddenly I’m a queen.”

“You said it, not me.”

After breakfast, the girls hurry eagerly toward the stockings hung near the fireplace.

Lucy and Laura each discover a handful of chestnuts tucked carefully into theirs along with bits of dried fruit and sweets. The treats are simple, but treasured like gold.

Louise, however, gasps dramatically upon discovering a small cloth pouch tied with string, inside of which sits a modest number of coins; a traditional gift the Burb’s granted each of the girls upon their first Christmas as a child. Her eyes go enormous.

“I’m rich.” She clutches the pouch proudly against her chest as though someone may attempt to rob her at any moment. 

Later, after the excitement settles, John presents Jennifer with his own decidedly practical Christmas gift. A brand new broom, sturdy and neatly bound, with smooth polished wood and fresh straw much finer than the worn one leaning near the back door. Jennifer stares at it for what feels to John like hours, and he shifts slightly. 

“Well,” he says cautiously, “you mentioned the old one was nearly worn through...”

“Oh, John.”

The frost hits the Burb homestead so quickly that a majority of the garden blackens overnight, leaving only the toughest vegetables stubbornly clinging to life by sunrise. John spends much of the day harvesting what remains before the ground freezes entirely, pulling up the last cabbages, turnips, and carrots from the stiff earth.

Inside the house, Jennifer wastes none of it. The kitchen stays humid from boiling pots as she works preserving vegetables for the long winter ahead. Jars line the counters in careful rows while vinegar and spices scent the air sharply enough to sting the nose.

The house smells overwhelmingly of cabbage by supper, but there is simply too much of it left from the harvest not to use. Jennifer serves thick bowls of cabbage soup alongside rough bread while everyone crowds around the table escaping the evening chill. Louise pokes suspiciously at her bowl.

“Is it cabbage again?” John snorts into his spoon.

“It’s winter. Be grateful it’s cabbage and not boiled boot leather.”

As the sun sets, Laura ages into a teenager with little ceremony, Jennifer smoothing down her hair afterward while remarking how grown she suddenly looks. The change suits Laura and her older sister just fine, as they settle beside the fire discussing everything from schoolhouse rumors, town courtships, to speculation over which boys are handsome enough to warrant attention at future barn dances. John pretends not to overhear any of it.

The following morning, snow finally begins falling properly. Large flakes drift steadily across the property while John heads out with an axe over one shoulder determined to bring home a Christmas tree. Several hours later he returns dragging a somewhat uneven pine tree that appears to have lost an argument with both gravity and the axe.

Jennifer eyes it carefully.

“It has character,” John declares defensively before she can say anything. Jennifer presses her lips together very bravely.

“It certainly does.” 

Meanwhile outside, Louise Burb happily packs snow together on the front lawn building a large, lopsided snowman while flakes continue drifting steadily around her. One of John’s old hats sits crookedly atop the snowman’s head, and Louise has even stolen one of the last carrots from the harvest to use as its nose. A battered scarf hangs around its neck while a broom has been jammed firmly into one side.

“It’s Pa. The broom is a pitchfork,” she explains importantly.

Lucy arrives home from the schoolhouse that Friday with an unexpected companion in tow: Alexander Goth, the mayor’s son, polite as could be and clearly unused to muddy boots and farm smells. Supper is salmon and boiled vegetables, simply prepared and eaten with careful manners. Lucy and Alexander speak easily enough, a comfortable sort of chemistry lingering between them, but nothing crosses the line of propriety. John and Jennifer exchange quiet glances over the table, well aware of what such a match could mean, yet Lucy’s thoughts stray elsewhere. Even as she laughs at Alexander’s clever observations, her heart remains stubbornly fixed on Beau Broke, no matter how impractical the attachment might be.

Later that evening, Lucy sits by the hearth with her embroidery hoop, stabbing the needle through linen with more force than necessary. The pattern refuses to behave, threads tangling where they ought to lie smooth. She sighs, unpicks a stitch, and tries again, determined not to be beaten by something so small, even as her mind wanders back to the easy way Beau smiled and the way Alexander’s presence felt like borrowed clothing: fine, but not truly hers.

Market day finds John selling crates of late-season produce to townsfolk passing through, including Jason Larson, who inspects the vegetables as if he has any idea what is fresh or spoiled before nodding his approval. John also sets aside several baskets of produce for Coral Oldie, destined to be cleaned, priced, and resold at the general store. It's steady, honest work, the kind that keeps the Burbs’ name spoken with respect. Not far off, a sudden sharp sound cuts through the hum of bartering: Angela Pleasant’s hand meeting Loki Beaker’s cheek after a remark best left unsaid. The Trading Post falls briefly silent before business resumes, the lesson clearly delivered.

The sun never rises before the Burb household. John greets sunrise in the fields, sleeves rolled and boots heavy with soil as he works to bring in every last crop before winter can steal it from him. He moves with steady urgency, knowing the coming cold will show no mercy to what is left behind. From the yard, Jennifer keeps watch over the hens, gathering warm eggs into her apron and scattering feed absentmindedly, her thoughts half on the pantry shelves and half on making sure the girls get breakfast before they leave for the schoolhouse. Though having the girls home would no doubt hasten the harvest, Jennifer made John give his word that their lessons and schooling would always come before the fields. 

By afternoon, Laura walks home from school arm-in-arm with her cousin Ruth, their primaries abandoned by the fence as they fall into the familiar rhythm of Mary Mack, clapping palms and chanting the rhyme until they dissolve into laughter. Inside, Lucy begins the arduous task of preparing supper for the family. Still new to cooking on her own, she watches the pot anxiously as the vegetables soften, stirring slowly and tasting twice, worried she will spoil the soup. When she finally ladles it into hollowed bread bowls, John takes the first bite, nods once, and says simply, “You’ve done well, Lucy. Best supper I’ve had all week.” Lucy fights back a grin from ear to ear and instead simply replies, “Thank you, Father.” 

Afterward, Jennifer clears the table and settles on the floor near the hearth with little Louise, coaxing her forward with outstretched hands and soft encouragement. Each unsteady step is met with quiet praise, and when the child finally collapses into her arms, giggling, Jennifer presses a kiss to her hair. Night falls gently over the farm, and later, with the house finally still, John and Jennifer lie side by side, speaking in low voices about the harvest, the children, and the future.

It is there, in the hush of the dark, that John’s hopes surface once more. He speaks of legacy and land, of a son to follow him into the fields, his hand finding Jennifer’s as he murmurs that perhaps this time fortune will favor them. Jennifer exhales, a mix of weariness and affection, but does not pull away. 

John Burb came west with a head full of dreams and a promise to make Freedom Hollow flourish with his crops. A hardworking man with a stubborn streak, John is up before dawn and still working long after the sun dips behind the hills. He dreams of providing enough harvest to feed the entire town and, perhaps more privately, of finally having a son to carry on the Burb name. He’s a man who believes that hard work and faith can turn even the toughest soil fertile, though some quietly say that the land isn’t the only thing he’s trying so hard to make fruitful.

Jennifer is the quiet power behind the Burb family’s success. From sunrise to sundown, she can be found in the fields, the kitchen, or tending to the family’s many chores with a steady hand and tireless energy. When her husband John dreams big, Jennifer is the one who keeps those dreams from blowing away in the wind. Though Jennifer rarely complains, the lines around her eyes tell stories of the weight of keeping both a farm and a family alive on the frontier.

Jennifer and John have had three beautiful girls, and while John still hopes for a son, Jennifer wears her pride in their daughters on her sleeve. Lucy, the eldest of the Burb Girls, was just a babe when her family followed her Uncle Daniel to Freedom Hollow, and she has grown into a teenager with her mother’s work ethic and her father’s drive. Unafraid of dirt under her fingernails, she works right alongside her parents, planting and tending the fields without complaint. Still, there’s a spark in her eye that suggests she might not stay in the fields forever, and more than a few young men already trip over themselves when she visits town for supplies.