UNBROKEN PROMISE

~11~A Woman's Touch

Oma's POV

The moment Logan left the house, I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of determination and anxiety swirl within me. I was finally in my new home, a place I was beginning to claim as my own, and today was the day I would prove myself. I had a long list of chores ahead of me, and I was ready to tackle them one by one.

I started with the bathroom, a room that had seen better days. The sight of the dirty tiles and grimy sink made my stomach turn, but I rolled up my sleeves, ready for the challenge. Armed with a scrub brush and a bucket of soapy water, I set to work. I poured a generous amount of cleaner into the toilet bowl, letting it soak while I scrubbed the sink, the mirror, and every corner where dust dared to linger.

With each stroke of the brush, I felt a sense of satisfaction. I was transforming this space, removing the grime layer by layer. I rinsed and wrung out my rag repeatedly, the water turning murky as I fought against the neglect that had settled here. Once I was finished, I stood back to admire my work. The bathroom sparkled, the white tiles gleaming under the flickering light of the overhead bulb. One down, I thought, and three more bedrooms to go.

Next, I moved to the bedrooms. I had already cleaned mine the day before, so I turned my attention to Logan's. The familiar scent of cedar and leather filled the air as I stepped inside. I began by stripping the old sheets off the bed, discarding them into a pile that would later need washing. Then I reached for the fresh linens we had bought together-soft and inviting, a promise of comfort.

As I changed the sheets, I couldn't help but think about how much Logan's presence filled this room. It was more than just his belongings scattered about; it was the essence of who he was. I arranged the pillows neatly, smoothing the duvet with the precision I had learned from my father. Each fold was deliberate, each tuck a statement that I cared about this place and the man who lived in it.

Once Logan's room was tidy, I moved to the other two bedrooms upstairs. They were both untouched and a little dusty, but that only motivated me more. I dusted every surface, paying special attention to the windowsills, where dust bunnies had made their home. I climbed onto a chair to reach the corners, my arms stretching high to swipe away cobwebs that hung like curtains in the rafters.

I replaced the water in my bucket multiple times, my hands becoming raw from scrubbing. By the time I was done, I was drenched in sweat, my hair sticking to my forehead and my back aching from the physical labor. Yet, as I stepped back to survey the work I had done, a swell of pride filled me. It looks good, I thought, my heart swelling with accomplishment.

The last stop was the kitchen, the heart of any home. I had always loved kitchens, the smells and the hustle they contained. I felt a sense of joy as I rearranged the cabinets, organizing the pots and pans in a way that made sense to me. I wanted to create a space that was not only functional but inviting. I washed down the counters, scrubbed the floor, and made sure that everything was clean and tidy.

Finally, after what felt like hours of hard work, I wiped the sweat from my brow and took a moment to breathe. My body ached all over, a reminder of the effort I had put in, but I refused to let myself slack off. I still
had one more task to complete before I could allow myself to rest. With determination, I made my way back to the main house to check in with Mama Becca.

As I walked across the farmyard, I could feel the late afternoon sun beating down on me, the warmth clinging to my skin. The scent of hay and earth was strong in the air, a constant reminder that this was now my life, my new reality. When I reached the porch of the main house, Mama Becca was already outside, her apron tied around her waist, watching me with a curious smile.

"How's the settlin' in goin', darlin'?" she asked, wiping her hands on a rag as she stepped closer.

"It's going well," I said, trying to mask the exhaustion in my voice. "I finished cleaning the house. It was... a lot of work, but it's clean now."

Mama Becca nodded approvingly, her weathered face breaking into a proud smile. "Good. That house needed a woman's touch, and it sounds like you've done a fine job of it."

Her words filled me with a quiet sense of pride, though my muscles screamed in protest with every breath I took. I leaned against the railing of the porch, thankful for the momentary break. Mama Becca gave me a knowing look before continuing.

"Megan will be helpin' you get adjusted around here," she said. "If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask her or me. We've got a lot of work to do, but there's no rush. You'll find your rhythm soon enough."

I nodded, grateful for her understanding. It was comforting to know that I wasn't completely on my own in this new life. As we spoke, Megan came bustling out of the house, her arms full of plates and cutlery for dinner.

"Would you mind helpin' set the table?" Mama Becca asked, her tone gentle but firm.

"Of course," I replied quickly, eager to keep myself busy. Together, we laid the table, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of family in the simple task. There was something about the way the kitchen smelled-roasted meats, warm bread, and fresh herbs-that reminded me of the home that got ripped away from me.

Once the table was set, I helped Megan carry the steaming dishes from the kitchen to the dining room, the weight of the platters causing my arms to strain. Soon, the rest of the family arrived, filling the room with chatter and laughter. Jose said grace, as he always did, and we all began to eat.

The meal was hearty, the kind that leaves you feeling full and satisfied, though I couldn't shake the tension in my shoulders. I kept glancing over at Logan, wondering if he noticed how hard I had worked today. He seemed calm, his face unreadable as he focused on his meal. Every now and then, his eyes would flicker toward me, but he said nothing.

After dinner, Logan and I returned to our house. The sun had set, and the air was cool and calm. Once inside, I settled into the rocker by the window, the gentle creak of the chair soothing as I began working on sewing a dress. The fabric slipped through my fingers as I focused on each stitch, hoping to finish before I went to bed.

Logan's voice broke the quiet, drawing my attention. "You comfortable stayin' up alone, or you want me to keep you company a bit?"

I glanced up at him, surprised by the offer, but shook my head. "I'm fine. You can go to bed."

"I know there's still work to be done around here, But you've done a good job today, Oma. I noticed. The house looks real nice, and I appreciate it."

I blinked, caught off guard by his words. I hadn't expected him to say anything, let alone compliment my efforts. A warmth spread through me, the kind that only comes from being acknowledged, and I nodded, unsure of what to say.

I gave him a small "thank you"

Logan nodded, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer. "Alright. Just make sure you're up on time in the mornin'. We'll be makin' breakfast here, so no need to go to the main house."

"I'll be up," I assured him, though the weight of exhaustion was already pulling at me.

With that, Logan retired to his room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.As soon as the door closed behind him, I took a deep breath and allowed myself a moment of relief. He noticed, I thought, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. He actually noticed. As the house fell into silence, I let out a slow breath, feeling the day's events settle over me like a heavy blanket. I was exhausted, yes, but there was a quiet contentment in knowing that I had done my best.

Tomorrow would be another day, with more chores and more challenges, but for now, I could rest.