Katherine

PROLOGUE

AUGUST 21, 1872

There was a cloudless deep-blue sky on a mid-summer’s morning. The sun had just risen, giving a sign of how hot the afternoon would become. A distant train whistle blew as a gentle breeze created a harmonious tune with the chimes on the front porch. Birds flocked to a nearby tree to sing a soothing melody while an aroma of golden wheat ready for harvest filled the land.

A married couple, Samuel and Katherine, were standing in their living room. The love they shared was unequal to any they could have ever dreamed of. They relished the life they had built together. Every day was filled with everlasting joy and compassion.

Katherine would sacrifice herself for Samuel’s well-being. She was brought up by her parents to be loyal to the end. And even though they themselves had divorced when she was young, not practicing what they had preached, she still absorbed their love to the fullest. She would not give up on her husband no matter what would happen. Being with child, and desiring to return to the devoted wife she once was, Katherine’s heart ached with betrayal. How was she supposed to explain what had transpired? She loved her husband more than herself.

When she was a little girl she had left her mother behind, to live with her father in New York—it tore her apart. She loved both of them so much, but she had to make a choice, a choice that had left her devastated. How could they force her to decide which one of them she should live with? That wasn’t fair. But she also realized life wasn’t fair—she learned that lesson early in life. She knew that she had to get away from the place that reminded her of the happy memories; because those happy memories of her parents getting along only made her sad when the visions invaded her thoughts. She had needed a new place to live that hadn’t absorbed years of joy gone wrong.

Katherine wasn’t going to allow yesterday’s incident to rip apart her marriage like what happened with her parents. Her father, though he was a great daddy, had been with another woman and that had put her mother through hell. Katherine would not allow something like that to grow in her marriage. She prayed that Samuel, her husband, would not give up on her no matter what had happened.

Katherine waited behind the sofa, running her clammy hands across its fabric, remembering when they first got the couch, remembering that things were simpler then. She felt a tear in the cloth, but realized that that should have been the last thing on her uneasy mind. Her mouth was dry, she could barely swallow. Her heart was pounding so hard that she believed Samuel could hear it. Worrisome thoughts ran rapidly through her memory about what developed the day before. The ticking of the old-fashioned grandfather clock had her anxious to speak, but this was not the time for explanations, she believed. Nervousness enveloped her as she gazed into the darkness where Samuel stood. She imagined things would be fine, but they had gotten out of control. She knew that she could not keep the awful secret hidden any longer. Tonight at dusk, after Samuel returned from the field, she would tell him everything. She just hoped he would forgive her; but he, her one and only truelove needed to know the truth.

Samuel drew open the curtains, grinned, and blew a kiss to his wife. He broke the silence and spoke with a frown, Did you get the strawberry jelly from the root cellar for me?

Katherine’s deep troubles nearly had her miss his kiss. Clearing her mind, but only for a moment, she caught it just in time. Yes, my dear. I know how frightened my Samuel Lee is of dank places, she replied with a facetious smile. And how much he desires my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, she added with a giggle.

Thank you, my lady. He bowed. But you know it’s because of what happened that I don’t like it down there, he playfully pouted.

Katherine became still, in a trance again, haunted by yesterday’s crazy memories. Being shot at by a crazed, maniac Frenchman was no picnic. She snapped out of her daze, picking at the slit in the sofa once more. "I know, Sam. I’ll do anything for you!" she exclaimed with great seriousness, swallowing back her tears.

Is everything okay, Katherine? Did I do something wrong?

Of course not, Samuel. It’s nothing, she answered, stumbling in her speech. She bit at her nail, gave him a pseudo smile and changed the subject. You best hurry up, now. Get to work. Who’s going to work the field if you don’t?

He tipped his hat, took her hand and kissed it. Yes, madam. He left for the door.

Samuel! she called out, curtsying to him. Don’t forget your lunch.

He trotted over to the sack and his jug of water, grabbed them then hurried back to the threshold of the door and turned. "I love you and the baby. What would I ever do without you, Kat?"

And I, you, she claimed with a warm smile.

The commitment given to one another could not be destroyed. Their devotion was impenetrable—or so it seemed…

He exited their home, not knowing he would never hear his one and only truelove’s voice again.

CHAPTER 1

EARLY SPRING 1868

Samuel had hopped a train back east heading to the mid-west in search for work. It had not been in his plan to take this trip, but he had no choice. He wanted to have a good life, not one that he had to spend looking through cold, steel bars. Without his freedom, there was no reason to carry on. He traveled inside an empty boxcar, sitting in the corner, trying to keep warm. It smelled like urine, and there were many whiskey bottles lying around. The only sound was that of the train’s wheels clicking over the track. The moonlight seeping through the cracks was his only source of light. The shadows within were elongated, eerie, having his mind creating unknown frights. His only company was some rats searching for morsels to satisfy their hunger. Their eyes glowed red when the moonbeams struck them. They took notice of him as he shifted his feet closer to his body. Their heads whipped around and cocked with their noses twitching and eyes staring at the shuffle. Samuel didn’t like these diseased rodents: they gave him bad memories of dank places.

As twilight appeared it chased away the darkness. The train slowed down and its whistle blew, letting Samuel know that the town was near. That’s when it’s time to hop off, two strangers had told him before he got onto the train, assuring him that there was work at a new sawmill. Samuel stood, stretched. He slid open the large door and gazed down at the blurry ground as it rushed by. Searching ahead, he spotted a grassy area, a cushion for his fall. Taking in a deep breath, he leapt out, rolled a few feet, then stopped with his face down in the dirt. He spit out a mouthful of earth and got up. Dusting himself off, he pulled in a big puff of air, noting it didn’t smell like that of the south: a musty odor. Here it smelled fresh, crisp. It’s nice for a change, he thought to himself.

The early spring air was brisk. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and followed the river upstream. He saw the small town of Wrangler ahead, three of four miles away. How peaceful it looked with its surrounding fields of crops. The birds were chirping, sounding happy and giving Samuel a much needed confidence within himself. Viewing the mill, he hurried forward, excited to start a new life.

Nearly reaching the factory, he saw a large man with a thick, red beard and suspenders, limping as he walked. Heading into the shade, the man stood under a large maple tree, seeming to cool off from his morning’s hard work. He pulled out a bag and put in a pinch of tobacco behind his lip as he watched Samuel walk toward him.

Samuel cleared his throat. Ahem. Mighty fine day we’re havin’ with the sunshine ’n’ all. Samuel stood next to the man, but in the warm sun.

Yes, we are. Good day to be alive.

My name’s Samuel Lee. He extended his hand. Ya folks hirin’ ’round here?

The husky man sized up Samuel, spit out a load of chew juice, whipped off his beard of spittle and greeted Samuel with a firm handshake. Wee doggie! Whaddawe got here, skin ’n’ bones?

Yes, sir. Haven’t eaten much lately, sir.

The man looked him dead in the eye. Ya don’t say! Well, then—the name’s Steele—Oliver Steele. My friends call me Oli.

Howdaya do, mis… ter… Samuel’s speech faltered, not knowing how to address the man.

Awww, you can call me Oli, Samuel. He patted Samuel on his shoulder and smiled. Whatcha lookin’ so serious for boy? Loosen up!

Yes, sir. Samuel shook his head, then his body as he eased up.

Ha ha ha. Oh, boy. Funniest thing I’ve seen in ages, kid. Now, what can I do ya for? Oh, yes, I recall… You wanted a job. Well, it just so happens I need a deliveryman to transport the materials. It pays ah dollar ah day. Interested?

Oh, boy! Yes, sir. I can do that, sir—I mean—Oli.

Great! Be here Monday morning, seven sharp, Samuel Lee. Now head straight down the road to ‘Sara’s Restaurant’. Tell ’er ya work for me. She’ll take good care of ya, ya hear?

Yes, sir. And thank ya, Oli, sir. They shook hands. Ecstatic about having a job, Samuel scurried away for a much needed meal.

Samuel walked up the steps of the restaurant past a porch swing. As he opened the door, the aroma of home cooking flowed past him, making his mouth water. Seeing five stools at the bar, he sat on the middle one, removed his hat and placed it into his lap. He spied an attractive older woman with her hair in a bun, wearing a blue dress with an apron wrapped around her waist. She was busy sweeping behind the counter and didn’t notice her first customer of the day. Samuel pulled out his last nickel from his dirty worn-out trousers and clanked it down onto the counter. She twirled around, startled, finding a curly-haired young man with a thick, scraggly beard and ragged clothes.

I’m sorry, sir, she apologized with an inviting smile. I didn’t hear you come in.

It’s okay, ma’am. Just needa shot of that there whiskey. He pointed to a bottle on the shelf behind her.

She grabbed it and a shot glass. Filling the glass to the brim she slid it to him. What’s your name? Where are you from, stranger?

I’m Samuel Lee from— he kept his exact origin a secret for a good reason. If he let anyone know where he was from, it could get him caught. He had gone through a lot to keep himself away from the long arm of the law. It was in his best interest to not let out too much information. And he didn’t want anyone else getting hurt, either. From the Carolinas. Howdaya do? He reached up to tip his hat. His face turned red as he realized that he had already taken it off.

She chuckled. I’m doing well. Thank you, Samuel. Just relax, you’re fine. My name’s Sara Jones. She placed a menu in front of him.

Ma’am, I only have this nickel to pay for the drink. He slid it toward her. I work for Mr. Oliver Steel. He said you’d—

Say no more, Samuel, she interrupted, pushing back his money. Do you need a place to stay?

Yes, ma’am.

You may have a room upstairs. It’s straight up the staircase. And after you eat, you may bathe in the bathhouse out back. Now, look at the menu and order what you want.

Much obliged, ma’am.

Being some time since he had drunk alcohol, it took his breath away when he gulped down his shot, warming his stomach. Looking over the menu, everything sounded delicious, but he picked only one item, not wanting to be selfish. I’ll take a plate of ham, ma’am.

Nonsense! You’ll need more than ham to keep up your strength for Oli, Samuel. Order what you want.

Yes, ma’am. Without hesitation, he said, "I’ll take the ham, scrambled eggs, hash browns, flapjacks, sirup, and lots of butter. And coffee. Black, please," he ordered, nearly out of breath.

Now that sounds more like it, young man. Won’t be long. She smiled then left.

Samuel thought about how she reminded him of his mother. The concern Sara had, fussing around to make sure he was alright—then he reminisced about his Mother’s kindness and how she always looked out for him, always believing in him—even when he was in trouble she stood by him. He wished he could go home to see her, but he knew it was too late, that he could never return. A tear formed in his eye as he realized how much he missed her.

Sara returned with his order. His eyes became as wide as saucers; it was more food than he had seen in a week. He wiped the tear from his eye and smiled big for Sara.

Eating everything, his stomach filled to its limit. As he stacked the plates, he got a calming sensation, being a long time since he’d been able to relax. He was being accepted by comforting people, and it seemed that they would keep him safe; and that maybe he could fully trust them someday. But until then, he must be cautious. He thanked Sara for the meal and headed out for his overdue bath.

As he stood next to a redwood tub, he noticed folded towels and soap on a shelf. He stripped down, grabbed the soap and hopped into the water—it was ice cold and he shrieked. Ahhhhh! He quickly washed, shivering uncontrollably. Not being in the water more than three minutes, he leapt out and grabbed a towel to dry his cold dripping-wet body. As he put aside the cloth, he slid one leg into his grungy pantaloons—then Sara opened the door, holding a folded pile of clean clothes. She quickly turned her head. Embarrassed and shocked, he nearly fell over as he tried to keep his balance. He grabbed his hat and placed it over his privates.

S-s-sorry, ma’am, he said, teeth chattering, face red.

"My apologies, Samuel. I should’ve let you know I was coming, but I didn’t think you’d be out so quick. Please, forgive me!"

It’s okay, ma’am. He snatched the towel off the tub, wrapped it around himself. I didn’t think the water’d be so darn cold.

"Put these on. She set down a change of clothes onto the shelf. They’re old clothes my husband used to wear."

Sara recalled her husband wearing the very clothes she gazed at on the shelf. Steven, her only love who used to light up her world, looking so handsome in the shirt and pants, would play the piano for her and their daughter. Everything was wonderful, all the laughing and love filled the air with joy. Then Sara recalled the night that her world changed. She was washing the dishes when she heard a rustling out-side. With her sweet smile, she journeyed out the back door toward the shed. She ventured inside, expecting to see her husband hard at work, building furniture; (that was his job. He created beautiful works of art. His best creation was the grandfather clock that still chimed on the hour inside the restaurant.) He was hard at work, all right. He had a young, blond-haired woman bent over his workbench and he was hammering her.

Leave your dirty ones here, I’ll wash them," she told Samuel, fading back into the present.

"Thank you, ma’am. I really appreciate everything. It’ll be nice wearin’ clean things for a change—been on the road, its hard keeping kept up."

You’re welcome, Samuel. Now go ahead, get dressed. Come up to your room afterward, I’ll be up there getting it ready.

While he dressed he noticed some loose and missing boards on the steps and walking area around the tub. He decided to repair them since he was good with his hands, to repay Sara’s hospitality with chores. Hoping she would have what he needed to do the work, he headed inside wearing his clean clothes. He journeyed up the stairs and noticed many pictures on the wall. As he stopped for a moment he paid particular attention to one. There was a young girl in it, maybe twelve years old, standing next to Sara, holding her hand. The girl had a bow in her hair, wearing a lovely dress. The girl’s smile and eyes had a hold on him. Those enchanting eyes pierced through him as though she knew him. He shook himself free from her captivating stare and joined Sara. Ma’am! Who’s that girl in the picture with you? he was quick to ask.

That’s my daughter, Katherine, she answered as she fluffed a pillow and tossed it into place onto the bed. She lives with her father in New York. My husband and I separated some years back.

She’s very pretty.

Thank you, Samuel. Maybe you two will meet. She’s coming home next summer after graduation. Sara put her finger to her lips. I bet you two’re close to the same age. How old are you, Samuel?

Twenty, ma’am. Just turned…

She just turned eighteen. My, how the years go by. Sara pondered briefly. Anyway, my little girl’s coming home. I can’t wait. There’s so much to catch up on. She straightened out the bedding. Well, Samuel, you’re all set. Anything else you need?

Yes, ma’am. A hammer, nails, and a saw, if you got ’em.

Whatever for?

For your generosity. I’ll take it upon myself to fixin’ up stuff ’round here. Ain’t got nothin’ much else to do, ma’am.

Thank you, Samuel. I’ve been meaning to take care of things around here. Just haven’t had time to do so. Out back in the shed is everything you’ll need.

I’ll get right on it! he said eagerly, tipping his hat. He made his way outside, finding hammers, nails, saws, chisels, and levels. His spirit became lifted while listing in his mind projects he could battle. The biggest one, other than his life’s problems, was to build a house; that was, if he could save up enough money. He became enthusiastic about applying his talents again and felt worthy with some piece of mind—then he became still as he recalled all the tools he once owned but had to leave behind. They were his life, his way to contribute to the world and express himself. He’d felt empty and unappreciated by society since then. Who needs an unproductive man who cannot take care of himself, and cannot stay out of trouble, he thought to himself. He took a deep breath as he hoped to overcome his inadequate feeling, desperate to rid himself of the past; but it had a way of finding oneself—hopefully not this time, though. With a stiff upper lip he collected the tools he needed, hoping to have another shot at a good life.

Samuel counted the missing planks, cut them to size and secured them with nails. He also weeded Sara’s garden since he loved caring for food sources. After a couple of hours, when he was done, he washed up and headed into the kitchen, feeling productive. As he cracked open the swinging door, he peeked into the dining room and saw lots of customers enjoying lunch. He closed the door and stayed out of their way, not wanting to interrupt their meals. He was uncomfortable around crowds, felt like their eyes judged him harshly. It was best that he kept to himself, that way nobody would mistake him for someone he was not, or accuse him of something he had not done—it had happened before.

Hello, Samuel, said Sara as she came through the door with a tray full of dishes.

Let me help you, Ma’am, he insisted as he took the tray and set it down.

You look exhausted, Samuel. I’ll take care of the rest. You’ve done plenty! How long has it been since you’ve slept?

Um… three days, I guess, ma’am. He let out a big yawn. I’m wound up. But I could use some shut eye, I reckon.

You want lunch, first?

Still full from breakfast—but I could use a drink… It helps me unwind, if you don’t mind, ma’am.

Here, take this with you. She slid a full bottle of whisky and a shot glass across the counter.

Thank you, ma’am. He grasped the stuff and nodded. I believe this’ll do the trick. I’ll get outta your way. He headed up the stairs.

Have a good sleep, Samuel. Sweet dreams.

He walked up the narrow staircase and came to Katherine’s picture; again he glanced at it and saw something wonderfully intriguing about her. Her mesmerizing eyes followed him as he passed by; as though she were concerned about him; like they were once great friends; but he could not place the seemingly distant, warmhearted memory. It seemed like he missed her dearly, like he wanted to see her again. Yet, he knew that was crazy—he had never met her.

He entered his room and plopped down onto a chair by a table next to the window. He uncorked the bottle, poured himself a shot, put the glass to his lips and threw back his head. He poured another shot and slammed it down his throat. He wiped off his lips with the back of his hand and smacked the cork into the bottle. The warming sensation hit his stomach and brought him comfort. He sat back, flopped his feet onto the table, rolled a cigarette, ignited the wooden match with his thumbnail, lit the smoke and puffed on it. Inhaling, he blew out smoke rings and watched them crash into the window as he absorbed the hell that took place three days ago: all the bullets that flew past his head when he escaped with his life, and the fear of not knowing what was to become of him next, was too much to grasp without whiskey. He wanted to be left alone. He could never hurt anyone; at least, not on purpose. He was a passive person, receiving situations in his life, whether they were good or bad, without resistance. The thoughts brought him anxiety, turning his stomach as he tapped his restless fingers on the table. His agonizing recollections soon faded as the whisky numbed his emotions. He extinguished the cigarette, kicked off his boots, fell into bed and passed out.

Over the next few hours he tossed and turned, periodically awakening. His surroundings were unfamiliar, his mind, not resting. Eventually he relaxed and dreamed.

There was a large tree. Samuel was a boy, swinging from one of the branches. He looked outward as a barn burst into flames. A coyote passed by and pointed at Samuel. There he is! it stated. The tree’s branches clenched Samuel’s throat. He fought for oxygen, pulling and tugging for his life. He could not break free. Just before he lost consciousness he abruptly awoke.

He was sweaty. The sheet was wrapped around his neck. He loosened its grasp, coughed and gagged. Once he obtained his composure he stared endlessly into the darkened ceiling, motionless as he tried to gather the concepts of the dream. No clarification came. He got up, disturbed by his dream.

Sitting at the table, he gazed across the way at the saloon, watching others having fun on this late Friday evening. The place resonated with laughter. He wished he could partake in the pleasures, but he knew that there was trouble when others drank, and he neither needed nor wanted that attention. He just stayed in his safe place, downing five more shots, smoking and witnessing others enjoying themselves. He eventually passed out.

Bright and early Samuel awoke to the smell of bacon. He was starving. He slipped into his clothes and hurried downstairs. He felt good about the new day, though a bit hung over. He caught Sara ready to pull muffins from the oven. He grabbed a cloth and interjected. Ma’am, allow me. He took out the aromatic, small, soft cakes and got a nose full of them. Boy, these sure smell good

Thank you, Samuel. They taste even better. So, how’d you sleep?

On my back, ma’am.

No, Samuel, she laughed. I mean, did you sleep well?

Like a baby.

Babies are up every few hours, crying, hungry and needing a dry diaper, Samuel.

Then, I guess I slept like someone that hasn’t seen a bed for a week. I slept great.

Wonderful! Now, if you’re hungry, take a seat. Everything’s ready.

Don’t hafta ask me twice, ma’am

Sara loaded his plate, poured him a cup of coffee and sat his breakfast onto the table. Grabbing a piece of bacon he chewed on it and thought about what he should do for the day. As he took a sip of coffee he decided to scout out the landscape to familiarize himself with his new home. He ate quickly, cleaned up after himself, and then began his adventure.

CHAPTER 2

He walked along the bank of the river, taking him a mile of so out of town. He found a meadow with four trees standing in it: an apple tree, a cherry tree, a plum tree and a walnut tree. There were also wild black berries, raspberries, a grapevine hanging over an old picket fence, and a bush, unknown to Samuel.

Being a good time to prune the plants he pulled out his pocketknife, tickled about his discovery. His mouth salivated with wonder, hardly able to wait to taste the juicy fruits they would bear in a few months. He cut away at the raspberry stalks. After he finished the job he closed the blade, slid it into his pocket, then cupped his chin and admired his accomplishment.

His drinking from last night had him drained, so he moseyed over to the walnut tree for a break. He sat and leaned against the tall, woody plant. A dried-up leaf from last autumn floated down and landed into his lap. He grasped it, studied its intricate nature and learned how complex it was, like his life. Where does my fate lie? he asked himself as he crushed the withered thing, dispersing it into a breeze that carried the fragments away.

The river and birds blended, producing tranquilly soothing sounds. Fluffy white clouds with flat bases and rounded outlines on top drifted by. His eyes grew heavy as he noticed the shapes of the brilliant shade casters. Falling into a deep slumber, he entered a dream world.

A transparent cloud formed around him. Its presence reflected lurking dangers. He was carried off to town. Standing in the middle of the main street, the negativity of the danger lying about him was forced away by his invisible shield. The townsfolk perceived him as a suitable citizen—then his dream turned grim because he was not protected from the outsider. The outsider’s deception was the most malevolent and his wickedness would penetrate Samuel’s armor. The man stood in the dark, unseen as his grisly laugh finished Samuel off—then a sweet little girl appeared and chased away the nightmare. She smiled at Samuel; he smiled back and took her into his arms. The lollipop in her hand touched his face, getting sticky candy on him.

Samuel woke up as a puppy licked his face. Hey, little doggie. Where’d you come from? He scratched the pup on its noggin. He hadn’t seen a dog in years and it stimulated him with laughter as he played with his new friend. He wondered if he had an owner; but by the looks of the filth on his coat, and his ribs that were showing, he believed he was alone. Samuel stood, walked toward town and said, Betcha needa home, don’tcha, boy?

The puppy gave him a crisp bark and trotted along Samuel’s side.

At the restaurant Samuel picked up his companion, knocked on the back door and called out for Sara. She came out and saw Samuel’s big grin as he held the cute animal. He let out a couple of chuckles as the puppy licked his ear.

Awww, he’s adorable. Where’d you find him? she asked, rubbing the puppy under his chin as she smiled at them.

"He found me up on the hill, ma’am."

Whatcha gonna do with him?

Well, I was thinking if I build him a house out back, maybe, just maybe, I could keep him, ma’am. Samuel’s heart was beating fast, nervous about being told no. He was dying inside for a ‘yes’.

Sure, she replied, I don’t see why not. Does he have a name?

Thank you, ma’am. You gotta name, boy? he asked, peering into the puppies big, brown eyes.

Ruff! the puppy spoke.

Guess his name’s Ruff, ma’am.

Good, she laughed at them. Are you boys hungry?

We’re starving, ma’am. Can we eat out here so we can start on his home?

Yes, sir, she said, giving him a salute.

Samuel gathered scrap wood from around the shed and compiled a quaint house for Ruff. He painted Ruff’s name above the door in bold, black letters. Ruff ventured into his new home, sniffed around then lay down. He watched Samuel build a fence and gate around the doghouse. Samuel felt it was his duty to keep his puppy safe until Ruff learned to fend for himself.

It was dusk when Samuel completed his task. He and Ruff were content from their dinner and ready to relax for the night. Samuel placed a bowl of water next to Ruff’s shelter. Okay, boy. You’ll be fine now. I’m gonna take good care of ya. I’ll bathe you in the mornin’. He headed inside, feeling needed.

Samuel sat at the table in his room, downing two shots. A smoke hung from his lips as he tossed his hat at the rack—it hit the mark. There was a knock at his door. It was Sara. He invited her in. She entered, holding folded clothes in one hand and a plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the other. She smiled as she placed the clothes onto the dresser; the sandwich, onto the table. He grinned as he watched her straighten out her dress, realizing how beautiful she was.

I thought you might want a little something to eat before you turn in. And I cleaned your clothes. She rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, ma’am. I’m really lucky to have your help. He placed his hand atop hers, feeling sentimental from the alcohol. I appreciate your kindness, fussin’ over me an’ all." He looked up at her, wanting to shed a tear.

Fussing? Not at all! I’m just helping you get back on your feet. I can tell you’ve been through a lot. I see it in your eyes.

You can? He took a big bite of his sandwich.

Yeah, but you’re safe here, don’t worry, she smiled, patting his shoulder.

He studied her comment, wondering what else she might discover—then his taste buds went wild. "Mmmmmm, ma’am. You make good sandwiches! The jelly’s tasty."

"Thank you. A neighbor made the peanut butter, but Katherine made