A Place Called Harmony by Jodi Thomas

have survived and would someday make it back. Thousands had died and no one recorded their deaths except in numbers. How could she have kept hoping after a year, or even two?
    As she talked about her boy and how good a son he was, Annie figured it out. Hope was all she lived on.
    When Patrick offered to pay for the night, the woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Dixon, shook her head. “You kids need your money to make a start. I’ll get by.”
    Annie saw the pride in her as she straightened.
    Patrick must have seen it also because he said, “The weather may be too bad to travel for a few days. Looks like a bad norther is coming in. I’d be pleased if you’d let me work off our keep. I’d hate to be caught out in the storm without shelter.”
    This Mrs. Dixon understood. “All right. My back door needs fixing. I’m not strong enough to do it myself. The roof leaks and with this bad leg I can’t climb the ladder. You fix that, Mr. McAllen, and we’ll call it even.”
    They’d settled on a plan. After supper, she showed them to her son’s room. The bed was small, but everything was clean and in place as if she expected him any day. She might have sold everything of value in the rest of the house, but this was her only child’s room and it would be ready for him when he returned.
    Patrick went to put the horses and wagon in the barn while Annie changed into the shirt she’d claimed as her nightgown. When he returned, he stripped down to his long johns and climbed in beside her.
    Annie cuddled beside Patrick and they whispered their plans for the next day. They’d do far more than fix the door. Mrs. Dixon needed wood chopped and fences mended.
    While they talked, he gently stroked her hair. Annie wasn’t sure why he did it, but the gentle touch seemed to relax them both.
    She was almost asleep when Patrick asked, “Annie, would you mind if I touched you?”
    Since she was pressed up against his side on a bed not big enough for them both to lie on their backs, she guessed he was already touching her, but she tried to wake up enough to understand his question. “Where?”
    He was silent for so long, she thought he must have given up on the idea and fallen asleep. Then he said, “On your breast.”
    Now she was wide awake. “Why?” For almost two weeks they’d cuddled and kissed a few times each day; now out of the blue he wanted to touch her.
    “Forget it,” he said, and would have probably rolled over if he wouldn’t have fallen out of bed.
    She sat up, making room enough to turn and look at him. “I guess it would be all right, if you want to.” Touching a breast wasn’t making love, so they wouldn’t be making a baby. And, since she was his wife, she knew at some point he’d be touching her.
    She could feel him staring at her in the darkness, but he didn’t say a word.
    The light from a small window spread a dim yellow glow over her as she unbuttoned the front of the shirt he’d given her to wear. She opened it, exposing both of her breasts.
    For a while he didn’t move, and then very slowly he raised his hand and pressed his palm over one of her breasts. His touch was warm and tender. After a while, his fingers began to move, outlining the curve of each.
    Her breathing grew rapid, but she didn’t move away. When his full hand pressed over her, she drew in a breath of surprise.
    “Does this hurt you?” he asked, his fingers still.
    “No,” she answered. “It’s just that no one has ever touched me like you are now.”
    “It’s something husbands do, I think?”
    She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
    “If you don’t like me to touch you there, just let me know, Annie, but I have to tell you it’s like you’re giving me a great gift letting me do this.”
    He rose to his elbow and leaned close, gently kissing the fullness of each breast. When he lifted his head, he smiled. “Thank you. You’re so beautiful, so soft there.”
    Annie didn’t know how to take the compliment. No one