Moving into it was difficult.
Jedediah nearly quit after the second attempt.
Meadow stood beside him.
“You done?”
“Yes.”
“No, you're angry.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
He glared.
Meadow pointed toward the cart.
“Try again.”
“I'm tired.”
“So am I.”
“You aren't the one dragging dead legs around.”
“No.”
Meadow stepped closer.
“I'm the one dragging your stubborn hide around.”
Jedediah stared.
Then laughed.
He tried again.
By sunset, he sat in the cart.
Sweating.
Exhausted.
Triumphant.
He pushed one wheel.
The cart rolled six inches.
Jedediah froze.
He pushed again.
A foot.
Then two.
Meadow watched him cross the cabin floor.
He reached the door.
The threshold stopped him.
His expression collapsed.
Meadow looked down.
Then went outside.
Returned with boards.
“What?”
“Ramp.”
He stared.
She began laying plank.
Jedediah said, “Meadow.”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
She did not look up.
“Don't get soft.”
They built pathways next.
Not because Meadow wanted them.
Because Jedediah demanded them.
Packed dirt was too unpredictable.
Grass resisted small wheels.
They laid planks between cabin, barn, forge, and well.
Neighbors passing on the road slowed.
Some laughed.
Not as loudly as before.
Jedediah learned to move his cart using his arms.
He grew broader through the shoulders.
His palms hardened again.
Then came the forge.
Samuel's old forge had not been used in years.
Jedediah asked Meadow to drag an anvil closer.
She refused.
“You drag it.”
He stared.
“You know I can't.”
“You told me you used to move trees.”
“I had legs.”
“Use your brain.”
Jedediah cursed.
Then built a pulley.
By evening, the anvil moved.
Meadow stood beside the barn trying not to smile.
Jedediah looked at her.
“You knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I'd figure it out.”
“No.”
“You liar.”
“Prove it.”
They began making money.
Small at first.
Neighbor needed an ax repaired.
Jedediah sharpened it.
Another brought a broken wagon brace.
Jedediah repaired it.
A rancher needed a hinge.
Then three hinges.
Then a gate latch.
People who had laughed at Founders Day began riding out to Meadow's farm because the paralyzed mountain man fixed things better than the blacksmith in town.
Jedediah charged fairly.
Not cheaply.
Meadow handled payments.
When a man tried offering half price because “Boone can't exactly go anywhere,” Meadow looked him in the eye.
“Neither can your wagon without that axle.”
The man paid full.
Jedediah heard about it later.
He smiled for an hour.
The special saddle took two months.
That project frightened Meadow.
Jedediah designed wide leather supports around his thighs and hips, straps that held his legs safely, a reinforced high back, and a mounting system using a pulley beam beside the barn.
“You'll kill yourself,” Meadow said.
“Eventually.”
“Not on my horse.”
Jedediah looked at her.
“Our horse.”
The word hung there.