Clairey knew well that it was one thing to occupy his bed, quite another to occupy his heart.

Ain’t I your man?” he persisted.“Yeah, Ellis, you’re my man.” Her lips quaked as she said it.

He was born to be a farmer. It was something that he was good at, something he knew well. He was a giver of life, an alchemist that worked in dirt, seed, and manure.

She allowed herself the luxury of a good cry, figuring that her tears were mingling with the downpour to soak into the soil. It was relief. It was joy. It was the knowledge that she had overcome, and it spilled out with her tears onto the ground that she had toiled with, to become a part of the crop she had planted with her own hands. It had sought to defeat her, and she had prevailed. Now, she was permanently a part of it.