Mist rose in gentle waves from the wet earth as the new dawn unfurled across the orchard, its ribbons still fluttering in the breeze. Jude stepped barefoot between sapling rows, dew soaking his feet and calling forth each memory they had sown since claiming this place. Each plant represented a vow, names whispered, seeds offered, courage affirmed. The moon had left behind faint luminescence in the sky; now the rising sun breathed warmth and possibility into leaves. Eleven wives, two children, and he, once strangers, now family, walked through rows of hope.
Grace stirred the embers in the firepit, sending sparks upward like tiny prayers. Lucy carried steaming tea; Emma brought bowls of soft porridge. The children, Laurel and Raven, chased each other between trees, laughter spilling into the morning air. Their joy was a stone laid in the foundation of their new world, smooth and shining with possibility.
