“You just want to go outside and catch snowflakes on your tongue,” Mack chuckled.

“Yep, I do, but you and Mama are old, so y’all can’t run as fast as me, and besides, you got to get your coat and boots on.” Braden was off like a flash of lightning.

The front door slammed, and then Lily and Mack watched him through the window as he ran around with his head thrown back and his mouth open to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

Mack took a couple of steps to the side. “I’ll bring you a pretty snowflake when we get back.”

“It’ll melt before you can get here.” She sank down on the sofa and wondered what it would be like to spend some time in bed with him.

“Like that’s going to happen anytime soon with two kids in the house,” she whispered to herself.

They were gone all afternoon, the pesky voice in her head replied.

“Today was too soon, anyway.” She popped up off the sofa and went up to her bedroom. She had about half an hour before Mack would be back with the kids, so she got out the journal and reread the first several pages.

She left the book on the bed and went to the window. The skies were completely gray, and the snow was coming down harder than it had been when Braden came into the house. Mack pulled up into his normal parking spot in front of the house, and the kids jumped out. Small blades of grass peeked out from under the smooth white cover, but in only a few minutes, it had been stomped through. Or else Braden and Holly had rolled up snowballs to throw at each other.

She heard the front door hinges squeak as the door opened, so she made her way downstairs. She met Mack taking off his coat in the foyer.

“Did you bring me a snowflake?” she teased.

He held out a perfectly round snowball. “I brought you a million because you deserve more than one.”

She took the snowball from him. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. I’m going to put it in the freezer and keep it.”

“For real?”

“For absolute real,” she said. “This could be the most romantic present anyone’s ever given me.”

“Aww, shucks, ma’am”—Mack pretended to kick at imaginary dirt—“that’s just a snowball. I can do better.”

“We’ll see about that,” she told him as she took the snowball to the kitchen, put it in a plastic bag, and stuck it in the freezer. “Roses and candlelight dinners can’t compare to a million perfect snowflakes.”

He followed her and sat down at the table. “I’m glad that you like it.”

“Mama, I’m freezing.” Holly rushed into the kitchen. “Will you please, please make us some hot chocolate, and then can we read more in the journal?”

“Sure thing.” Lily got out a pan.

“So tell me more about this journal. I know you and Holly have been reading it for a school project?” Mack opened the refrigerator and handed her the milk, then brought out the sugar bin and cocoa from the pantry.

“I’ll show it to you while they have their chocolate,” Lily said.

She’d just poured up two mugs of hot chocolate when Braden came through the back door. “Now that’s good timin’,” he said as he removed his coat and hat.

“Y’all help yourselves to more if you want it,” Lily said. “I made extra. Mack and I are going upstairs to see the journal.”

“What’s that?” Braden asked.

“I’ll explain to him,” Holly offered.

Lily told Mack about it as she climbed the stairs with him right behind her. “I found it in the secretary. It’s all handwritten and the first pages are really brittle. It probably belongs in a museum somewhere. At first I couldn’t understand why Mama had the thing. I sure didn’t recognize the first person who wrote in it—name of Ophelia Smith. She started writing in it during the Civil War.” She took it out and laid it on the bed.

“Good grief, Lily!” He stepped back and stared at the leather-bound book. “That thing really should be in a museum.”

“Maybe, but Holly should have it next, so it’ll kind of be up to her what to do with it when I’m gone.” She carefully closed the journal.

“That’s really impressive that you’ve got something like that,” Mack said.

“Mama, are you ready to read yet?” Holly yelled from the foyer.

“Yes, I am,” Lily hollered, and then looked at Mack. “We’re reading an entry at a time for her history paper. Her assignment is to write about someone in her family.”

“Well, it’s amazing,” Mack said. “I should go now and let y’all get on with the lesson. We wouldn’t want our daughter to get bad grades on a history assignment.”

It wasn’t until he’d passed Holly on the stairs that she realized he’d said our daughter, not your daughter. Somehow, it sounded kind of nice.

Holly brought her notebooks and spread them out on the bed like she always did, and then looked up at her mother. Lily sat down and opened the journal.

“Look, Mama, the new page isn’t as yellow as the ones Ophelia wrote on,” Holly noticed.

“Darlin’ girl, more than half a century has passed since we first started reading,” Lily told her.

Just like that, she thought, in a twinkling of an eye, or rather in the time in Comfort, history had been changed. Lily’s breath caught in her chest when she saw that a new person had started writing.

“Rachel O’Riley Callahan, August 1920,” Lily said.

“But I wanted to hear more about Jenny,” Holly moaned.

“Evidently, it’s been passed down,” Lily said, and then went on:

Mama gave me this journal last week. I’ve chosen to begin writing in it today since women are now allowed to vote in all the states. In Oklahoma we have had that right for almost two years. I was the first one in line to vote when the law was passed here in our state. I’m glad that I helped fight for the right. Hopefully, it will teach my daughter to stand up for herself and be independent. I’m thirty-three years old and have a wonderful, understanding husband, who has never held me back. We’ve been married thirteen years, and my daughter went with me on the first day I could vote. I hope she remembers that day forever. Mama still lives on the original homestead, two miles down the road from me, and loves her grandchildren. She misses Granny Matilda, but then we all do. We buried her here in Dodsworth, and we visit her grave often. Mama says it makes her feel closer to Granny Matilda. I hate to think of the day that I lose my mother. She’s been a rock to me my whole life, and always encouraged me to take up for myself and never let anyone run over me.

Tears rolled down Holly’s cheeks. “I didn’t want Matilda to die.”

Lily wrapped her up in her arms. “Don’t think of it like that. Be grateful that you got to read a little bit about her, and maybe learn that you had a strong woman in your past.”

“But, Mama, it’s like I know these women for real, not just on the page.” Holly wiped the tears away with her sweater sleeve.

“And someday you’ll add your pages to the journal, and some young lady will get to know you the same way,” Lily assured her.

“I hope so,” Holly said. “I want to write about my first days here in Comfort, and tell about my goat and my friend Faith and all kinds of things.”