This is a piece about the Pettibone family, from Izzy's point of view, after Clive marries Muriel. Picks up at the end of Season six. I don't own these characters!

By the time we drove up to the Pettibone home, some of the excitement from the little wedding ceremony was starting to wear away. Instead, I felt nervous.

Father spoke as he pulled the horses to a halt. "Izzy, Muriel and I are going past her place to get her some things. Will you go in and get dinner started?"

I jumped out of the buggy—I wouldn't mind a little time alone, to think. After adding more wood to the stove, I cut some parsnips, carrots, and cabbage, then added some salt pork to the mixture. It would make a fairly good stew. I mixed up some cornbread and put that in the oven, then sat in one of the kitchen chairs.

I knew things were going to change, but wasn't sure how much. I assumed Miss Stacey—Muriel—Mrs. Pettibone—whatever I was to call her—would take over in the kitchen, so I wouldn't have to cook, at least not every meal.

When I'd told Cecily that Miss Stacey was coming, she thought I was lucky because she's so kind to everyone. I suppose she is, but time will tell. Living with someone is very different from seeing them in town. I don't even know if Father and Miss Stacy have talked about the store yet, if she's keeping it.

I jumped when the door opened. Had I really been sitting there for that long?

"I'll take your bags up to my—our—room, Muriel." I think she blushed a bit when Father said that.

That left us in the kitchen. "May I assist you with anything, Izzy?"

"No thank you, I just have to set the table."

"Please, let me help." I acquiesced with a shrug and handed her a stack of plates. "Do you eat supper in the dining room or kitchen?"

"Kitchen, most days. If it's just family." I felt odd saying that. Imagine having to ask that—she really didn't know much about us. She must feel as uncomfortable as I, although she didn't show it. "Um… what should I call you? If you don't mind my asking."

"Oh, well, whatever you like. I suppose you can't call me Mrs. Pettibone. Muriel, then."

"I don't think Father will condone that."

"Don't think Father will condone what?"

"Oh, Clive, we were just discussing what Izzy should call me."

"Mother, of course."

I avoided Miss—Muriel's gaze, sure she was looking for my reaction. She'd get none from me.

Our dinner was no quieter than usual; I think Muriel was trying to keep a light conversation going, her voice pleasant. At least Father and Arthur didn't get into any of their quarrels; that wouldn't have done on Muriel's first night.