Clara smiled.
“Then it won’t be lost.”
Ruth’s heart ached.
“No, darling,” she whispered. “It won’t be lost.”
Jonah stood beside the bed, his eyes fixed on his daughter. When Clara finally slept, he turned toward Ruth.
They walked quietly into their own room.
The rain had washed the air clean. Beyond the window, the clouds were breaking, revealing a few stars above the dark pasture.
Jonah closed the door.
“Thank you,” he said.
Ruth looked at him.
“For singing?”
“For making room for her mother in our home without making me feel that I must leave room for no one else.”
She crossed the room and took his hands.
“Jonah, I love Clara. I love you. I do not need either of you to forget the people you loved before me.”
His eyes softened.
“I know.”
“And I need you to remember that I am here, too.”
He drew her closer.
“I remember.”
She looked up at him.
“Do you?”
He kissed her, and this time there was no hesitation in him. His arms settled around her, drawing her close with a tenderness that no longer seemed frightened of itself.
“Yes,” he whispered against her cheek. “I do.”
In October, almost a year after their wedding, Jonah took Ruth back to the small church where they had married.
The day was clear and cold, with a bright blue sky and the first frost silvering the grass. Clara rode with them in the wagon, wearing a red wool coat and carrying a basket of apples.
“Why are we going to church?” she asked.
“Your father has something to do,” Ruth said.
“What?”
“You’ll see.”
Clara frowned, suspicious.
“I don’t like surprises.”
Jonah smiled from the driver’s seat.
“You like birthday presents.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because I know they’re coming.”
Ruth laughed.
At the church, Jonah helped them down from the wagon. He had spoken to the minister beforehand, and the little building stood empty except for a few candles and a small arrangement of autumn flowers.
Ruth looked around, puzzled.
“What is this?”
Jonah took her hand.
“I thought we might renew our vows.”
She stared at him.