Perhaps he had been a coward from the beginning.
The thought sat heavily in his chest.
He put the bridle down and stepped outside. The sky had deepened to violet, and the first stars were appearing above the dark ridge. From the house came a faint glow through the windows.
He could return.
He could climb the stairs, knock on the bedroom door, and tell Ruth the truth. He could say that he wanted her, that he had wanted her from the moment she stepped down from the train, and that he was terrified of loving her because he had once believed he would never survive losing someone again.
But what if she heard that truth and decided he was too broken to be a husband?
What if she believed he had married her only because he needed help raising Clara?
What if she wanted a man who could love without fear?
Jonah rubbed a hand over his face.
He had no answers.
Only the sound of the wind and the knowledge that the woman upstairs had every reason to resent him.
Ruth unfastened the pearls at her throat with trembling fingers.
She had never felt so foolish.
The gown was beautiful, the room was warm, and the evening was still young. Yet she had the sensation of having arrived at the wrong house, of having mistaken a polite invitation for a promise.
She had not married Jonah because she believed marriage would rescue her from loneliness. She had lived through enough disappointments to know that a wedding ring could not guarantee happiness. She had chosen him because his letters revealed a quiet goodness she trusted, and because he had spoken of Clara with such tenderness that Ruth had felt affection for the little girl before ever meeting her.
She had chosen him because she wanted a life that mattered.
She had not expected to be loved instantly. She had not even expected to be loved easily.
But she had hoped to be wanted.
That hope now seemed embarrassingly fragile.
She rose and carried the suitcase to the dresser. Her hands were unsteady as she opened it and removed a folded nightdress. The gown’s heavy skirt whispered over the floor as she moved. She placed the nightdress on the bed, then stood before the mirror.
Her face looked unfamiliar.
The curls framing her cheeks had loosened. Her lips were pale. A small pearl had slipped from one sleeve and rested against the lace near her wrist. She looked like a bride from a photograph, carefully dressed and entirely alone.
She reached up and removed the remaining hairpins. Her chestnut hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders.
For a moment she thought of her mother.
Her mother had died when Ruth was nineteen, after a long illness that had left the family with little money and fewer choices. Ruth’s father had followed two years later, leaving her with a modest inheritance that was not enough to live on independently for long. She had worked as a teacher, taken in sewing, and tried to build a life from the small pieces that remained.
When the opportunity to correspond with Jonah came, she had hesitated.
A widower with a child. A ranch in a distant territory. A home where another woman’s memory still lived.
Her friends had warned her that she might be lonely. One had asked whether she was certain she wanted to spend her youth raising another woman’s daughter. Another had wondered whether a man who had lost his wife so recently could truly make room for anyone else.
Ruth had answered that she would rather build something real with a good man than spend her life waiting for a perfect one.
She had meant it.
She still meant it.
But she had not known how painful it would be to feel like a guest in her own marriage.
A soft knock sounded at the bedroom door.
Ruth turned.
“Who is it?”
“Clara.”
Ruth’s expression softened.
“Come in, sweetheart.”
The door opened a few inches, and a small face appeared around the edge. Clara Mercer was five years old, with dark curls, solemn brown eyes, and a tendency to watch adults as though she were trying to understand a language they had forgotten how to speak.
She wore a faded blue nightdress and held a rag doll by one arm.
“Papa said you might be tired,” Clara said.
“I am a little tired.”
“Are you sad?”