The question was so direct that Ruth could not pretend not to understand.
“A little.”
Clara stepped into the room. She looked at the gown spread across the floor, then at the suitcase near the dresser.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“No, darling.”
“You brought your bag.”
“I brought it from the train. I haven’t unpacked everything yet.”
Clara seemed relieved, though she did not entirely relax.
“Papa said you would stay here now.”
“I will.”
“Forever?”
Ruth knelt carefully, gathering the heavy skirt around her.
“I hope so.”
Clara studied her face.
“Papa says you’re kind.”
Ruth smiled faintly. “That is very generous of him.”
“He said you might teach me to read better.”
“I would be happy to.”
“And make biscuits?”
“If you help me.”
Clara considered this.
“I can stir, but I spill flour.”
“Then we shall keep a broom nearby.”
The little girl’s expression brightened. She stepped closer, touching the lace at Ruth’s sleeve with one cautious finger.
“Your dress is like the snow.”
“It is.”
“Did you wear it to marry Papa?”
“Yes.”
“Was he happy?”
Ruth’s smile faded.
“He was glad to marry me.”
Clara tilted her head. “But was he happy?”
Ruth did not know how to answer.
Before she could speak, Clara’s gaze shifted toward the photograph on the table.
“Mama wore white when she married Papa,” she said.
Ruth looked at the photograph. “She must have been very beautiful.”
“She was.”
“Would you like to tell me about her?”
Clara nodded at once, then seemed uncertain.
“Papa gets quiet when I talk about Mama.”
“Sometimes people get quiet when they miss someone.”
“Do you think he misses her?”
“Yes,” Ruth said gently. “I think he always will.”