“You need a proper ledger,” she told him.
“I have a ledger.”
“You have seven ledgers.”
“They each serve a purpose.”
“They contradict one another.”
“They do not.”
She showed him three entries that listed the same shipment of hay at three different prices.
He studied the pages, then rubbed his jaw.
“Perhaps I need one ledger.”
Margaret smiled. “A sensible arrangement.”
He gave her a long look.
“You enjoy telling me I’m wrong.”
“I enjoy being right.”
“That must make life very pleasant.”
“It does.”
He found himself smiling more often than he had in years.
Clara changed too.
She began bringing her books to Margaret and asking her to read aloud. She followed her into the kitchen, imitating the way she kneaded dough. She asked questions about Philadelphia, about trains, about the sea, and about the children at St. Agnes.
Margaret answered honestly, never pretending that life had been easy. She told Clara about crowded streets and noisy markets, about the kindness of strangers and the cruelty of people who believed poverty was a character flaw. She told her about the children who had no parents and the women who had lost everything but still found a way to help others.
Clara listened with wide eyes.
“Were you one of those children?” she asked one afternoon.
Margaret hesitated.
“Yes,” she said. “For a time.”
“Did you have a papa?”
“I did, once.”
“Where is he now?”
“He died when I was very young.”
Clara considered this.
“Then you know what it feels like when someone doesn’t come home.”
Margaret’s throat tightened.
“Yes.”
Clara climbed onto her lap.
“I’m sorry.”
Margaret held her close.
“So am I.”
Eli stood in the doorway, watching them.
He had not intended to listen. He had come to ask whether the laundry was ready, but the sight of his daughter resting against Margaret’s chest made him stop.
For three years, he had been afraid of the moment when Clara might ask whether she could call another woman “Mama.” He had rehearsed gentle answers, determined not to shame her for longing. Yet now he realized that Clara was not trying to replace Anne. She was simply learning that love could exist in more than one direction.
Margaret looked up and saw him.
He nodded, then quietly left them alone.