He set the bag beside the bed.
“There’s water in the pitcher. I’ll bring more wood in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
“Your coat can dry near the stove. I’ll leave it in the kitchen.”
She stood in the doorway, looking at the room.
“It’s lovely.”
“It’s plain.”
“It’s warm.”
“That’s what matters in Wyoming.”
Margaret turned toward him. “Eli, I’m sorry I brought the letter like this.”
He studied her face. The exhaustion was catching up with her. Her eyelids were heavy, and the cold had left her lips pale.
“You brought it when you could,” he said.
“I could have told you sooner.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know how.”
He considered that, then nodded.
“Neither do I.”
He left her to unpack.
In the kitchen, Clara was waiting beside the stove.
“Papa, is Miss Margaret going to marry you?”
Eli stopped.
“What makes you ask that?”
“Because she came from far away, and you wrote to her, and she’s pretty.”
“Those are not reasons to marry someone.”
“Mama said you were handsome.”
Eli closed his eyes briefly.
“Your mother said many things.”
“She said you were handsome when you were mad, but not when you were pretending you weren’t.”
Despite himself, he laughed.
Clara beamed, delighted to have restored a little of his old expression.
“Does Miss Margaret think you’re handsome?”
“I have no idea.”
“Ask her.”
“I’m not going to ask a woman whether she thinks I’m handsome.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not a sensible question.”
Clara considered this, then nodded solemnly.
“Then ask if she likes you.”
Eli crouched beside her.
“Clara, grown people have to take their time with things like this.”