Clara looked forward again.
“And Miss Porter?”
“She saw five children and chose not to begin.”
“That seems honest.”
“It was.”
“You don't resent her?”
“No.”
That answer told Clara more about Nathan than the story.
She looked down at the letter resting inside her coat pocket.
“Why did Mara think you needed another wife?”
The reins moved almost imperceptibly in Nathan’s hands.
“I imagine because she knew me.”
“That does not answer anything.”
Nathan took a long breath.
“When she became ill, I told her I would manage.”
“The ranch.”
“The children.”
“Everything.”
“She told me I was arrogant.”
Clara almost smiled.
“I think I would have liked her.”
“So does everyone who never had to argue with her.”
Clara definitely smiled this time.
Nathan noticed.
The expression on his face softened for one second.
Then vanished.
“She was sick for nearly a year.”
“Lung fever?”
“Complications after influenza.”
“She improved.”
“Then worsened.”
“By the last month…”
He stopped.
Clara waited.
Nathan’s voice dropped.
“She knew.”
Behind them, the youngest child began rubbing his eyes.
The older girl—nine perhaps—pulled him closer.
Nathan continued.
“Mara worried I’d turn the children into ranch hands because work was the only thing I understood how to organize.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised Clara.
“I’ve been correcting it badly ever since.”
Ethan stared at the landscape.
Nathan glanced toward him.
The boy did not look back.
Clara asked:
“What are their names?”
Nathan seemed surprised.
“The children.”
He nodded.
“Ethan, fourteen.”
“Samuel, twelve.”
“Lucy, nine.”
The older girl looked up.
“Rose, seven.”
The younger girl tightened her grip on Lucy.
“And Ben, five.”
The little boy remained hidden beneath Nathan’s spare coat.
Clara turned.
“Hello, Ben.”
No response.
She waited.
After several seconds, one blue eye appeared.
“Hello.”
Clara nodded solemnly.
Progress.
Lucy asked:
“Do you know how to braid hair?”
Nathan visibly tensed.
Clara looked at the girl’s uneven braid.
“Yes.”
Lucy brightened.
Rose immediately touched her own hair.
Nathan said:
“They can do their own.”
Lucy’s face fell.
Clara looked at him.
“I did not offer to adopt them by sunset.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you look frightened because she asked about braids?”
He looked ahead.
“I’m not frightened.”
Ethan muttered:
“He is.”
Nathan turned slightly.
“Ethan.”
The boy stared back defiantly.
Clara intervened.