“But loving her doesn't erase the child I lost.”
“No.”
“Or make infertility a gift.”
“No.”
Lara looked at him.
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“Not saying everything happens for a reason.”
Elias snorted.
“I hate that sentence.”
“Good.”
They sat.
The river moved.
Caleb Ryland died in 1894.
Heart.
Not violence.
Not dramatic justice.
He left two sons.
One approached Elias about renewing the mine water lease.
Lara handled negotiation.
The son looked nervous.
“My father said you were impossible.”
Lara smiled.
“He was correct.”
The lease renewed at fair terms.
No inherited feud.
Elias approved.
That mattered.
Children should not be born owing their parents’ enemies.
Thomas visited Whispering Pines once.
Lara was forty-one.
He was forty-five.
His hair thinning.
Less polished.
He arrived by train.
Sent letter first.
Asked permission.
Lara nearly refused.
Then allowed.
He came alone.
When he saw the ramp, he looked away.
Remembering.
Probably the jokes.
Inside, he saw Anna.
Now fifteen.
He met Elias.
They shook hands.
Cold.
Civil.
Dinner was awkward.
Then Thomas looked at Lara.
“You seem happy.”
She smiled faintly.
“I am.”
“I wasn't sure…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“That someone…”
Lara waited.
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
“Finish.”
He looked at her.
“That someone would love you.”
Elias stood.
Lara touched his arm.
He remained.
Thomas continued:
“I know that sounds monstrous.”
“It is.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you think it?”
“Because I needed to.”
Lara stared.
Thomas’s eyes filled.
“If somebody could love you…”
“Then everything I told you about why you needed me was false.”
Silence.
Lara felt something old loosen.
Thomas continued:
“I made you dependent.”
“Then I used dependence as proof you could not survive alone.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Lara did not rush to forgive.
He deserved the dignity of real consequences.
She said:
“I believe you.”
Thomas’s face changed.
“That isn't the same as forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“I forgive some things.”
“Not all.”
“I may never.”
Thomas nodded.
“Fair.”
They walked outside after dinner.
Thomas saw river.
Mill.
Ranch.
Anna riding.
Workers.
Lara’s office.
A life larger than the one he believed her capable of having.
He said:
“You built all this.”
“We did.”
“You and Elias.”
“And Ben.”
“Margaret.”
“Workers.”
“Caleb accidentally financed some.”
Thomas laughed once.
Then serious.
“I wasted years.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward her.
“Do you hate me?”
Lara thought.
“No.”