Silas hated name.
“It sounds like people should tour.”
“Better than Widow House.”
“Anything better.”
Open House became known across county.
Not charity exactly.
Residents worked when able.
Paid modest rent if they had money.
Nothing if they did not.
No one had to explain body, marital status, or past to sleep warm.
Clara’s mother’s philosophy became architecture.
There is room.
One autumn afternoon, Clara stood on porch watching children chase chickens.
Silas joined.
“You built a village.”
“We built.”
“You ordered.”
“You hammered.”
“Different.”
Clara smiled.
Then looked at him.
“Do you ever want children?”
Silas went quiet.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
Clara looked away.
At thirty-three, she had not conceived.
They were careful at first.
Then less.
Nothing.
A physician in Denver examined Clara and said pregnancy might be difficult and dangerous at her size.
He said it professionally, not cruelly.
Still painful.
Clara whispered:
“I may not be able.”
Silas leaned against railing.
“I know.”
“Does that change…”
“No.”
“You don't know question.”
“Yes.”
“You were going to ask if it changes us.”
Clara nodded.
“No.”
Silas looked toward children.
“I wanted a child once.”
“Then I wanted you.”
“Those aren’t same want.”
“One doesn't replace other.”
“But neither cancels.”
Clara cried quietly.
Silas took her hand.
“Family is not only one road.”
Months later, Ruth died unexpectedly from fever.
Her two children, Elsie and Thomas, remained.
Elsie was thirteen.
Thomas nine.
Their closest relative lived in Missouri and wrote that he could not feed more mouths.
Clara received letter.
She sat all night.
At dawn, she asked Silas:
“Do you want them?”
He looked toward sleeping rooms.
“Yes.”
“So do I.”
They became guardians.
Eventually parents by law.
Elsie refused calling Clara Mother for nearly a year.
Clara never forced.
Then one winter morning, Elsie shouted from barn:
“Ma!”
Clara turned so quickly she nearly fell.
Elsie froze.
Both stared.
Then girl rolled eyes.
“Cow is loose.”
Clara began crying.
Elsie groaned.
“Please don't.”
Silas laughed from fence.
Thomas called Clara Ma almost immediately because he liked shortcuts.
Their family expanded again when twin girls arrived at Open House after influenza killed their father and mother became too ill to care temporarily.
The mother recovered.
Took them home.
Clara grieved their absence and celebrated it simultaneously.
Family could be temporary and real.
Another lesson.
At thirty-five, Clara finally asked Silas:
“Are you ever going to marry me?”
Silas almost dropped a horseshoe.
“You told me not to decide.”
“I didn't tell you never ask.”
“I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“Sign.”
“From God?”
“From you.”