The cabin was smaller than Ren hoped.
The roof leaked during the first heavy storm.
Elias discovered that one wall had been built slightly crooked.
Ren reminded him of that fact whenever he complained about her rearranging his tools.
They argued occasionally.
About money.
About how much firewood they needed.
About whether a particular horse could be trusted near the vegetable garden.
But the arguments did not resemble those Ren remembered from her childhood or Elias had witnessed in unhappy households.
They learned to speak.
To listen.
To apologize.
And to accept that affection did not mean always agreeing.
One evening, Elias returned from repairing a fence and found Ren sitting beside the fire, sewing blue ribbon into the edge of a small blanket.
He stopped.
"What's that?"
She looked up.
"A blanket."
"I can see that."
She smiled.
"Then why ask?"
He laughed.
Then noticed something.
The blanket was much too small for either of them.
He looked at Ren.
She continued sewing.
For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.
Then he approached slowly.
"Ren?"
She looked up.
His voice became quiet.
"Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"
Ren smiled.
Then nodded.
Elias stared.
A thousand emotions moved across his face.
Surprise.
Disbelief.
Fear.
Joy.
Then he knelt beside her chair.
"You're certain?"
She laughed softly.
"Willow Song is."
Elias covered his mouth with one hand.
For a moment, he looked more frightened than he had while facing Silas Crane.
Ren touched his cheek.
"Darling?"
He looked at her.
She smiled.
"Are you happy?"
Elias's eyes filled.
"Happy?"
He gave a shaky laugh.
"Sweetheart, I don't know what to do with myself."
She laughed.
He rested his forehead against her knees.
Then whispered, "A child."
Ren stroked his hair.
"Our child."
Elias looked up.
Tears slipped down his face.
He placed one enormous hand gently over hers.
For a long moment, he simply knelt there.
Then he whispered, "I'll come home."
Ren's expression softened.
He continued.
"Whatever work takes me away, whatever happens, I'll do everything in my power to come home."
She understood.
He was thinking of Thomas Whitlock.
The promise made twenty years earlier.
The little boy who waited.
Ren leaned forward.
She kissed his forehead.
"I know."
Elias looked into her eyes.
Then she added gently, "But don't promise me a world where nothing bad can happen."
He swallowed.
She squeezed his hand.
"Promise me we'll face what comes honestly."
Elias nodded.
"I promise."
Their daughter was born the following summer.
She had thick dark hair, a strong little voice, and two brown eyes that seemed perpetually curious about the world.
Elias held her for the first time with extraordinary care.
His large hands looked almost absurd around the tiny bundle.
Ren watched from the bed.
"You're allowed to breathe, cowboy."
He looked up.
"I am breathing."
"Barely."
He laughed nervously.
The baby moved.
Elias froze.
Ren smiled.
"She's not made of glass."