Nobody asked what he was like.
Clara smiled despite herself.
“Funny.”
“Terrible singer.”
“Thought every horse liked him.”
“They did not.”
Nathaniel smiled.
“Good man?”
“Yes.”
“Very.”
“You loved him.”
It was not a question.
“Yes.”
Nathaniel looked toward the steam.
“So did I.”
Clara knew he meant Elena.
Two widowed people standing in a kitchen at two in the morning, each carrying somebody absent.
It should have been awkward.
It wasn't.
Clara asked:
“How long were you married?”
“Fourteen years.”
“Long time.”
“Not enough.”
“No.”
Never enough.
Nathaniel leaned against the counter.
“I don't want you to misunderstand.”
Clara looked toward him.
“What?”
“My asking for a wife.”
“That sounds impossible to misunderstand.”
He almost smiled.
“I mean Elena.”
“I am not looking for someone to replace her.”
“I know.”
“You couldn't.”
“I know.”
“Not because you're less.”
“I know what you mean.”
He nodded.
“I don't know what marriage after her is supposed to look like.”
Clara looked toward the bedroom where Samuel slept.
“Maybe you shouldn't be asking strangers then.”
“Probably.”
“Yet here we are.”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
“Winter.”
“That is practical.”