The marshal looked at the receipt.
Then toward me.
We didn't need to say anything.
The evidence was beginning to connect.
That evening, the younger mother sat beneath a mesquite tree outside the estate.
The little girl had returned to the nursery.
The wealthy couple had agreed to allow another supervised visit the following day while the marshal contacted the district court.
The younger woman stared at her hands.
I approached carefully.
"May I sit?"
She nodded.
I settled on a nearby rock.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, "She doesn't know me."
I looked toward the house.
"Not yet."
Her eyes filled.
"She reached for the other woman."
I nodded.
"That's who has cared for her."
The younger woman began crying.
"I know."
I remained quiet.
She wiped her cheeks.
"I wanted her to run into my arms."
The confession came out painfully.
"I imagined it every night. I thought if she was alive, she would somehow remember."
I looked toward her.
"She's little."
She nodded.
"She's so little."
"She doesn't understand what happened."
"I know."
I took a breath.
"But she smiled at you."
The younger woman looked up.
"She smiled because I gave her the horse."
"Maybe."
I smiled faintly.
"That's a beginning."
For several moments, she considered that.
Then she looked toward the house.
"I don't want her to be afraid of me."
"Then don't rush her."
She nodded.
"I can wait."
The words surprised me.
After everything she'd endured, I hadn't expected her to speak about patience.
But she continued.
"I waited more than a year to learn whether she was alive."
Her expression became determined.
"I can give her time to know me."
I nodded.
"That's probably the greatest kindness you can offer her right now."
She looked toward me.
For the first time, her eyes were clear.
"Thank you."
I smiled.
"You're welcome."
Then she surprised me.
She reached into her pocket and removed a small braided cord.
It was made of faded red and blue threads.
"I made this while I was pregnant," she said.
I looked at it.
"For my daughter."
She held it carefully.
"I thought she was dead. But I kept it."
I nodded.
"Of course you did."
She looked toward the nursery window.
"Tomorrow, I will ask if she can have it."
I smiled.
"I think she'd like that."
The next morning, the wealthy woman brought the child into the garden.
The younger mother sat on a blanket beneath a tree.
She had brought the braided cord.
She didn't reach for the child immediately.
Instead, she played with the little wooden horse, moving it slowly across the blanket.