Mrs. Hattie Pike from the general store visited one morning with two church ladies and a mouth full of concern.
“Mrs. Whitcomb,” she said, looking around the kitchen as if counting faults, “several families have begun to wonder whether this arrangement is wise.”
Nora kept her hands folded.
“What arrangement?”
“A pregnant widow caring for so many children alone.”
“I am not alone. Reverend Bell—”
“Is a good man, but not a father. And soon you will have your own infant to consider.”
The words were wrapped in concern, but Nora heard the blade beneath.
“There is a children’s institution opening in Stonevale,” Mrs. Pike continued. “Proper beds. Proper oversight. Married matrons.”
Jane stood in the doorway with white lips.
Nora’s voice went cold.
“These children are not being sent away.”
“That may not be entirely your decision.”
After they left, Nora found Jane crying behind the pantry.
“They’ll split us up.”
“No,” Nora said, pulling the girl close.
“They can.”
“They will have to come through me first.”
Jane clung to her like the child she still was.
That night, little Samuel developed a fever.
For two days, Nora barely slept. She cooled him with damp cloths, brewed willow bark tea, whispered prayers, and ignored the ache in her back that warned she was doing too much. The children helped quietly, terrified of losing the smallest among them.
Samuel’s fever broke at dawn on the third day.
Nora stepped outside into the freezing air and finally let herself shake.
She needed help.
Not for herself.
For them.
So she sent Miles to Greerland with a note.
The children need your help. Please come.
Silas arrived before noon, his horse lathered, his coat streaked with snow. He came to the door looking like a man who had ridden through more than weather.
“Nora,” he said. “The children?”
“Safe for now.”
Relief crossed his face so plainly that anger in her chest lost some of its strength.
She brought him into the parlor and told him everything.
Mrs. Pike.
Stonevale.
The threat of removal.
The fever.
The dwindling stores.
Silas listened without interrupting. With every word, his jaw tightened. When she finished, he reached into his coat and withdrew a folded document.
“I should have brought this sooner.”
Nora stared at it.
“What is it?”
“The deed transfer.”
Her hands went cold.
Silas placed it on the table.
“I began the process the day after you sent me away. The chapel land will belong to the church outright. No reversion. No claim from me. No man’s permission required.”
Nora could not speak.
“I never wanted power over you,” he said quietly. “But not wanting it did not change the fact that I had it. You were right.”
Tears burned behind her eyes.
“I don’t know how to trust you again.”
“I know.”
“That paper fixes the land, not my heart.”
“I know that too.”
He looked toward the kitchen where the children whispered.