She was a teacher before, you know, back in Ohio. I know. That's why we're asking. What do you think? I think you should ask her, but I think she'll say yes.
Miller did ask that very afternoon, and Mara, eyes shining with joy, said yes before he even finished the question. The school was built that fall, a small one room structure on the Miller farm. Mara started teaching in October with 15 students ranging from 6 to 14. Eliza and the twins attended, soaking up knowledge like desert soil, soaking up rain. Jonah was technically old enough to stop, but he came anyway, sitting in the back and helping the younger children with their lessons.
Silas would ride over at midday sometimes, bringing Mara lunch, staying to watch her teach. She was luminous in front of that classroom, patient and passionate, and utterly in her element. This was what she'd been meant to do before life had derailed her plans. Now she'd found her way back. Winter came again, their second as a family.
This one was easier. They were prepared now, with more food stored, more woodcut, more blankets, and warm clothes. The cabin had been expanded enough that no one felt cramped. Grace had her own little corner. The older children had more space in the loft.
They were comfortable. Not rich, never that, but comfortable, safe, loved. On Christmas morning, Silas woke early to start the fire and found Mara already awake, sitting in the rocking chair with Grace asleep in her arms. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked quietly. "Didn't want to.
I wanted to watch them. She gestured to the loft where seven children slept peacefully. Sometimes I wake up and I'm afraid this is all a dream that I'll open my eyes and find myself back on that road, dragging that wagon, losing everything. Silus knelt beside her chair, took her free hand. It's not a dream.
This is real. We're real. I know, but Silas, when I think about how close we came, if you'd ridden past, if I died before you found me, if Thomas had succeeded in taking the children? She shook her head. We shouldn't be here.
By all rights, we should have failed. But we didn't. And you want to know why? Why? Because you refused to quit.
Because even when you had every reason to lie down and die, you kept going. That's not luck, Mara. That's who you are. He touched Grace's soft hair. "And now look at what we've built.
Eight children, a home, a community, a life worth living. All because you wouldn't give up." Marlene Down, kissed him softly. "We wouldn't give up. You're part of this story, too. I'm the lucky bastard who got to be there when you needed someone.
You're more than that." She settled back in the chair, adjusting Grace's weight. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, to all of us. Above them, the children began to stir, excited whispers floating down as they realized it was Christmas morning. Within minutes, the cabin was chaos. Children tumbling down the ladder, exclaiming over the small gifts Silas and Mara had managed to scrape together, laughing and playing and filling every corner with joy.