Silas stood back, watching it all, and felt something he'd thought he'd never feel again. Peace. Not the absence of problems. They still had those. Money was still tight.
Winters were still hard. Life on the frontier was never easy. But he had a family. He had love. He had purpose.
And that was enough. More than enough. It was everything. Spring came once more, and with it Mara's announcement that she was pregnant again. The children were thrilled.
Grace was just over a year old and already running everywhere on sturdy legs. The thought of another baby sent everyone into a frenzy of preparation. "We're going to need a bigger cabin," Jonah said, looking around at their already crowded space. "Already planning it," Silas assured him. "This summer, we'll add another room.
Maybe two." But fate, it seemed, had other plans. 3 months into the pregnancy, Mara woke in the middle of the night with terrible cramping. By morning, she'd lost the baby. The grief was immediate and crushing. Mara lay in bed for two days, barely speaking, while Silas and Eliza managed the household and tried to keep the younger children from understanding what had happened. On the third day, Silas sat beside her and simply held her while she cried.
"I couldn't keep it," she sobbed against his chest. "I couldn't even keep it safe for 3 months. What kind of mother?" "Stop! This wasn't your fault." "How do you know?" "Because Mrs. Henderson said so. because these things happen and they're no one's fault.
Because you're the strongest woman I know and if you could have saved this baby, you would have." Mara cried until she had no tears left. Then she lay exhausted in Silas's arms and whispered, "I wanted to give you more children. I wanted I have children. I have grace. I have seven others who are just as much mine as if I'd fathered them myself.
You've already given me more than I ever dreamed of having. But Nit, no butts. I'm not disappointed. I'm not angry. I'm just sad for you because I know this hurts.
But Mara, we're going to be okay. We're going to get through this the way we've gotten through everything else together. It took time. Weeks of Mara moving through the days like a ghost, going through the motions, but not really living. The children tried to help, bringing her flowers and drawings and sitting quietly beside her when she couldn't bear talking.
And slowly, gradually, she came back to herself. She went back to teaching, threw herself into her work with renewed passion, pouring all her grief and love into these children who needed her. She held Grace closer, longer, grateful for the daughter she did have. And she let Silas hold her at night, anchor her, remind her that she was loved even when she felt broken. By summer, the acute grief had faded to a dull ache she could live with.
She and Silas talked about trying again, decided to wait, to enjoy what they had without reaching for more. "We have enough," Mara said one evening as they sat on the porch watching the children play. "More than enough." "We do," Silas agreed. "We really do." "And it was true. The years that followed were good ones.