The return to formality was slight, but Grant heard it. His hands tightened on the res. He said nothing else. High Meadow appeared near midnight, its windows dark beneath the mountains. Grant helped Henry down.
Then Molly Hannah climbed from the wagon before he could offer his hand. Good night, Mr. Dalton. She went inside. Grant remained beside the wagon.
The children followed her. A moment later, Molly's small hand slipped into Hannah's again. Hannah led them upstairs. Behind her, Grant stood alone in the cold yard, and for the first time since she had come to High Meadow, the silence between them did not feel peaceful. It felt like something had been left unfinished.
The next morning, Hannah rose before 5 and moved through the kitchen by lamplight. She made coffee, mixed biscuit dough, checked the stove draft, counted eggs, everything exactly as before. That was the problem. Grant came in while she was cutting biscuits. He stopped near the western window.
His coffee waited there as usual. Hannah had almost decided not to leave it. Almost. Grant wrapped one hand around the tin cup. Morning.
Good morning, Mr. Dalton. There was the pause again, small enough that Henry, had he been there, might not have noticed. Grant noticed. He took a drink.
You sleep all right? Yes. Another lie. Grant looked out toward the barn. Hannah worked the biscuit cutter into the dough.
He seemed about to say something. Instead, he asked, "Need anything from town this week?" "No, sir." The sir made his jaw tighten. He set the cup down more carefully than necessary. I'm heading to the south pasture. All right, Hannah.
She kept her eyes on the dough. Yes, Mr. Dalton. Silence. Then nothing.
The back door closed behind him. Hannah stood very still. The biscuit cutter remained pressed halfway through the dough. She pulled it free and started again. That became the pattern.
Grant gave her room. Hannah used every inch of it. She stopped reading cattle receipts beside him after supper. Instead, she left corrected figures stacked neatly at his place. When Molly fell asleep against her, Hannah carried the girl upstairs before Grant could settle into the chair nearby.
When Henry asked whether they could work on pantry figures after supper, Hannah agreed, but chose the kitchen instead of the dining table. She had not intended to punish Grant. That was the uncomfortable part. She simply did not know how to stand beside a man after confessing she believed no man could want her, hearing him answer that his children did, and then continuing as if no wound had been opened. So she returned to what she understood.
Work 8 weeks. A beginning with an ending already agreed upon. Every night before bed, Hannah crossed another day off the small calendar Edith had tucked into her trunk. 22 days remaining, then 21, then 20. She hid the calendar beneath her folded stockings.
Still, the children noticed something. Henry watched her more closely. Molly followed her from room to room. Grant noticed most of all. He simply never forced the subject.
That restraint hurt worse than pressure might have. 4 days after the harvest supper, a wagon appeared on the upper road shortly afternoon. Hannah saw it from the kitchen window. A covered buggy. Mud splashed along the wheels, pulled by a tired chestnut mare.