I owe you an apology, Helen said. You don't, Clara started. I slid your coins back across my counter the first day you came to town. Helen said, I'd heard things and I believe them without checking. And you stood there and you didn't argue with me and you walked out with your head up and I knew I knew right then I'd done something wrong and I did it anyway.
She looked at Clara directly. I'm sorry. Clara held her gaze. Thank you for saying so, she said. It was enough.
Helen seemed to know it was enough. She nodded and moved on. Clara stood in the emptying room and let the morning settle around her. She thought about the woman woman who had arrived in October with one suitcase and a letter and no expectation of anything beyond work and wages. She thought about what she had found.
Instead, three girls who needed someone to see them. A man who needed someone to show him that asking for help was not surrender. And a town that needed someone who would not be moved. She had not planned to become any of those things. She had simply shown up everyday and stayed.
Ardan appeared at her elbow. He was holding his papers and looking extremely satisfied in the understated way of a man who considers satisfaction unprofessional but cannot entirely suppress it. Miss Whitmore, he said Mr. Ardan the territorial court will take 6 to 8 months. He said it will be difficult. Hollis will bring everything he has.
I know. She said he may come after you specifically. Ardan said. You're the most visible and the most. He chose his word carefully.
Unconventional element in this case. He already came after me. She said it didn't work. Ardan looked at her for a moment. No, he said it didn't.
He tucked his papers under his arm. I'm glad Daniel Hayes wrote to Denver. So am I. Clara said. She found Daniel outside on the courthouse steps.
Rose on his hip and Lily pressed against his side and Emma standing one step below him talking with Jim Larkin's eldest son with the careful brighteyed energy of a girl who has just discovered that the world is not purely hostile and is recalibrating accordingly. Daniel looked up when Clara came through the door. He shifted rose on his hip and held out his free hand, not offering to shake it. Not a formal gesture, just open, extended, an invitation. Clara looked at his hand.
She looked at his face. She walked down the steps and took it. His hand closed around hers, warm, certain, unhurried. And he didn't say anything, and she didn't either. And around them, the morning continued with its ordinary noise and its extraordinarily altered light.