"Spoke to the stationmaster this morning. Says it might be another five days, maybe six." Clara kept her expression even. "I appreciate you letting me know."
"Tom Harding feels terrible about the situation," Briggs said. "His wife, the new one, she feels bad too. They wanted me to tell you that." "That's kind of them."
"They were wondering," Briggs continued with the careful tone of a man delivering a message he'd been given specific words for, "whether you might be more comfortable staying at the Widow Pearson's place. One of her travelers left yesterday, so there's a room open now. Tom said he'd cover the cost, given the circumstances." Jesse was watching the conversation with open fascination.
Cole had moved, without any apparent decision, to stand slightly closer to Clara. Clara looked at Harold Briggs for a long moment. She understood exactly what was happening. Tom Harding's conscience wasn't the reason for this visit.
The town was talking, and Harold Briggs was the town's instrument for managing things it found untidy. "Tell Mr. Harding I appreciate the offer," she said. "But I've made an arrangement with the Callaways, and I intend to honor it." Briggs's expression tightened.
"It's just that people are talking, Miss Whitfield," Briggs said, dropping the pretense of the message now and going straight to the real thing. "A woman alone in a widower's house, it doesn't look right. I'm sure you understand." "I understand perfectly," Clara said.
"I'm helping Mrs. Ruth Callaway with the household while her son manages a difficult situation with his cattle in the worst storm of the decade. There are two children here who need consistent care, and Mrs. Callaway's hands have been troubling her." She paused. "Is there something about that arrangement that requires correction?"
Briggs's jaw moved. "I'm just saying how it looks." "You're saying how it looks to people who aren't here," Clara said. "I'm telling you how it is."
Cole's hand, very small and very deliberate, closed around two fingers of Clara's left hand. She didn't look down. She didn't move. She just kept her eyes on Harold Briggs and let the child hold on to her.
Briggs looked at Cole, then at Clara. He cleared his throat. "Well, I'll pass along your answer to Tom." "You do that," Ruth said from the doorway.
Her voice was pleasant in the way a closed door is pleasant. There and not moving. Briggs climbed back into his wagon with slightly less dignity than he'd arrived with. Clara watched the wagon until it turned back onto the main road.
Then she looked down at Cole. Cole released her fingers. He looked up at her with his father's steady gray eyes. "He was trying to make you leave," he said.
"Yes." "Are you going to leave?" "Not because of him," Clara said. Cole absorbed this.