Outside her window, the desert night sang its ancient song. And in the house below, five children and one grieving father settled into sleep. Their home a little cleaner, their bellies a little fuller, their grief a little less suffocating than it had been the day before. It wasn't much, but it was something. And sometimes Eliza was learning something was enough.
The days that followed settled into an uneasy rhythm, like a song played in an unfamiliar key. Eliza rose with the rooster each morning, her body slowly adjusting to the demands of ranch life, the early hours, the endless work, the New Mexico heat that turned the kitchen into an oven by midday. She cooked and cleaned and mended, her hands finding their way through Catherine Thatcher's routines, trying to honor what had been while carving out space for what could be. The children remained a complicated puzzle. Meera had attached herself to Eliza with the intensity of a 5-year-old who'd been starving for maternal attention, following her from room to room, chattering endlessly about her mother and her dreams, and the elaborate stories she invented for her ragd doll.
Nathaniel was easier, his sunny disposition making him quick to accept anyone who showed him kindness and didn't yell. He'd taken to helping Eliza with small tasks, his gap to grin appearing whenever she praised his efforts. Levi remained silent, but he was present in ways that mattered, appearing at her elbow when she needed something moved, leaving small gifts like wild flowers or interesting rocks on her windowsill, his enormous eyes tracking her movements with an intensity that was both unnerving and oddly comforting. James had progressed from outright hostility to weary tolerance, though he still watched her like a hawk, ready to pounce if she made one wrong move. And Matthew.
Matthew remained stubbornly, determinedly angry. His 9-year-old rage, a wall she couldn't seem to breach, no matter how gentle her approach. 3 weeks into her tenure at the Thatcher Ranch, everything changed. It started innocently enough. Meera woke up fussy, complaining that her throat hurt and her head felt funny.
Eliza felt the little girl's forehead, warm, but not alarming. Probably just a summer cold. Nothing that rest in fluids wouldn't cure. "You're staying in bed today, sweetheart," Eliza said, tucking the covers around Meera's small body. "I'll bring you some tea with honey, and you can rest while your brothers do their chores. " "But I wanted to help you make bread," Meera protested weakly, her voice already taking on that raspy quality that came with illness.
"The bread will wait. You can't help me if you're sick. " Eliza smoothed the damp hair back from Meera's forehead. "Close your eyes now. I'll check on you in a little while. By noon, Meera's condition had worsened.
The mild fever had spiked into something more serious. Her small body burning hot to the touch despite the cool cloths Eliza kept applying. "The little girl drifted in and out of consciousness, mumbling nonsense about her mother and the chickens, and whether the sky was supposed to be that color. "I need to get your father," Eliza told James, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. "Can you ride out to the north pasture where he's working? " James's face had gone pale, his earlier swagger replaced by raw fear.
"Is she Is it like when Ma No, Eliza said firmly, though she wasn't sure she believed it herself. It's not like that. But she needs her father, and she needs the doctor. Can you fetch your father while I send Matthew to town for Doc Morrison? " James nodded mutely and bolted for the door, running toward the barn with the desperate speed of a child trying to outrun his worst nightmare. Matthew, when told he needed to ride to town, just stared at her with those angry eyes.
"Why should I do what you say? " "Because your sister is very sick," Eliza said, her patients finally cracking under the weight of fear and exhaustion. "Because I can't leave her to ride for the doctor myself. " "Because despite the fact that you've spent three weeks treating me like I'm your enemy, I know you love Meera. So please, Matthew, please ride to town and bring back Doc Morrison. " Something in her voice, the desperation maybe, or the fact that she'd finally acknowledged his hostility directly, got through to him. Without another word, he ran for the barn. And minutes later, Eliza heard the thunder of hoof beatats as he raced toward Ash Ridge.