"Yes, I can do that. " Bo nodded, something like relief crossing his weatherbeaten features. Good. That's good. They rode on as twilight deepened into true night. Stars began appearing overhead.
More stars than Eliza had ever seen from town, painting the sky in swaths of silver light. The temperature dropped quickly, as it always did in the high desert, and Eliza wrapped her thin shawl more tightly around her shoulders. Without a word, B reached behind the seat and pulled out a heavy wool blanket, offering it to her. Thank you, Eliza murmured, draping it across her lap. It smelled of horse and leather and wood smoke, the scent of someone else's life, someone else's home.
She was entering a world that had already been built without her, trying to fit into a space carved out by a dead woman's absence. The thought should have terrified her. Instead, she felt a strange sense of calm settling over her shoulders like the blanket. Maybe it was because the expectations were clear and achievable. Maybe it was because Bo Thatcher had looked at her with winter sky eyes and seen something other than her barrenness.
Maybe it was simply because anything, absolutely anything, was better than standing on that platform while her own father sold her to the highest bidder, or in this case, the only bidder. There, B said, pointing ahead. That's home. Eliza followed his gesture and saw lights flickering in the distance, lantern light, warm and yellow against the darkness. As they drew closer, she could make out the shape of buildings, a main house, a barn, several outuildings clustered together like a small settlement carved out of the wilderness.
The house itself was larger than she'd expected, a two-story structure with a wide porch wrapping around the front. It looked solid, well-built, though even in the darkness she could see signs of neglect, peeling paint, a shutter hanging loose, weeds growing up through the porch steps. A house without a woman's hand for 16 months would show such signs. Bo brought the wagon to a stop in front of the porch and set the break. Before Eliza could move, the front door burst open and children spilled out.
All five of them illuminated by the lantern light behind them, staring at the wagon with expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility. P. The smallest one, Meera, Eliza guessed, ran down the steps despite the loose boards. You were gone forever and ever. Just since this morning, baby girl, Bo said, his voice softening in a way it hadn't during their entire journey.
He climbed down from the wagon and swept the little girl up into his arms. "Were you good for James? " "She was a terror," said the tallest boy. "James clearly, with his father's build already showing in his shoulders and his mother's dark hair, his eyes fixed on Eliza with unmistakable suspicion. " "Who's that? " "This is Miss Eliza Morland," Bo said, setting Meera down and turning to help Eliza from the wagon. She's going to be staying with us, helping with the house and looking after your children while I'm working. We don't need looking after, James said flatly.
I've been managing just fine. You burned the biscuits again this morning, piped up one of the twins, a boy with a gap tothed grin. And you put salt in the coffee instead of sugar. Shut up, Nathaniel. Boys, Bose's voice carried a warning.
Mind your manners, Miss Morland. These are my sons, James, Matthew, Levi, and Nathaniel. And this is Meera. Eliza climbed down from the wagon, clutching her carpet bag, and faced the children. James was scowlling openly.