Wilbur stopped, looked at her, and corrected himself before she said a word. If Miss Hart chooses to, she chose to. The correction mattered because he had made it himself. That evening she sat beside him on the porch while snow lay blue in the yard and said, "You are improving again slowly. I have noticed."
By February, the five useless minutes on the porch had become theirs whenever weather allowed. Sometimes they spoke. Sometimes Wilbur sat with empty hands and let her shoulder rest against his. The first time he made it through all five without reaching for a harness punch or a count book. Adella looked so pleased he almost accused her of plotting against useful labor.
He decided the silence was worth more. The first brown grass showed near the south fence while snow still held in the timber shadows. The trustees asked Adella to continue the next season and she accepted before she told Wilbur. When she told him they were standing at the porch rail after the children had gone inside. I said yes, she said.
To the school? To the school? Wilbur nodded. Good. She watched him.
That is all. No. He reached into his vest pocket. The ring was modest, bought in silvercliffe only after Wilbur was certain he was asking from a season they had actually lived. Adela, I have courted you through one winter. You have kept your school, your wages, your room when you wanted it, and your habit of telling me when I am wrong.
I have kept the ranch, the children, and most of my bad habits. Most? I need something to work on. She laughed softly. Wilbur's voice roughened.
Will you marry me? Adella looked at the ring, then at the house, where 10 voices had begun arguing over supper before either adult reached the kitchen. "Yes," she said. "I will. He slid the ring onto her finger only after she held out her hand.
Then she caught the front of his coat and kissed him before he could say another word. The next afternoon, the ranch porch filled in the old familiar way. No wagon came over the ridge. No brother needed convincing. Ruthie climbed into Adella's lap.
Two boys pressed against Wilbur. The others crowded the steps, his bay geling at the rail and the stock dog below. High mountains stood blue and white beyond the meadow. Wilbur did not have to put his arm around Adela because she had asked him to play a part.
She leaned into him first. He looked down at her, then across the 10 children crowding their knees and shoulders, and felt the full weight of a life that had not become easier so much as shared. "Line up," he called, before supper disappears. While we are admiring ourselves, 10 children protested at once.
Adella laughed and called the first name. Wilbur called the second. They counted every child together until the 10th voice answered from the porch rail. Then Adella's hand found his.