But I know what it's like to be alone and scared. I know what it's like to need someone to just show up and stay. And I know what it's like to be looked at like you don't matter. She took a breath, making a decision that terrified and exhilarated her in equal measure. Those girls looked at me like I mattered.
You looked at me like I mattered. If you're willing to take a chance on someone with no experience and no references except that she's survived this long, then I'm willing to take a chance on this on them on you. James's eyes went bright. You mean it? You'll stay.
I'll try, Margaret said carefully. I can't promise I'll be good at it. But I can promise I'll try my best and I won't disappear in the night. He nodded roughly wiping at his eyes. That's all I can ask.
That's more than I had any right to hope for. He stood, then sat back down. We should talk about arrangements, about marriage. I mean, I'm not expecting, that is, we can take time, one step at a time, Margaret said gently. Let's see if I can manage not to burn down your kitchen first.
The first weeks were harder than Margaret had anticipated and easier in ways she hadn't expected. The work was endless, cooking, cleaning, mending, washing, and caring for two energetic five year olds who had been essentially raising themselves with minimal supervision. The girls tested her constantly, pushing boundaries, seeing if she would stay or leave, if she could be trusted or would disappear like their mother. Emma was the serious one, the protector, always watching Margaret with calculating eyes. Sarah was the wild one, climbing things she shouldn't, wandering off, coming back covered in mud or with frogs in her pockets.
Margaret learned to check pockets before washing. She learned that Emma hated beans but would eat them if Margaret told her a story during dinner. She learned that Sarah had nightmares and would only calm down if someone sang to her. She learned that James rose before dawn and often didn't return until after dark. That he was a man of few words but many kindnesses fresh water carried in without being asked. a broken chair leg quietly repaired, wild flowers left on the table with no explanation.
She learned that he blamed himself for his wife's death, that he carried that guilt like stones in his pockets, and slowly Margaret began to feel something she'd never experienced before. She began to feel like she belonged. Two months after her arrival, on a Sunday afternoon, when James had taken the girls to check on a distant pasture, Margaret sat on the porch mending one of Sarah's dresses. The child went through clothes like a soldier went through ammunition. She heard the wagon before she saw it, and her heart did a small flip when James appeared around the bend.
The girls tumbled out excited about something and James helped them carry a large bundle into the house. When he came back out, he sat beside Margaret on the step. "We brought something for you," he said. "Girls insisted." Emma and Sarah dragged out the bundle, which turned out to be fabric. "Beautiful fabric in shades of blue and green, enough for a dress." Papa said, "You only have two dresses and they're both old." Sarah announced, "So, we got you new fabric." Emma picked the color because it matches your eyes.
Margaret's throat closed. She looked at the expensive fabric, then at James. It's too much, she whispered. It's not enough. James said quietly.
"You've given us so much, Margaret. You've made this place a home again. The girls are happy. Really happy. for the first time since Rachel died. I'm He paused, choosing his words carefully.