She carried tools, held boards steady, and drove nails into the porch while Toby played in the shade. The boy followed her everywhere. When Clara fed the chickens, Toby walked behind her carrying three grains of corn in his tiny fist. When she gathered clothes from the line, he held one wooden peg as if it were an important job. In the evenings, Clara repaired his clothes near the lamp.
She patched his sock, fixed his small boot, and shortened one of Arthur's old shirts to fit him. And Toby sat on the floor beside her, watching every movement. "Clara," he said one evening. It was the first time he had spoken her name without being asked. Silas looked up from the broken harness he was repairing.
Something passed through his eyes, warm but afraid. After Toby went to sleep, Clara found Silas standing alone on the porch. He is becoming attached to you, Silas said. You say that as if it is dangerous for him. It might be.
Clara leaned against the porch post. Why? Because everyone he loves disappears. His words carried more than fear for Toby. Silas had lost his father, his wife, and 12 years with Clara.
He had learned to expect an empty place where love had once stood. I cannot promise that nothing bad will happen, Clara said. No one can. That is what frightens me. But I can promise I will not turn him away tomorrow.
Silas looked at her for a long moment. Tomorrow may be all either of us should ask for. The following afternoon, a rider appeared through the heat. Clara reached for the rifle beside the cabin door until she recognized their neighbor, Jedodiah Cole. His clothes were covered in dust and two empty wooden buckets hung from his saddle.
My well went dry, he said after climbing down. Sarah has not stopped crying. The children asked for water this morning and I had none to give them. Clara lowered the rifle. Take what you need.
Silas glanced toward the windmill. The pump is working, but the water level is dropping. Clara understood his warning. If the drought continued, there might not be enough water for their cattle, much less another family. Still, she helped Jedodiah fill both buckets.
He drank from his cupped hands before mounting his horse. When he lifted his head, his eyes were red. "A man never knows how rich he is," he said, until his children ask for water he cannot give them. Clara watched him ride back across the dead grass. The bucket struck softly against his saddle.
That night, the wind refused to cool. The cabin remained hot long after sunset, and the cattle groaned near the nearly empty trough. Silas stood beside the well, listening to the pump struggle. "If rain does not come soon, this valley will empty," he said. Clara looked toward the black hills.
"I cannot leave this ranch. You may not be given a choice. This is all Arthur left me." Silas turned toward the cabin window. Toby was inside waiting for Clara to finish his bedtime story.
"A home is more than land," Silas said quietly. Before Clara could answer, Toby called her name. She went inside and found him holding the patchwork quilt open for her. She sat beside him until he fell asleep against her chest. Later, she carried him onto the porch where the air was slightly cooler.