Now I do not know what to do with you. A tired smile appeared on his face. That is better than being hated. Do not become too hopeful. Silas's smile faded.
I am trying not to. Clara looked at him. Why? Because Toby already thinks this is his home. If I begin to believe it too, leaving will destroy us both.
Who said I was asking you to leave? No one. Then stop preparing for it. Silas glanced toward Toby who was sleeping near the stove. You may want him to stay, he said.
That does not mean you want his father. Clara's hands became still. Silas looked away. I should not have said that. No, Clara replied.
You should have, but she gave him no answer that night. On November 8th, 1889, a rider brought news that Montana had entered the Union as the 41st state. Jedodiah rang an old dinner bell until everyone in the valley heard it. Sarah made a small cake with the last of her sugar, and the neighbors gathered inside Clara's repaired cabin. Clara cared little about speeches from distant cities.
She cared that Toby had warm boots. She cared that the well was running again. She cared that Silas sat beside her fire each night as if he had always belonged there. By the time the first heavy snow arrived, the ranch was ready for winter. Silas built Toby a small wooden bed beside the stone hearth.
Clara stitched a new quilt from pieces of old cloth, including one unburned piece of her red dress. That night, Toby fell asleep beneath it with the silver button in his hand. Clara found Silas standing near the window. Snow covered the rebuilt porch and the repaired windmill turned in the cold wind. Silas opened his palm.
Another silver button rested inside it. You gave my son a home when I could give him nothing, he said. I gave him a room. You opened the door. That was more than anyone else would do.
Silas stepped closer. I cannot return the 12 years we lost. I cannot promise life will be easy, and I cannot undo the hurt I caused. He slowly lowered himself onto one knee. Clara's breath caught.
Silas took her hand, but his eyes remained fixed on hers. If you will let me, he said, I will spend the rest of my life choosing you. Clara did not answer at once. Snow tapped against the window. Behind them, Toby slept beneath his new quilt, unaware that his father was asking for the one thing Silas had never believed he deserved.
Clara looked at the man kneeling before her. She saw the young ranch hand who had promised to return before winter. She also saw the tired father who had arrived 12 years later with a hungry child on his back. Stand up, Silas. Pain crossed his face, but he obeyed.
Clara placed one hand against his weathered cheek. I will not marry you because you feel guilty. That is not why I asked. I will not marry you because I gave Toby a bed. That is not why either.