Mrs. Walker, can I ask you something? Of course, Ben. Do you love him? Mr. Walker, I mean. Clara was quiet for a long moment, contemplating the fire.
I think I'm beginning to, she admitted. Is it that obvious? The way you look at him when you think no one's watching. The way he looks at you. Ben poked at the fire with a stick.
It's nice seeing him coming back to life. We all worried after Mrs. Margaret died. Thought we might lose him too, just in a different way. He loved her very much. He did.
But that doesn't mean he can't love again. Mrs. Margaret would have wanted him to be happy. She was like that, always thinking of others first. When Clara returned to the ranch on the fifth day, she had 15 signed testimonies and a stack of supporting documents, but her triumph was short-lived. The house was too quiet.
Sophie sitting on the porch with red-rimmed eyes. What's wrong, sweetheart? Papa's not back yet. He was supposed to be back yesterday. Clara's blood ran cold.
Tom, the foreman came running. We were about to send out a search party, ma'am. His horse came back this morning without him. Saddle my horse, Clara ordered. And three others.
We're leaving now. Ma'am, it could be dangerous. My husband is out there somewhere, possibly hurt. We're going. They found him 5 miles from the southern boundary, unconscious by a creek bed with a bullet wound in his shoulder.
His gun was missing, his boots gone, but he was alive. Ethan. Clara dropped to her knees beside him, checking his pulse. Weak but steady. The wound was at least a day old, already showing signs of infection.
"We need to get him home," Tom said. "Fast." They improvised a travois, Clara riding beside it to keep Ethan stable. He drifted in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently. "Once he called for Margaret, once he called for Clara." She held his hand through both. Back at the ranch, Clara took charge.