I'm sorry, she said softly. For whatever happened. For whoever you lost. Not your concern. Maybe not.
But I'm sorry anyway. Elias pushed off the railing, preparing to retreat again. But then he surprised her by speaking. Sarah and I were married 3 years. She got pregnant twice.
Lost the first at 5 months. The second His voice went rough. The second time the baby came early. Lived for 2 days. Sarah held on for another week, but the fever from the birth, doctors couldn't stop it.
So I lost them both. Nora's throat closed. Elias, I That was 5 years ago. I'm fine now. The words were clipped, defensive.
Just don't like sleeping in a house that still feels like hers. That's all. The barn suits me fine. He walked away before she could respond, disappearing into the darkness beyond the porch light. Nora sat alone with the weight of his grief, understanding now why he'd helped them, why he'd looked at Tommy's fevered face with such tight-jawed intensity, why he'd given them everything and asked for nothing.
He was trying to save them because he hadn't been able to save his own family. Nora closed her eyes and said a prayer, for Elias, for Sarah, for the babies who'd never grown up, and for herself and Tommy, who'd been given an unexpected chance at survival by a man still drowning in old sorrow. The second week brought changes, subtle but real. Tommy began following Elias around the ranch more boldly, his natural child's curiosity overcoming his initial shyness. The rancher didn't encourage it, but he didn't discourage it either.
When Tommy asked questions, and 4-year-olds had endless questions, Elias would answer in brief, gruff sentences. Why are the chickens in a pen? Keep the coyotes from eating them. What's a coyote? Wild dog.
Mean. Can I see one? No. Why not? Because they're mean, boy.
Pay attention. But despite the gruff tone, Nora noticed Elias never sent Tommy away. And once, from the kitchen window, she saw Elias pause in his work to steady Tommy when the boy climbed on a fence rail to get a better look at the horses. Just a hand on the small shoulder, brief and careful, before he moved on. But it was there.
The three ranch hands appeared midweek, weather-beaten men in their 40s and 50s who worked the cattle in the far pastures and lived in the bunkhouse beyond the barn. They were surprised to find Nora at the house, and even more surprised when Elias introduced her. Mrs. Gray will be handling the cooking and domestic work. You want meals, you come to the house at mealtimes.
Understood? The men, Hank, Pete, and old Charlie, nodded and murmured their ma'ams with varying degrees of curiosity and approval. Hank, the youngest, had a kind face that crinkled when he smiled at Tommy. Pete was reserved, watching Nora with neutral assessment. Charlie just looked grateful that someone besides Elias would be cooking.
Can't be worse than the boss's attempts, he muttered, and the others chuckled. Elias scowled. My cooking's fine. Your cooking's tolerable, Hank corrected. But I ain't going to miss it none.