We turned out all right. We survived. I want more than survival for our kids. I want them to thrive. Our kids.
The casual way he said it, including Tommy without distinction from Hope, made Nora's heart swell. That fall, Dorothy moved permanently to a house in Redemption, declaring that she was too old to keep traveling back and forth, and she wanted to be close to her grandchildren. Her presence became a regular fixture in their lives. Weekly dinners, impromptu visits, help with the children when Nora and Elias needed it. Never thought I'd end up a frontier grandmother, she said one evening, dandling Hope on her knee while Tommy showed her his latest drawings.
But I have to say, I prefer this to Tulsa society. More real, more honest. No regrets about leaving? Nora asked. Only that I didn't do it sooner.
Family matters more than status, Nora. Took me too long to learn that, but I learned it. By their second anniversary, life had settled into comfortable patterns. The ranch was thriving, expanded with additional land purchased from a neighbor who decided to move east. The cattle herd had grown to 300 head, requiring two additional hands who lived in the expanded bunkhouse.
Financially, they were stable, not wealthy, but comfortable enough that Nora no longer worried about where the next meal would come from. Tommy's trust fund sat untouched, growing for his future. Hope was healthy and hitting all her milestones. The house was filled with life and laughter. On their anniversary evening, Elias surprised Nora with a picnic up on the ridge overlooking the ranch.
They left the children with Dorothy and rode out together, carrying blankets and food and a bottle of wine Dorothy had gifted them. The view from the ridge was spectacular, miles of prairie stretching in every direction. The ranch building small but solid below, cattle dotting the landscape like dark stones. The sun was setting, painting everything in gold and crimson. I used to come up here after Sarah died, Elias said as they spread the blanket.
Sit and think about whether any of it was worth it. The ranch, the work, the endless days. Couldn't see the point anymore. And now? Now I see everything.
The life we've built, the family we're raising, the future instead of just the past. He pulled her close. You gave me that, Nora. You and the kids. You gave me reasons to keep going.
You gave us reasons, too. Safety, home, love we didn't dare hope for. They ate and watched the stars emerge, talking about everything and nothing. Plans for the ranch, concerns about the children, memories of how they'd met. I still can't believe you opened your barn to us, Nora said.
A desperate woman and her sick child. You could have sent us away. Couldn't have lived with myself if I had. And I'm selfish enough to be glad I didn't. Can't imagine life without you now.
Any of you. Good, because you're stuck with us. Forever and then some, remember? Forever and then some. Elias agreed, kissing her softly.