I've got work to do. He was moving toward the door, fleeing really, when Nora's voice stopped him. Elias? He paused but didn't turn around. Why are you doing this?
And please don't say it's just practical. His shoulders tensed. For a long moment, Nora thought he wouldn't answer. Then, quietly, almost too quietly to hear, Because nobody helped her either. When the fever took her.
And I couldn't I couldn't save her. Before Nora could respond, before she could ask who her was, though she thought she knew, Elias was gone, the screen door banging shut behind him. Nora stood alone in the kitchen of a stranger's house that was somehow now hers to manage and felt tears prick her eyes again. Not from sadness this time, but from the overwhelming realization that maybe, just maybe, there were still good people in the world. Or at least people who'd known enough pain to recognize it in others.
The rest of that first week passed in a careful dance of coexistence. Tommy recovered quickly as children do, going from deathly ill to restless in the space of a few days. By the end of the week, he was begging to go outside. And Nora, after getting Elias's gruff approval, let him explore the ranch yard under strict instructions not to wander far. She watched from the kitchen window as her son discovered the joy of open space after months of being cooped up in boarding house rooms and walking endless roads.
He chased chickens, though never caught them, examined every rock and stick with 4-year-old fascination, and spent an hour watching a barn cat hunt mice in the tall grass. And he watched Elias. The rancher worked constantly, moving between barn and pasture and corral with single-minded focus. He handled the horses with calm competence, mended fences with methodical precision, and did a hundred other tasks that Nora couldn't even name. Tommy followed his movements with wide eyes, occasionally creeping closer when he thought no one was watching.
Elias never acknowledged the boy's presence. Never spoke to him or shooed him away. Just worked as if Tommy didn't exist. Though Nora noticed he was careful never to do anything that might be dangerous with a small child nearby. Inside, Nora threw herself into work.
The house she discovered was clean but neglected in ways that spoke of a man who'd stopped caring about anything beyond basic function. The windows were dusty, the curtains faded. The floors swept but not scrubbed. The kitchen was serviceable but joyless with mismatched dishes and a single pot and pan that had seen better days. She started with the kitchen, scrubbing every surface until it gleamed.
She washed the curtains and hung them in the sun to bleach. She found a forgotten herb garden behind the house, choked with weeds, and spent an afternoon rescuing the sage and thyme and rosemary that had survived years of neglect. And she cooked. That first proper meal, roast chicken with herbs, biscuits and green beans from the garden, she set out at sunset, calling Elias in from whatever he was doing. He appeared in the kitchen doorway, covered in dust and sweat, and stopped short at the sight of the table set with actual plates and serving dishes instead of the usual pot he ate directly from.
What's all this? His voice was suspicious. Dinner, Nora said simply. You've been working all day. Sit.
I can eat in the barn. Don't need to make a fuss. Elias Ward, you hired me to cook and I cooked. Now sit down and eat before it gets cold. Something flickered across his face.
Surprise, maybe amusement, but he sat. Tommy was already at the table, eyes wide at the feast before him. The boy had eaten nothing but broth and soft bread for days and the sight of real food made him nearly vibrate with excitement. Mama, can I have a biscuit? Mama, look how big the chicken is.
Mama. Tommy, hush and let Mr. Ward say grace. Both males looked at her in surprise. What?