“Winter fever.”
Sarah stopped.
Martha continued.
“They had a daughter.”
Sarah looked up.
“A daughter?”
“Anna.”
Martha’s voice cracked slightly.
“She was six.”
Sarah’s heart dropped.
“Both?”
“Within eleven days.”
The kitchen became silent.
Sarah thought of the locked nursery.
The unused piano.
The eight bedrooms.
Cole’s obsession with quiet.
Suddenly the ranch looked different.
Not empty.
Preserved.
“He stayed?”
Martha nodded.
“Couldn’t leave.”
“Why?”
“Some men run from memories.”
“Cole chained himself to his.”
That evening Sarah found him on the porch.
Snow fell softly.
Cole held a coffee cup.
She stood beside him.
“You should wear a coat.”
“You sound like Martha.”
“That should frighten you.”
“It does.”
Sarah smiled.
Then became serious.
“Martha told me about Rebecca.”
Cole’s entire body changed.
Sarah immediately regretted it.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Bringing it up.”
Cole stared toward the mountains.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
He nodded once.
Sarah waited.
Eventually he spoke.
“Anna liked snow.”
His voice sounded different.
“You’d think a child born here would get tired of it.”
“She didn’t.”
Sarah listened.
“She would stand where Lily stands now and wait for the first flakes.”
He swallowed.
“Rebecca hated winter.”
Sarah looked at him.
“After they died, people came.”
“Food. Prayer. Advice.”
His jaw tightened.
“Then they stopped.”
“I preferred that.”
Sarah understood more than he knew.
“Daniel used to say grief makes visitors uncomfortable because they eventually want you to finish.”
Cole looked at her.
“That sounds accurate.”
“He was wrong about many things.”
“Like what?”
“Roof maintenance.”
Cole smiled faintly.
Sarah continued.
“But he was right about grief.”
Cole stared at her.
“You still love him.”
The statement surprised her.
“Yes.”
“You should.”
Sarah’s eyes filled.
She looked away.
“I sometimes feel guilty here.”
“For what?”
“Eating well.”
“Laughing.”
“Sleeping somewhere warm.”
Cole frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Daniel isn’t.”
Cole put down his coffee.
“Sarah.”
She looked at him.
“Being miserable won’t keep him company.”
Her lips parted.
Cole looked toward the snow.
“I tried.”
The words nearly broke her.
Without thinking, Sarah placed her hand over his.
Cole stared down at their hands.
Neither moved.
Then Lily opened the front door.
“Mama!”
Sarah quickly stepped away.
“Yes?”
“Grace says Jacob ate soap.”
Cole closed his eyes.
Sarah groaned.
“Why?”
Lily shrugged.
“He said it smelled like apples.”
Cole looked at Sarah.
“Peace.”
She laughed again.
Christmas arrived with heavy snow.
For the first time in years, Blackwood Ridge decorated the house.
Emma and Ella strung dried berries.
Ben and Jack cut a pine.
Jacob tried to climb it before they had secured it.
Grace made paper stars.
Lily insisted Cole needed one above his bedroom door.
He objected.
She ignored him.
Christmas morning, Sarah found seven small packages beneath the tree.
Cole pretended not to know where they came from.
Jack received a proper hunting knife.
Ben received leather riding gloves.
Emma and Ella received sewing boxes.
Jacob received a wooden wagon.
Grace received a doll.
Lily received a small carved horse.
She hugged Cole around the legs.
Sarah watched.
Cole froze.
Then slowly rested one hand on Lily’s head.
Jack saw too.
The boy’s guarded expression softened.
Later, after the children slept, Sarah found Cole in the kitchen.
She held a package.
“What is this?”
“Yours.”
“You bought me something?”
“Martha did.”
Martha called from the hallway.
“Liar.”
Cole scowled.
Sarah laughed.
She opened it.
Inside was a deep green wool shawl.
Better than anything Sarah owned.
She touched the fabric.
“Cole.”
“Your old one is thin.”
“You notice my shawl?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I notice when people are freezing.”
“Of course.”
Sarah wrapped it around herself.
“How does it look?”
Cole stared.
Too long.
Sarah’s heartbeat changed.
“Well?”
“Fine.”
She smiled.
“Fine?”
“Good.”
“Only good?”
Cole stepped closer.
Sarah stopped teasing.
The kitchen seemed suddenly smaller.
“You know exactly how you look.”
His voice was low.
Sarah swallowed.
“Do I?”
Cole’s eyes dropped briefly to her mouth.
“Yes.”
Neither spoke.
Then footsteps sounded upstairs.
Cole stepped back.
Sarah exhaled.
The moment disappeared.
But not entirely.
January brought the coldest week of the winter.
Temperatures fell so low that water froze inside buckets near the barn.
Cole and the ranch hands worked constantly keeping animals sheltered.
Jack insisted on helping.
Sarah worried.
“He’s thirteen.”
Cole looked at her.
“He’s trying to be thirty.”
“I know.”
“He thinks he has to replace Daniel.”
“I know.”
“I can tell him otherwise.”
“He won’t hear it from me.”
Cole found Jack repairing a stall latch that afternoon.
“You missed a nail.”
Jack frowned.
“No.”
Cole pointed.
Jack saw it.
His face reddened.
“I was going to fix it.”
“I know.”
Jack hammered harder.
Cole leaned against the wall.
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
Jack kept working.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Jack stopped.
Cole continued.
“You think if you work hard enough your mother won’t need anyone.”
Jack’s face tightened.
“My pa worked hard.”
“Yes.”
“He took care of us.”
“Yes.”
“Now he’s gone.”
Cole waited.
Jack’s eyes filled despite his efforts.
“I should be able to.”
“You’re thirteen.”
“I’m the oldest.”
“You’re still thirteen.”
Jack looked away.
Cole stepped closer.