“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“How?”
He had no answer.
She whispered:
“You didn’t know.”
The child comforted the father.
Cole hated that.
Loved her for it.
Sarah stood several feet away crying.
Abigail remained near the carriage.
She cried too.
But she did not step closer.
This was theirs.
Eventually Anna pulled back.
She looked at Abigail.
“Who’s she?”
Cole turned.
Abigail immediately stopped wiping her eyes.
Cole looked at her.
Then at Anna.
“A friend.”
Abigail raised an eyebrow.
Cole almost smiled.
Anna noticed.
“You like her.”
Cole stared.
Fourteen-year-olds apparently needed no recovery period before becoming observant.
Abigail laughed.
Cole looked embarrassed.
Sarah smiled for the first time.
Anna asked:
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“To her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Cole stared.
Abigail laughed harder.
“Anna.”
Sarah tried to intervene.
The girl shrugged.
“I’m just asking.”
Cole looked at Abigail.
Her cheeks were pink.
He said:
“I’m working on it.”
Abigail’s mouth fell open.
Anna smiled.
Good.
Something ordinary.
Something almost normal.
The first visit lasted three hours.
Cole learned that Anna loved books.
Hated arithmetic.
Rode horses well.
Could sew badly.
Preferred apples to peaches.
Was afraid of thunderstorms.
He stored every fact.
Sarah showed him school papers.
Drawings.
Old photographs.
Cole looked at an entire childhood he had missed.
Pain and gratitude mixed until he could not separate them.
Before leaving, he asked Sarah:
“What happens now?”
She looked toward Anna.
“That depends on her.”
Cole nodded.
He wanted to say he had legal rights.
Money.
Influence.
He could hire attorneys.
He could make claims.
He said none of it.
Sarah had raised his child when the world believed she had none.
Cole owed her respect before he owed himself satisfaction.
Anna approached before they left.
“Will you come back?”
Cole’s eyes filled again.
“Whenever you want.”
“Next week?”
“Yes.”
“Could I see Montana?”
Cole looked at Sarah.
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Eventually.”
Cole smiled.
“The house is too quiet.”
Abigail looked at him.
He looked back.
Anna did not understand.
Abigail did.
The return journey felt different.
Cole spoke more.
At the first overnight stop, he and Abigail sat together near the inn fireplace.
Her companion had gone upstairs.
Cole stared into the flames.
“She called me Papa.”
Abigail smiled.
“She did.”
“I thought I’d never hear it again.”
“You may hear it a lot.”
He looked at her.
“That frightens me.”
“Good.”
He frowned.
“You keep saying fear is good.”
“When it means you understand something matters.”
Cole considered that.
Then reached for her hand.
“Something else matters.”
Abigail’s breath changed.
“Cole.”
“I don’t want gratitude confusing this.”
She looked at him carefully.
“What do you mean?”
“You brought me the letter.”