Emily did.
Not through instinctive motherhood.
Through patience.
She gave Nathan tasks.
Simple ones.
Brush the horses.
Split kindling.
Carry eggs.
He began speaking.
Then laughing occasionally.
One afternoon Daniel found him repairing a gate badly.
Daniel corrected him.
Nathan snapped:
“I know.”
Daniel said:
“Clearly you don't.”
The argument that followed ended with Nathan throwing a hammer.
Emily made both of them apologize.
Daniel complained later:
“He threw a hammer.”
“You told him his hands were useless.”
“I said his knot was useless.”
“He heard hands.”
Daniel frowned.
“That isn't what I said.”
Emily looked at him.
“Welcome to children.”
Daniel stared.
Then laughed.
Nathan eventually returned to his family.
The cabin felt impossibly quiet afterward.
Daniel stood in the kitchen that first evening.
“I miss that annoying boy.”
Emily smiled.
“So do I.”
He looked at her.
Something passed between them.
Not a plan yet.
Months later, the county pastor mentioned two sisters whose parents had died during an influenza outbreak.
Ages seven and ten.
Relatives could not take both.
Emily listened.
Daniel listened harder.
That evening, neither spoke for nearly an hour.
Finally Emily said:
“Don't.”
Daniel looked innocent.
“Don't what?”
“Pretend you're not thinking it.”
“I was not pretending.”
“You have been rearranging the same harness for twenty minutes.”
He put it down.
“What are you thinking?”
Emily asked.
He looked toward the house.
“That maybe a family can arrive through the front door instead of the way I always imagined.”
Her throat tightened.
“Daniel.”
“I’m not saying we should.”
“Neither am I.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Then Emily said:
“What were their names?”
Daniel smiled.
“Ruth and Clara.”
Three weeks later, the girls visited.
Not to be adopted.
Not officially.
Just supper.
Ruth, ten, was suspicious of everything.
Clara, seven, asked seventeen questions before removing her coat.
“Do horses sleep standing?”
“Sometimes,” Daniel said.
“Why?”
“Because they can.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Daniel looked at Emily.
“She’s yours.”
Emily laughed.
The girls returned the next Sunday.
Then again.
By spring, legal papers began.
Nothing moved quickly.
Relatives had rights.
County approval.
Pastor letters.
Home inspection.
Daniel repaired the upstairs room he once imagined for biological children.
Emily chose yellow curtains.
Ruth hated yellow.
They changed them to green.
Clara insisted on flowers.
They compromised.
Green with flowers.
The girls moved in officially in June.
The first night, Emily stood outside their bedroom listening to them whisper.
Daniel came behind her.
“Are they asleep?”
“No.”