Mercy smiled sadly.
“Dependable women are often just exhausted women nobody remembered to help.”
That sentence remained between them.
Thomas stepped closer.
“I see you.”
Her breath changed.
She looked at him.
He repeated:
“I see you.”
Not “I need you.”
Not “Thank you.”
Not “The boys love you.”
Mercy’s heart began beating too fast.
Thomas stood inches away.
She could smell cedar, wool, cold air.
He lifted one hand.
Stopped.
“Can I?”
Mercy knew what he meant.
She nodded.
His hand settled at her waist.
Large.
Warm.
Careful.
Mercy’s body had always been something men noticed before they noticed her.
Thomas’s hand did not feel like judgment.
It felt like attention.
She whispered:
“Be careful.”
He immediately loosened his touch.
Mercy caught his wrist.
“No.”
He froze.
“I meant with me.”
His eyes met hers.
“Not your hand.”
Thomas breathed slowly.
“I don’t know how.”
“Neither do I.”
That truth made them smile.
He touched her cheek.
Mercy leaned into his palm.
Then Thomas kissed her.
Soft.
Almost frightened.
Mercy’s fingers curled into his shirt.
The kiss deepened only when she pulled him closer.
When he stopped, she felt disappointed.
Thomas searched her face.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
“Mercy.”
She laughed softly.
“Yes.”
He rested his forehead against hers.
“I have thought about doing that for weeks.”
“Only weeks?”
He smiled.
“First week I was mostly frightened you’d reorganize me.”
“I still might.”
“Too late.”
She kissed him this time.
Longer.
When they separated, Mercy whispered:
“The boys.”
“Asleep.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
Thomas understood.
Their relationship would affect seven children.
They could not behave like two lonely adults without consequences.
He stepped back.
“We go slow.”
Mercy nodded.
“Yes.”
Going slow turned out to be both wise and unbearable.
The boys noticed anyway.
Children noticed everything adults thought they concealed.
Matthew caught Thomas touching Mercy’s lower back while passing behind her.
He grinned for three days.
Luke asked Mercy whether she planned to marry their father.
Mercy nearly dropped a plate.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because he combed his hair before supper.”
Mercy stared.
Thomas overheard from the doorway.
“I comb my hair.”
Seven boys laughed.
Mercy did too.
Thomas left in defeat.
Caleb remained complicated.
He liked Mercy.
That itself frightened him.
One evening he found her repairing a shirt.
“You’re going to marry him.”
Mercy looked up.
“No decision.”
“He wants to.”
“Did he tell you?”
“No.”
“Then you’re guessing.”
Caleb sat.
“What happens if you do?”
“I live here.”
“And if you don’t?”