“That was a dangerous answer.”
Margaret smiled.
“Finish the roof.”
Winter reached Colorado early.
By November, snow dusted the peaks.
Thomas began changing the house.
At first Margaret thought nothing of it.
The porch railing finally got repaired.
Then the east kitchen window.
Then the spare room.
That room had remained closed since Eleanor’s death.
Margaret had never entered it.
Neither had Thomas, except to place boxes inside.
One Tuesday she arrived and found the door open.
Sunlight filled the room.
Eleanor’s dresses were gone.
Not discarded.
Thomas had given them to her sister.
The old sewing basket remained on a shelf.
So did one photograph.
Margaret stood at the doorway.
Thomas came behind her.
“You opened it.”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
Thomas was quiet.
“For myself first.”
Margaret turned.
He continued:
“I realized keeping it closed wasn’t honoring Eleanor.”
“It was hiding from a room.”
Margaret touched his hand.
“What will you do with it?”
Thomas looked around.
“I don’t know.”
Then he glanced at her.
“Maybe you will.”
Her heart shifted.
“Thomas.”
He looked toward the floor.
“I’m getting there.”
Margaret smiled.
“I know.”
Two days later, not Tuesday, Thomas appeared at her door.
He wore his best dark coat.
Hat in both hands.
Margaret opened the door and immediately knew something was wrong.
Or right.
“Thomas?”
“I need to ask you something.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Come inside.”
“No.”
She frowned.
“No?”
“If I come inside, I’ll drink coffee and lose courage.”
Margaret smiled.
“All right.”
He looked toward his hat.
“Daniel Marsh is a good man.”
Margaret’s smile disappeared.
“Thomas.”
“Let me finish.”
She crossed her arms.
He continued.
“He is twenty-eight.”
“Yes.”
“Prosperous.”
“Yes.”
“Has a future anybody can see clearly.”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked up.
“I cannot compete with sensible arguments.”
Margaret stepped forward.
“Then don’t.”
He stared.
She continued:
“I have never asked you to compete.”
Thomas nodded slowly.
“I know.”
He took a breath.
“I would like to come calling on you properly.”
Margaret stared.
Thomas looked nervous.
This man had once ridden alone through a blizzard to bring cattle down from high pasture.
He had faced wild bulls.
Broken horses.
Illness.
Death.
Yet standing on Margaret’s doorstep asking permission to court her had nearly undone him.
Margaret’s mouth curved.