The Harvest Social arrived six weeks later.
Thomas did not attend.
Margaret did.
That had been his choice.
Crowds still made grief feel too visible.
The last social he attended with Eleanor had been nine months before she died.
He was not ready to replace that memory.
Margaret understood.
Daniel danced with her once.
He behaved exactly as promised.
Afterward, Martha Greer cornered Margaret beside the refreshment table.
Martha was fifty, twice widowed, and possessed the conviction that privacy was an inefficient social convention.
“I hear you have been spending considerable time at Calloway Ranch.”
Margaret drank cider.
“Thomas is my neighbor.”
“He has been your neighbor since birth.”
“Yes.”
Martha narrowed her eyes.
“That is not what I meant.”
Margaret smiled.
“Then say what you meant.”
Martha sighed.
“Margaret, he is fifty-five.”
“I’ve recently learned this.”
“Don’t be clever.”
“I’m not.”
“Daniel Marsh is standing right there.”
Margaret looked.
Daniel saw her and lifted his cup in salute.
She smiled.
Martha continued:
“He is twenty-eight.”
“Yes.”
“Prosperous.”
“Yes.”
“Kind.”
“Yes.”
“Handsome.”
Margaret considered.
“Annoyingly.”
Martha looked exasperated.
“Then what exactly is wrong with him?”
“Nothing.”
Martha stared.
“Then explain Thomas.”
Margaret looked across the room.
She thought about the fence.
The porch.
The repaired boards after the flood.
Eleanor’s illness.
Tuesday mornings.
Thomas listening when she spoke.
Not waiting for his turn.
Listening.
“Thomas showed up the morning after my fence washed out.”
Martha frowned.
“What?”
“He brought lumber he could barely spare.”
“He rebuilt half the line.”
“He left before I could thank him.”
“What does that have to do with marriage?”
Margaret looked at her.
“Everything.”
Martha became quiet.
Margaret continued:
“Daniel brings flowers.”
“Thomas notices when the mare limps before I do.”
“Daniel tells me what my future could look like.”
“Thomas asks what I want.”
“Daniel is a good man.”
“I hope he finds a woman who thinks those things are the whole thing.”
Martha watched her.
“And Thomas?”
Margaret smiled.
“Thomas is the whole thing.”
She left early.
Moonlight followed her across the fields.
Thomas was sitting on his porch when she arrived.
He stood.
“You’re back.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I expected you later.”
“I got tired of explaining you.”
Thomas grimaced.
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
Margaret climbed the steps.
Thomas looked at her dress.
Deep blue.
Lower neckline than usual.
A narrow ribbon tied at her waist.