Some grief deserved privacy.
The guardianship petition was withdrawn two days later.
Caleb objected.
Margaret overruled him.
She sent a letter.
I cannot undo how I treated you. I would like Clara to know where she came from, if you will allow it. I will accept whatever limits you set.
Adeline read it twice.
Then handed it to Nathaniel.
“What do you think?”
He looked at her.
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then wait.”
They did.
Eventually Margaret visited.
Slowly.
Respectfully.
Clara grew.
Nathaniel completed the adoption when she was eight months old.
Courtroom in Casper.
Judge asked:
“Mr. Cole, you understand the child is not biologically yours?”
Nathaniel looked annoyed.
“Yes.”
“You understand adoption creates permanent legal obligations?”
“Yes.”
“Financial responsibility?”
“Yes.”
“Inheritance rights?”
“Yes.”
“Even in divorce?”
Nathaniel stared.
“Yes.”
The judge smiled.
“You can stop looking at me like I insulted you.”
Nathaniel relaxed slightly.
The judge signed.
Clara became legally Clara James Cole.
Nathaniel carried the paper home inside his coat though the day was dry.
Adeline teased him.
“You afraid the wind will steal it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s recorded at the courthouse.”
“I don’t trust courthouses.”
“You hired a lawyer.”
“I don’t trust him either.”
Wallace, riding beside them, shouted:
“I can hear you!”
Nathaniel ignored him.
Life settled.
Not peacefully.
Life rarely does.
Clara screamed through teething.
Adeline slept badly.
Nathaniel once rode three miles with a diaper cloth hanging from his belt because he forgot it was there.
Ben never let him forget.
At two, Clara learned to say “Papa.”
Nathaniel cried.
At three, she followed him everywhere.
At four, she tried to milk a cow and got kicked into a bucket.
At five, she asked:
“Did I come from Mama’s belly?”
“Yes.”
“Did I come from yours?”
Nathaniel stared.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Men don’t have babies in their bellies.”
Clara considered.
“Then where did I get you?”
Nathaniel stopped.
Adeline, across the kitchen, became very still.
Nathaniel crouched.
“You got me after.”
“After what?”
“After you started.”
Clara frowned.
“That’s silly.”
“Yes.”
“Are you my papa?”
“Yes.”
“Then okay.”
She ran outside.
Nathaniel stayed crouched.
Adeline walked over.
Kissed his head.
At seven, Clara learned about Samuel.
Not dramatically.
Margaret Price gave her a small photograph.
Samuel standing beside a railroad crew.
Young.
Smiling.
Clara looked at it.
“That’s my first father?”
Nathaniel sat beside her.
“Yes.”
“Did he know me?”
“He knew you were coming?”