“No.”
Clara thought.
“Did he love Mama?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Nathaniel.
“Do you love him?”
Nathaniel almost choked.
“No.”
Clara frowned.
“Why?”
“I didn’t know him.”
“You said he was good.”
“I think he probably was.”
Clara considered.
“Then I’ll love both.”
Nathaniel smiled.
“You can.”
That night he told Adeline.
She cried.
Nathaniel held her.
Years passed.
The ranch changed.
Adeline’s size remained a challenge physically.
Her knees worsened.
Nathaniel built ramps where steps had been.
Widened doors.
Reinforced chairs.
Never announced why.
Just did it.
One day Adeline caught him replacing the porch steps.
“You’re doing that for me.”
“They were old.”
“They are five years old.”
“Terrible craftsmanship.”
“You built them.”
Nathaniel stared.
“Exactly.”
She kissed him.
Their intimacy stayed warm.
Adult.
Playful.
Deep.
Some nights, after Clara slept, Adeline sat beside the fire while Nathaniel stood behind her rubbing her shoulders.
She would lean back.
“You still look at me.”
“Yes.”
“You don't look away anymore.”
“No.”
“What changed?”
Nathaniel kissed the top of her head.
“You stopped asking me to.”
At forty-two, Adeline became pregnant again.
Impossible.
At least according to the doctor who told Nathaniel he likely could not father children.
Adeline discovered first.
She thought the doctor was wrong.
Then thought perhaps something was terribly wrong.
She waited three days.
Nathaniel noticed immediately.
“You’re hiding something.”
Her face changed.
He pointed.
“That.”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The same face you had by the fireplace.”
Adeline sat.
Nathaniel’s stomach dropped.
“What?”
She looked at him.
“I’m pregnant.”
Nathaniel stared.
Then laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because his mind refused the sentence.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Nathaniel.”
“No.”
Adeline crossed her arms.
“I know what pregnant feels like.”
He sat opposite.
“You’re sure?”
“The doctor in town is.”
Nathaniel went white.
Adeline watched him.
“Nathaniel?”
He stood.
Walked outside.
Adeline followed to the porch.
He stopped near the rail.
Snow beginning again.
Always snow with life-changing revelations.
Adeline wrapped her shawl tighter.
“Say something.”
Nathaniel looked toward her.
“What am I supposed to say?”