“Quite the opposite.”
He gave her space.
After several minutes she asked:
“You meant what you wrote?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
Nathaniel knew which line she meant.
“The doctor?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I was sick when I was twenty-seven.”
“Fever.”
“I nearly died.”
“The doctor said the damage likely meant I couldn’t father children.”
Adeline clasped her hands.
“I’m sorry.”
Nathaniel shrugged.
“It happened.”
“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”
He looked toward her.
Few people had ever said that.
Most men told him he was lucky.
No children meant freedom.
No mouths.
No inheritance disputes.
No sleepless babies.
Women usually became quiet.
Adeline simply acknowledged the wound.
Nathaniel looked forward again.
“It did.”
The wagon traveled another mile.
Then he asked:
“Does that change your mind?”
Adeline answered immediately.
“No.”
That should have relieved him.
Instead he heard something hidden beneath the word.
Not dishonesty exactly.
Fear.
He did not press.
They reached Cole Ranch near sunset.
Adeline stared as the property appeared beyond a low ridge.
The timber house sat beneath cottonwoods.
Barn.
Corrals.
Bunkhouse.
Smoke rising from the kitchen chimney where Ben had apparently started a fire.
Cattle moved across distant pasture.
Nathaniel watched her face.
“Well?”
Adeline looked toward him.
“It’s beautiful.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not.”
She smiled.
“It looks lonely.”
Nathaniel stared.
Then laughed once.
“Yes.”
“That too.”
Inside, he showed her the rooms.
Kitchen.
Pantry.
Dining room.
Small office.
Upstairs.
Her bedroom overlooked the orchard.
A large bed stood beneath the window.
Fresh linen.
A washstand.
Pitcher.
Small stove.
Nathaniel had purchased new curtains.
He hoped she would not notice how obviously new they were.
She noticed.
“You did this?”
“The curtains?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Nathaniel sighed.
“I bought them.”
“They’re crooked.”
“I hung them.”
Adeline laughed.
He felt absurdly proud.
Then he showed her the latch.
“It locks.”
She touched it.
“Thank you.”
Nathaniel carried the trunk inside.
Then stopped near the door.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Supper in an hour?”
“I can cook.”
“You traveled all day.”
“I can still cook.”
“So can I.”