She nodded. “Thank you. It was a loss for all of us. But he was much older and sick even before I married him. It seemed like he had disappeared from our lives long before he passed.”
“Then why did you marry him? Seems you could have had your pick of suitors.” The words came out uncensored. As soon as he’d spoken them, he wished he could pull them back. Hadn’t Ma always warned him to think before he spoke?
She gave a thin smile. “My father arranged the marriage. It suited him.”
This time he didn’t have to censor his words because none came to his mind. What she said didn’t make sense. Did she marry a man she didn’t love simply to please her father, or to avoid confronting him? Though he knew of many arranged marriages, hers seemed wrong.
“My father is very controlling.”
“Appears so.” He studied her, trying to piece together the things he knew of her. “It’s hard to believe he lets you travel about the country on your own.”
“Indeed.” She returned her gaze to the piece of wood in her hands.
Indeed? That was it? And what did it matter to him?
They worked together the rest of the morning without speaking of anything but the task at hand.
When they returned after dinner, he could not contain his curiosity any longer. “Does your father know you are here?”
Clara had her back to him and kept it that way for the space of two heartbeats. Then she slowly turned and faced him. “Why do you want to know?”
He’d asked himself the same question for the past two hours and had yet to come up with a satisfactory answer, so he simply shrugged.
She closed the distance between them until she was within reach and favored him with a scowl fit to curdle his dinner. “Do you think I need my father’s permission? Just like you think I need a husband? Well, I don’t. I can take care of myself and the girls, and I intend to.” She turned away. “Now, are we going to work or spend the afternoon talking?”
The girls had been out filling his buckets with snow, and they raced indoors in time to see the look on their mother’s face. They skidded to a stop.
“Mama?” Eleanor sounded uncertain. Maybe even afraid.
Blue answered the question. “Your mama’s okay.”
Libby marched up to him. “Did you hurt her?”
“I don’t think so. Did I, Clara?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Of course not. I’m just letting you know where I stand.”
Libby giggled. “Mama, you’re standing in the middle of the floor. Mr. Blue can see that.”
Clara turned, squatted and swept Libby into her arms. “What would I do without my sweet girls?” She signaled Eleanor to join them and hugged them both.
Blue’s chest muscles eased so he could get in a decent breath. Then forgotten words came unbidden.
Every child is a flower in God’s garden with the simple task of bringing beauty and joy to the world.
It was something Alice had often said as they had reveled in the joy of their children.
He turned away to hide the pain that surely enveloped his face even as it claimed every corner of his heart. That joy had been stolen from him, leaving him an empty shell of a man.
The girls left their mother’s arms, and Libby caught his hand. “Mr. Blue, did you see how full we got your buckets?” She dragged him to the doorway, where they’d left the pails. Each one was packed hard with snow. “Didn’t we do good?”
“You did indeed.”
She looked up at him with blue expectant eyes.
What did she want?
“Did we earn a hug?” she asked.
His insides froze, then slowly melted with the warmth of her trust. He bent over and hugged her, then reached for Eleanor, who came readily to let him wrap his arm about her and pull her close.
Over the top of the girls’ heads, Clara’s gaze pinned him. She didn’t need to say a word for him to hear her warning loud and clear. Be careful with my children’s affections.
He had every intention of being careful. Not only with their affections but his own. That meant he must stop the talk and memories of his family. Must mind his own business when it came to questions about Clara’s activities.
She could follow whatever course of action she chose.