Nathaniel did not.
“Why are you looking for another wife?”
“I’m not looking to replace Margaret.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
I continued sewing.
After a while, he said, “Because loneliness eventually stops feeling noble.”
The honesty surprised me.
He rubbed a thumb against his coffee cup.
“Three years is a long time to come home to an empty house.”
Something deep inside me understood that.
Different loneliness.
Same silence.
“I suppose it is,” I whispered.
That evening, while passing through the parlor, I stopped beneath Margaret Walker’s portrait.
She had been beautiful.
Not in Victoria’s polished, delicate way.
Margaret possessed a strong face. Dark hair. Intelligent green eyes.
One hand rested on the back of a wooden chair.
And around her neck hung a strange silver pendant shaped like a small eight-pointed star.
For reasons I could not explain, the pendant bothered me.
I had seen it before.
But I could not remember where.
By the end of my first week, the ranch hands had stopped calling me “Miss Victoria” by mistake.
Nathaniel had stopped apologizing for my presence.
Then Victoria’s first letter arrived.
Nathaniel was standing outside the barn when Samuel handed him the mail.
I watched his expression change as he recognized the handwriting.
Something ugly twisted through my stomach.
I hated myself for it immediately.
He had been corresponding with her for months.
Of course she mattered.
Nathaniel opened the envelope.
His brow furrowed.
“What is it?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Your sister says she reconsidered.”
My heart stopped.
“She what?”
“She wants to come to Texas.”
The world around me seemed to tilt.
Nathaniel handed me the letter.
Victoria’s handwriting flowed beautifully across the page.
She apologized for her “moment of fear.”
She explained that our father had behaved foolishly.
Then came the sentence that cut deepest.
I understand Clara was sent in my place, but surely we both recognize she was never intended to remain there permanently.
I read it twice.
Nathaniel took the page from my hand.
“Clara.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“She’s right.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you were expecting her.”
His silence hurt worse than agreement.
I walked away before he could see tears gathering in my eyes.
That night, I packed half my suitcase.
I told myself I was being sensible.
Then someone knocked.
Nathaniel stood outside.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows.
“You’re leaving?”
“Not tonight.”
“Your suitcase says differently.”
“My sister is coming.”
“I haven’t invited her.”
“You did months ago.”
“That arrangement changed the moment your father deceived both of us.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And what am I? The consolation prize?”
His face tightened.
“Do not put words in my mouth.”
“Then tell me what I am.”
He stared at me.
I immediately wished I had not asked.
But Nathaniel stepped into the room.
“You are the woman who rides into storms after runaway cattle.”
He took another step.
“The woman who has somehow convinced Samuel to wash his hands before supper.”
Despite myself, I nearly smiled.
“The woman who argues with me every day.”
“That sounds less flattering.”
“And the woman who has made this house feel less empty in eight days than it has in three years.”
My breath caught.
Nathaniel seemed almost startled by his own confession.
Then he stepped backward.
“I don’t know what that makes you.”
His voice became quiet.
“But it does not make you Victoria.”
For the first time in my life, those words did not sound like an insult.
The mystery began two days later.
I was cleaning the upstairs hallway when I noticed a narrow draft beneath the linen closet.
Summer heat surrounded the house.
