Extended Epilogue

Two Years Later

The center of town was drenched in sunlight, the cloud a perfect, cloudless blue. It was the type of early summer day so sweet that May felt that she could taste the spun sugar of it on her tongue, even though all she had had so far that day was a cup of coffee, eagerly anticipating the treats the day would bring.

All around her, the air was filled with laughter, excitement, and anticipation. The carnival was in town, and it looked as if every resident of Chambers was out, ready to enjoy the day.

Julia skipped ahead of May, bright red ribbons bouncing at the end of her pigtails. A ribbon of the exact same color held up one poky little sprout on top of her baby sister’s head, bobbing right at May’s chin level as she balanced her on her hip.

Evelyn was two years old and the spitting image of her father and her older sister. Willa liked to jokingly ask if any of May had been used in the making of the baby, so exactly like Harry and Julia was she. May wouldn’t admit it, but it thrilled her that her baby looked so much like her adopted older daughter. Though everyone in Chambers knew the backstory of their family, it still helped them slot together as one whole, like there was a physical reminder to keep Julia from ever feeling out of place or like she wasn’t part of the family.

And aside from that concern, Evelyn was a beautiful child, just like her older sister.

As they grew closer, the scent of roasted peanuts and pipe smoke drifted through the warm summer air, settling thick over the dirt-packed main street of town. May adjusted her grip on her youngest daughter, shifting the two-year-old’s weight against her hip. The girl’s calico dress was already wrinkled, and the curls at the back of her neck clung to her skin in the heat. May smoothed them gently, the way her mother used to do for her.

Julia was ten paces ahead already, skipping in her leather boots, the hem of her dress catching the breeze. “Where’s Papa?” Julia called back, shading her eyes from the sun as she scanned the crowds.

“He had to finish up at the sheriff’s office,” May replied, though she found herself also scanning the crowd for him. “He’ll meet us here before long.”

The noise of the carnival grew louder as they approached the town square. Fiddle music poured from a makeshift platform near the old general store. Bunting in red and white hung from every post and awning, fluttering in the hot wind that always seemed to sweep across the prairie this time of year. The click and whir of a hand-cranked shooting gallery echoed behind the line of booths where children tossed rings over milk bottles and women bartered over slices of gooseberry pie.

Adam walked quietly behind her, a steady, silent shadow. May didn’t turn to make sure they didn’t get separated in the crowds; she didn’t have to. His presence was as familiar now as the creak of the barn gate or the scent of sun-warmed hay. He was never far, always watching. Though he’d always been a valued employee on the ranch, that had grown since the attempted takeover. May could no longer imagine their lives without him. He and his wife hadn’t missed a Sunday supper in two years.

“Adam,” she said, glancing back now. “I don’t suppose you’re thinking of trying your luck at the strongman’s bell?”

He gave her a faint smirk. “I figure I’ll let the traveling folk keep their pride intact. I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.”

May smiled. The child on her hip gasped as she pointed a chubby finger at one thing and then another, too overcome to decide where to direct her attention. May bounced gently, humming a tune under her breath that her own mother had once sung in the parlor to her during long, drowsy afternoons.

The square was teeming now with neighbors greeting neighbors, children darting between wagons, and farmers laughing with mouths full of molasses-sweetened candy. A young girl was hawking lemonade from a wooden cart near the church steps, her apron streaked with sugar and pulp.

She slowed as they entered the heart of the square. Men wore their best Sunday vests, most with dust still clinging to their boots. The women’s bonnets were pinned neatly, their dresses simple but pressed. Everyone had made an effort to look their best.

She looked around, half-expecting to find Harry leaning against a post or striding through the crowd in his uniform trousers. But there was no sign of him yet.

Julia came racing back. “Can I go see the pony rides? Please?”

“In a minute, darling. Let’s wait for your father.”

“But I want to go with him to see the goats!” Julia insisted.

May laughed softly. “Well, we’ll be sure to find him. You can ask him about them then.”

Adam nodded toward the booths. “Might not be a bad idea to settle somewhere in the shade for a bit.”

“Agreed,” May said, eyes sweeping the crowd again. “Let’s wait near the bandstand.”

She led them toward the edge of the wooden platform, where the fiddlers played a lively reel. For a moment, she let herself simply stand there with her youngest pressed close, Julia giggling as she tugged Adam toward the goat pen, the town filled with music and light and a kind of joy that didn’t come often in this life.

The moment May spotted the familiar navy-blue trousers threading through the crowd, she felt her shoulders ease. Her hand rose instinctively, not to wave him over, but to settle the toddler’s head against her collarbone, like a reflex to stillness.

Harry moved slowly through the bustle, not out of hesitation but with the quiet confidence of a man used to observing before acting. He tipped his hat at Mrs. Liddell as she passed with her hands full of plum preserves. He nodded to the Simmons boys, who stood arguing over a sack of boiled peanuts, and gave a brief wave to Earl, who was holding his new grandson like he was made of spun glass.

Harry was out of uniform save for the trousers. The badge had been left behind, along with his gun belt. There would be no calls to order today, no trouble to interrupt the music and laughter. And if trouble did arise, well, the blacksmith apprentice had taken a liking to doing deputy work when he had time, and he was on duty today.

She saw his eyes scan the crowd until they landed on her. His face softened, the way it always did, in that subtle way she never tired of seeing. He adjusted the brim of his hat and picked up his pace, weaving through the clusters of townsfolk.

Julia spotted him first. “Papa!” she squealed, barreling toward him with the fearlessness only a child could possess.

Harry stooped just in time to catch her, his arms wrapping around her in an easy scoop. Her bonnet slipped back off her head, and her dark curls caught the sunlight.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You been winning prizes without me?”

“I saw a goat!” Julia shouted. “With a nose like a raisin. And there’s a man who says he can guess your weight just by looking!”

“Sounds like a swindler,” Harry said seriously, giving her a look of mock concern. “I hope you won’t give him a cent.”

“I’ll give him Adam’s cent,” she replied, all innocence.

Harry laughed, the sound low and full in his chest. He looked up at May, still holding their littlest one, and crossed the final few steps to them.

“She’s already a criminal,” he said, reaching to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind May’s ear. His hand lingered a second longer than necessary.

May raised a brow. “And yet you look so proud.”

“I wouldn’t steal from Adam,” Julia said, trying not to smile. “I would just wait until he’s not looking.”

Harry chided her gently and set her back down on the ground before he leaned in and kissed May’s cheek, the pressure light but familiar, and for a moment, the noise of the carnival fell away. Just the two of them, with one child in her arms and another nestled against him.

“I missed you,” he said, brushing his knuckles across the sleepy toddler’s back. She stirred and let out a soft grunt, her fist curled beneath her chin.

“You were gone an hour,” May replied, though her voice was quieter now.

“A long hour,” he said.

She looked up at him, taking in the dust on his boots, the faint crease in his shirt where his badge usually rested. She could tell by the line of his jaw he hadn’t eaten yet that day, and the dark beneath his eyes spoke of a sleep cut short.

“Did everything go smoothly?” she asked.

“No one arrested,” he said. “Not yet.”

May gave a small snort. “It’s a carnival, Harry. Not a cattle drive.”

“I’ve seen fewer arguments on cattle drives,” he muttered, adjusting Julia as she clambered up onto his hip. “But it’s quiet now. You ready to enjoy yourself?”

“I was trying,” she said. “But Julia keeps attempting to adopt every barnyard animal in the square.”

“Just wait until she sees the pig races,” Harry said.

May groaned. “Lord, help us.”

He shifted his weight and reached out with his free hand, lacing his fingers through hers. There wasn’t ceremony in the gesture, nothing grand or performative. It was simply what he always did, this quiet tether between them.

They stood like that for a moment, hands clasped, children close, the carnival swirling around them in color and sound. Somewhere nearby, a fiddler hit a sour note, and someone else whooped with laughter.

“The town sure looks good,” Harry said.

“It’s a mess,” May answered, watching a boy knock over a basket of apples in his haste to reach the lemonade stand.

He squeezed her hand. “It’s a beautiful mess.”

She looked up at him again, her heart pulling tight in her chest. “You still think this is paradise?”

Harry looked around at the familiar faces, the smiling neighbors, the freedom in Julia’s laughter, and the weight of his daughter sleeping between them.

“I think it’s better,” he said.

And together, they turned toward the ring toss, their footsteps falling in time with the music.

Ahead, she spotted Willa and Joseph weaving through the crowd, their newborn son swaddled and tucked against Willa’s chest. They waved as they saw her and stopped near the lemonade stand, and May picked up her pace to meet them.

Willa was fanning herself with her hat and looked, if May was being honest, only half alive in the summer heat.

“Well, look at you,” May called as she approached. “You look like a woman who’s been promised a nap and betrayed.”

Willa grinned and swatted a fly away with her straw hat. “That’s exactly what happened. My mother-in-law swore up and down she’d keep the baby this afternoon so I could rest. But I think she meant it in the spiritual sense.”

May chuckled. “And now here you are. With a baby. At a carnival.”

Joseph turned and gave May a one-armed hug, then passed her a tin cup of lemonade. “She said she was going to lose her mind if she sat in that house one more minute. I took that as a request for rescue.”

Willa looked to Joseph with exaggerated sweetness. “He’s very clever. He knows just when to drag me out into public so I don’t start screaming into the laundry.”

May laughed. “And how about Ella? Where’s our favorite little whirlwind?”

Willa rolled her eyes, but her smile widened. “At home with Mama Porter. Napping, presumably. Though, if I know that child, she’ll be up and rearranging furniture by the time we get back. She’s reached the stage where she narrates everything she does. Everything. ‘I’m climbing the chair, Mama. I’m jumping now, Mama. I spilled the milk, and now I’m sorry but not really sorry, Mama.’ All day long.”

“That sounds exhausting,” May said, accepting a cup of lemonade from the vendor and watching Julia dart back and forth between booths.

“She calls Joseph ‘Pa,’ and she calls me ‘No,’” Willa added, completely deadpan. “I think that says everything about how our days go.”

Joseph chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s not wrong.”

May was laughing so hard she had to shift the baby on her hip. “I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just that I feel your pain so acutely.” She looked down, faux-sneakily, at the curly head on her shoulder, beginning to droop as Evelyn grew ready for her own nap.

“Oh, Evelyn’s a dream compared to mine,” Willa said, waving a hand. “Evelyn asks before she throws dirt. Mine just throws it and then says, ’that was dirt, Mama.’ Like she’s filing a report after the crime.”

“Maybe she’s practicing for a career in law enforcement,” Joseph offered with a wink.

“She’ll have to take it up with Sheriff Harry,” May said, smiling as her husband appeared in the crowd then, carrying a small sack of roasted peanuts.

Harry caught the end of the comment and raised a brow. “Who’s taking over my post now?”

“Ella,” May said. “Apparently, she’s got the qualifications.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Willa agreed. “Strong opinions, a loud voice, and absolutely no regard for personal space.”

“I’ll be out of a job by spring,” Harry said dryly, handing peanuts to May and tipping his hat toward Willa.

May took the bag and offered him a grateful look. “Thank you, love.”

“I bribed the vendor,” Harry said. “Turns out he likes the law after all.”

Joseph snorted. “Or just doesn’t want to be fined for short-changing children.”

Willa leaned into May and lowered her voice. “Is it bad that I’m genuinely considering keeping Mama Porter at our house another week just so I can breathe in silence for half an hour a day?”

“Not bad at all,” May said. “It’s simply good sense. You grew a human being inside your body, and now you’re expected to let her redecorate the kitchen with jam.”

Willa raised her lemonade in a mock toast. “To mothering.”

May clinked her tin cup gently against hers. “To daughters with strong wills, strong lungs, and excellent future leadership potential.”

And together, they laughed, two mothers, elbow-deep in the messy beauty of it all, soaking in the warmth of the sun and the sound of the fair, for once letting the joy of the day outweigh the weariness of raising little legends in the making.

Their moment of peace didn’t last very long.

Julia tugged insistently on her hand.

“Come on! I want to show Papa how good I am at the games! I’ve been practicing!”

Harry chuckled beside her, reaching down to ruffle Julia’s sun-warmed curls. “I’m right behind you.”

Julia didn’t wait. She darted toward the ring toss booth with the gangly confidence of a girl who had practiced tossing everything from socks to corncobs into imaginary targets all year long.

“She takes after you,” May said to Harry, watching her stand on her tiptoes to peer over the counter.

Harry grinned. “If she did, she’d be shy around strangers and terrible at throwing.”

May handed Evelyn to Adam, who accepted her with practiced ease. The child was fast asleep, her chubby cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” May said. “You’ve become half the reason she believes she can do anything.”

Harry looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching with emotion, but he said nothing.

Julia looked over her shoulder and waved frantically. “Papa! I need a coin!”

“I’ve got it,” Harry said, stepping forward and fishing into his pocket. He passed one to the booth attendant, who nodded politely and handed Julia a set of three wooden rings.

Julia grasped the rings in her little hand and bit her lip in concentration.

“She’s been practicing all morning,” May said softly, standing close enough to feel the warmth of Harry’s arm beside her. “Used up every washer I had in the house. Even asked Adam to build her a target from a barrel hoop.”

“She’s determined,” Harry said. “Remind you of anyone?”

May didn’t answer, just smiled.

Julia tossed the first ring. It clattered off the post and landed in the grass.

She huffed. “Too high.”

The second ring hit the post and spun off. She groaned and stomped her little boot.

“She certainly gets that from you,” Harry murmured.

May elbowed him gently. “That stubbornness is all you.”

They watched as Julia stood perfectly still before her final throw. She squinted at the post, pulled her arm back slowly, and let the ring fly.

It landed perfectly around the wooden peg.

Julia gasped so loudly it made nearby carnival-goers turn and smile. “I did it!”

She spun around, face shining, and ran back to the two of them.

Harry knelt down and caught her mid-run. “That was the finest toss I’ve ever seen.”

“I win a prize!” she said breathlessly.

The booth attendant held out a basket of small trinkets and toys. Julia’s eyes roamed over them, then settled on a carved wooden horse, no bigger than her palm. She picked it up gently, holding it like it might break.

“Can I keep it?” she asked, already clutching it tightly.

“You earned it,” May said.

Julia grinned and then turned to Harry. “I’m going to name him Sheriff. Because he’s brave like you.”

Harry blinked and cleared his throat. “That’s a fine name, sweetheart.”

May reached out and brushed his shoulder, a small gesture, but it steadied him. She knew what that meant to him, being seen that way, through Julia’s eyes. Brave. Strong. Good.

Julia ran ahead again, wooden horse in hand, and Harry rose to his feet, his jaw tightening with emotion.

“She sees you clearly, Harry,” May said.

He nodded once. “I hope so.”

“You’ve given her a safe world to grow up in. That matters more than anything.”

He reached for her hand then, curling his fingers around hers as they followed Julia through the crowd. The sound of fiddle music played from the other end of the fairgrounds, and children’s laughter bubbled over the warm summer air.

“Did you ever think we’d end up here?” Harry asked.

“No,” May admitted. “But I’m so glad we did.”

Julia spun in a circle ahead of them, her dress flaring as she held up her new toy for another child to see.

Harry leaned close. “She’s got you as an example of someone who built a life out of dust and courage. A mother who stepped in after she’d lost her own. I’d say that’s her real prize.”

May flushed at the compliment but didn’t look away. “She’s got a father who taught her that bravery doesn’t always wear a badge.”

And together, they walked forward, the past behind them, the fair ahead, watching the girl they both loved run headlong into a future they’d fought to protect.

***

They stayed at the fair until the sun began to set. May made her way to June, knowing she needed to prepare for the ride home before it became dark. It had been a long day, and she knew the girls would both be tuckered out and ready for bed once they returned home. She glanced over at them once more.

Julia was dancing with Evelyn to the tune of the fiddle, Adam and Joseph standing near them and clapping along to the bright, lively rhythm. She smiled at the sight.

May reached the livery, her skirts brushing against the dusty ground. She ran a hand along June’s side, the mare’s coat warm and familiar beneath her fingers. She hadn’t ridden her much since a new baby had joined their household, but she’d brushed her down earlier in the week, feeling the pull of old habits and an ache for the comfort of her aging mare.

Harry approached from behind, leading his gelding, Boone, by the reins. He wore his coat unbuttoned and carried his hat tucked under his arm. His sleeves were rolled, and his collar open. He looked tired, but not the kind of tired she had once seen weigh so heavy on his face. This was a different sort of tired, satisfied, maybe.

“She looks good,” he said, nodding at June.

“She’s still strong as ever,” May said. “She hates being left behind.”

Harry smiled. “Funny. Boone’s the same.”

May turned to face him, resting a hand on her hip. “What do you say we take them out for a bit? Just around the ridge? The girls are with Adam and Willa, and I wouldn’t mind a few minutes where nobody’s hanging off my skirts.”

Harry chuckled. “You always were the one to suggest the most reckless ideas.”

“It’s not reckless,” she said, already putting a foot in the stirrup. “It’s a quiet ride with my husband. Don’t go making it sound more dramatic than it really is.”

Harry mounted up and followed her out past the last few carnival tents, their horses falling into step beside each other. The town slowly faded behind them, replaced by the familiar sweep of tall grass and open sky. The sun sat just above the horizon, lighting the land in soft amber and shadow.

May let June pick her pace, letting the rhythm of hooves soothe her. They rode without speaking for a while, and it felt so easy, like the two of them had done this a hundred times together. In truth, they hadn’t. They were only just learning how to settle into each other now that the fear had lifted, the fight was done, and the world had steadied beneath their feet.

Learning to parent together had been tricky as well, both of them struggling to balance all of the needs and responsibilities that weighed on them both inside the home and out. It had all left little time for riding for pleasure together.

“I think this is the first time in two years we’ve been alone like this,” Harry said quietly.

May nodded. “It feels like it’s been longer than that.”

He looked over at her. “Are you happy, May?”

She didn’t answer right away. She let the question settle, let the quiet wrap around her like a shawl. A soft wind rustled the grasses. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cried out overhead.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I’m happy. I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like peace.”

Harry reached across and took her hand where it rested on the horn of her saddle. He held it tightly, his thumb brushing over the edge of her palm. “I spent so long thinking peace was something I’d never earn.”

“You didn’t have to earn it, Harry,” she said softly. “You just had to stop running from it.”

He looked at her then, and the expression in his eyes made her breath catch. There was no armor left in him, no hesitation. Just love. Honest, simple love.

She smiled.

June tossed her head, clearly growing impatient with the slowness of the ride. May laughed and gave the mare a nudge.

“Come on,” she called to Harry. “Let’s race. Last one back has to clean all the picnic plates tomorrow.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, and he grinned. “You’re on.”

They took off in a blur of dust and laughter, the wind in their hair and the wide sky above them, riding not to escape, but to celebrate. Not to survive, but to live. They rode back to collect their daughters, and May felt her heart lift at the joy of moving so freely, of feeling light and like her old self, and made herself a promise that she would make time for this more often.

When they returned to the carnival, the fairgrounds were beginning to empty as the sun dipped low over the prairie, casting a golden hue across the town. Children with sticky fingers clutched leftover sweets, and lanterns began to glow softly along the boardwalk. The sound of fiddle music had slowed to an easy tune, no longer calling people to dance, but lingering like a memory in the warm air.

They collected the girls, May wrapping a squirmy Evelyn onto her back for the ride home and Julia settling into the saddle in front of Harry, and rode home after saying goodbye to Joseph and Willa. Adam took off, riding a few paces ahead of them, eyes scanning the darkening road and the stretches of land ahead, ever vigilant.

The trip home was uneventful, and Adam took the horses into the barn as their little family stepped up onto the porch, the evening sun casting long amber streaks over the land. Behind May, Harry lifted a sleepy Julia from the saddle, her curls loosened from the ribbon and tangled from the wind. Evelyn nestled contentedly against May’s shoulder, her little fingers curled around a ribbon from May’s blouse. The carnival had worn them all out.

From inside the house came the clatter of dishes and the soft sound of humming. A familiar voice, sweet and steady. May’s chest ached with affection.

The door swung open before they could knock. “You’re back just in time,” Evangeline said with a warm smile. “The biscuits are nearly cooled, and the stew is still hot.”

Harry smiled, lines softening at the corners of his eyes. “We didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“Bah. It’s a joy to feed you all. And I knew you’d come back eventually, though I half expected you’d be toting another stray child by now,” she said, giving May a wink as she held the door open wide.

The house smelled of thyme and onions, and something faintly sweet, apple peel and cinnamon, maybe. A kettle whistled on the stove. Evangeline took Evelyn from May’s arms with practiced ease and carried her into the back room to begin the bedtime routine, her long gray braid trailing down her back like a silken rope.

May sat at the kitchen table, sighing as she pulled off her boots. She was pleasantly tired. The day had been long and full, and the memory of the carnival still buzzed behind her eyes: Julia shrieking with laughter on the pony cart, Harry winning her a carved wooden doll, Adam getting his face painted against his will by the town’s schoolteacher.

Harry poured them each a cup of tea and sat beside her, his fingers brushing her knee. “Today was great.”

May leaned her head against his shoulder. “I think so, too. Though I’m not sure Julia needed quite so many peppermints.”

“She earned ‘em. That beanbag toss was tricky.”

They both laughed softly.

May leaned back in the parlor chair, her ankles tucked beneath her, a teacup warming her hands. She was still unwinding from the day’s festivities, her body tired in the best way, sun-flushed, full of sweets, and softened by laughter. Harry stood and crossed the room, thumbed through the small stack of mail they’d brought in from town. He paused and held up one envelope.

“It’s a letter from Tom Landry,” he said. “I’ve been waiting on this one.”

May straightened. “Is that…. It’s about Edward and Mitchell?”

Harry gave a quiet nod and sat beside her, sliding a finger beneath the seal. His brows furrowed as he read, lips pressing into a line.

“They’re in prison,” he said simply. “Mitchell got twenty-five years. Edward got thirty. Hard labor.”

May exhaled slowly, heart catching. “Thirty years…. My God.”

Harry handed her the letter. She took it with careful hands, eyes scanning the page while the sounds of crickets and rustling summer trees drifted in through the open window.

“He says Edward didn’t speak a word when they took him,” she murmured. “And Mitchell…well, I doubt he’s ever had to face the consequences of his actions before.”

Harry didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the girls’ room down the hallway. “It should bring peace,” he said. “And it does, in some ways. But it still happened. Beth still died. You were still tied to a chair in some godforsaken shack. That doesn’t go away.”

May looked over the top of the letter at him. “No. But you saved me. And now we can move forward. This is part of that.”

Harry nodded, slow. “What about Evangeline?”

May folded the letter with gentle fingers and set it aside. “I was just thinking that.”

“She deserves to know,” Harry said. “But…I don’t know. It’s hard to guess what that kind of justice feels like, when it’s your child they murdered.”

May’s throat tightened. “She hasn’t spoken Beth’s name much. Not since I’ve known her. But I see her look at Julia sometimes, and I can tell she’s remembering.”

Harry reached for his tea but didn’t drink. “Maybe I’ll tell her. I’ll keep it to just the facts. Then, if she wants to talk about it, she can.”

May nodded. “I think she’d appreciate that.”

They sat in a stretch of companionable silence before May reached over, laid her hand atop Harry’s, and offered a small smile. “You did good, Sheriff.”

His eyes softened. “We both did.”

Evangeline returned a little while later, wiping her hands on her apron. “Girls are down,” she said, settling into the third chair at the table. “Not a peep from either of them. Though if Julia wakes up and asks for that candy apple again, I’ll be blaming you two.”

May grinned. “Thank you, Evangeline. Truly.”

“Oh, hush,” Evangeline said, patting her hand. “What else am I here for?”

The teasing tone made May laugh, but it faded into something warmer, softer as she glanced between the older woman and her husband. Her heart pulled unexpectedly at the thought that this was her family: a sheriff, a widow, a former matriarch, and two little girls sleeping in the next room.

Harry cleared his throat. “Evangeline, we got a letter today. From Sheriff Landry.”

She looked up at once. Her face didn’t change much, no sharp reaction, just a stilling of breath and a narrowing of eyes.

“They’ve been sentenced,” Harry said gently. “Mitchell’s to serve twenty-five years. Edward…thirty. Hard labor.”

Evangeline was quiet. Then, “I suppose I ought to feel something.”

“You don’t have to,” May said softly.

“I thought I would feel relief,” Evangeline said after a moment. “Or anger. Instead, it just feels…done. Like a door’s closed.” She gave a tight nod. “That will be enough.”

The three of them sat quietly together, the weight of the moment hanging gently but not heavily at their center.

The three of them sipped tea as the last of the light slipped through the windows in companionable silence. Outside, the cicadas chirred, and the breeze moved slowly through the grass. It reminded May of nights long ago, listening to her parents at the kitchen table long after bedtime, talking softly over tea, their hands sometimes brushing in the candlelight.

“You know,” Evangeline said after a long pause, “I’ve been thinking it’s almost time I head back home.”

May frowned. “So soon?”

“It’s been two months,” Evangeline said. “You all don’t need an old woman hanging about every day. I’ll be fine. I still know how to use a rifle, and the hens need tending.”

Harry chuckled. “You’re as fierce as ever.”

“That I am,” she said proudly. “But I admit, I’m tired. And I worry sometimes, about being out there all on my own. Heard tell in town that there’s been some trouble up by the railway, men looking to squat where they shouldn’t. It’s probably nothing, but I keep the doors barred at night just the same. I don’t like leaving the place empty for long, however. It’s time I get back.”

Harry and May exchanged a quick glance, but Evangeline turned the conversation to lighter topics. The three of them sat together a little longer, watching the candles flicker lower and the shadows stretch across the floor. After a time, Evangeline sighed and eased to her feet.

“I’m off to bed. I expect you two will follow shortly, though maybe after some of that private time you keep pretending you don’t make time for.”

Harry grinned. “Good night.”

“Good night, my darlings,” she said, and left the room quietly.

They banked the fire and made their way to the bedroom. May washed up at the basin while Harry undressed, and they changed into their bedclothes, hers a soft cotton nightdress, his old undershirt and long johns.

May sat on the edge of the bed, brushing out her hair.

The glow of the lamp on the dresser spilled golden light across the room, casting soft shadows over the hand-stitched quilt and the clean-washed wooden floor. A breeze rustled the lace curtain by the window, bringing with it the scent of chamomile and summer hay.

Harry shifted slightly, tugging off his boots with a weary sigh. “I reckon I could sleep a week,” he murmured.

May smiled as she tucked her legs beneath her on the bed. “If only the girls would allow it.”

He chuckled. “No chance of that.”

May paused, glancing toward the open door where the hallway now lay dark and quiet. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “About Evangeline. About asking her to stay.”

Harry looked up from unbuttoning his shirt, surprise flickering in his tired eyes. “To live here? With us?”

May nodded, curling a bit closer to him. “She’s been such a help. I know she complains about her hands aching when she kneads bread, and about how the roof creaks when it storms, but I think more than anything, she’s lonely out there.”

“She never says it outright,” Harry said softly. “But I reckon you’re right.”

“And she loves the girls,” May added. “She puts Evelyn to sleep faster than I ever can. That lullaby she hums, what was it again?”

Harry smiled. “’sailing, Sailing.’ Beth used to sing it, too.”

May returned the smile, but there was no tension in it, no sting of comparison. Once, she had been so afraid that the life she had built with Harry would never be enough. Now, she felt safe to honor his past together, and respect the woman who had created a beautiful little girl and been forced to leave too soon.

“There was a night,” May continued, her voice gentler now, “when Evelyn wouldn’t stop fussing. Nothing I did seemed to soothe her. I must’ve walked ten miles in that nursery. I felt like a failure.”

Harry reached out, brushing her wrist with his thumb.

May went on. “Evangeline didn’t say much. Just came in, wrapped Evelyn in a thick quilt she’d warmed by the hearth, and said, ‘Babies don’t just need rocking. They need reminding the world is warm.’ She held her tight and sure, like she wasn’t worried at all. Evelyn stopped crying within a minute. And I—” Her voice caught slightly. “I just sat there and cried instead.”

Harry didn’t speak, but he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. She leaned into him.

“I never thought I would have to learn to be a mother without mine to guide me. I never got the chance to ask my mother questions, to hear from her what to do. But Evangeline…she answers them for me. In quiet ways.”

Harry rested his forehead against hers, his voice low. “Let’s ask her. First thing tomorrow. She belongs here.”

May nodded, a soft, grateful smile on her lips. “I think she does.”

They climbed under the quilt together, the scent of fresh lavender rising from the linens. Outside, the wind whispered through the cornfields, and somewhere down the hall, Evelyn gave a soft sigh in her sleep. The home was still, full.

Harry wrapped an arm around May, and she rested her head on his shoulder, letting the rhythm of his breathing lull her toward sleep.

“I love you,” she murmured.

His voice, thick with contentment, followed a moment later. “I love you.”

They drifted off, the house quiet and strong around them, the future stretching out ahead like a warm summer road.