Abigail awakened before dawn the following morning because fear had trained her to wake early.
At the Carter farm, sleeping after Walter rose was considered laziness.
She expected Nathaniel to pound on her door.
Instead, the house remained quiet.
For a moment, Abigail lay beneath the clean quilt, uncertain where she was.
Then she saw the flowers on the dresser.
Willow Creek.
Nathaniel Brooks.
The money.
Her parents.
She sat upright.
Her first thought was work.
If Nathaniel had paid so much, he would expect every cent's worth of labor.
Abigail dressed quickly and hurried downstairs.
Nathaniel was already in the kitchen.
Coffee steamed beside him.
He looked up.
"Morning."
"Good morning."
She waited for instructions.
He drank from his cup.
She waited longer.
Finally, he asked, "Something wrong?"
"No, sir."
"Then why are you standing there like you're waiting for sentencing?"
Abigail lowered her eyes.
"I'm ready to work."
Nathaniel's expression shifted slightly.
"I figured."
She looked around.
"What should I do first?"
"Breakfast would help."
Relief rushed through her.
Cooking she understood.
"Yes, sir."
Nathaniel nodded toward the pantry.
"Food's in there."
Then he left.
Abigail exhaled.
The pantry was better stocked than anything she had known growing up.
Flour.
Sugar.
Coffee.
Cornmeal.
Canned peaches.
Jars of beans.
Smoked ham.
She decided on biscuits, eggs, ham gravy, and fried apples.
Soon footsteps sounded overhead.
The children came down one by one.
Ruth entered first.
She froze when she smelled the biscuits.
"Are those from scratch?"
Abigail smiled.
"Is there another way?"
Samuel appeared.
"Pa burns them."
Nathaniel's voice came from behind him.
"I heard that."
Samuel winced.
Abigail turned.
Nathaniel stood in the doorway.
For one dangerous second, she nearly laughed.
Then she remembered who he was.
She lowered her gaze.
Breakfast began quietly.
Then Daniel bit into a biscuit.
His eyes widened.
"Miss Abigail?"
"Yes?"
"If you stay forever, can you make these every day?"
Ruth kicked him beneath the table.
Daniel yelped.
Emily giggled.
The sound changed the room.
Nathaniel stopped eating.
Everyone went still.
Emily's smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
Abigail noticed.
She also noticed the grief hanging over the family like a curtain nobody knew how to open.
After breakfast, Nathaniel stood.
"The older two have chores."
Samuel groaned.
Nathaniel lifted one eyebrow.
Samuel corrected himself.
"Yes, sir."
Nathaniel turned to Abigail.
"The younger ones can show you the house."
She nodded.
He started toward the door.
"Nathaniel?"
It was the first time she had used his name.
He stopped.
"Thank you for the room."
His expression softened so slightly she almost missed it.
"It's your room. You don't need to thank me for it."
Then he walked outside.
Those words stayed with her all morning.
Your room.
Not the servant's room.
Not the spare room.
Yours.
She explored the house with Clara, Daniel, and Emily.
She discovered a sewing basket untouched for two years.
A piano nobody played anymore.
A shelf of children's books.
And framed photographs.
Grace Brooks smiled from several of them.
She had been a pretty woman with fair hair and laughing eyes.
Abigail stood before one photograph longer than she intended.
Emily slipped her hand into Abigail's.
"That's Mama."
"I know."
"She's in heaven."
Abigail swallowed.
"That's what your father told you?"
Emily nodded.
"Mama said heaven has flowers."
Abigail crouched.
"Then I expect she's found the prettiest ones."
Emily studied her.
"Do you have babies?"
The question struck Abigail harder than the child could have known.
"No."
"Why?"
Clara hissed, "Emily!"
Abigail forced herself to breathe.
"Because sometimes families are made differently."
Emily considered this.
Then she touched Abigail's cheek.
"You can borrow us."
Abigail laughed.
Then, unexpectedly, she cried.
Emily wrapped both arms around her neck.
That afternoon Daniel scraped his knee running beside the creek.
He came home trying not to cry because Samuel had told him boys shouldn't.
Abigail washed the cut.
Daniel clenched his teeth.
"You can cry," she said.
"Pa doesn't."
"That doesn't mean you can't."
Daniel looked at her.
"Does crying make you weak?"
"No."
"What does?"
Abigail thought of her father.
"Being cruel because you're afraid somebody might see you're hurting."
Daniel didn't fully understand.
But Nathaniel, standing unseen in the hall, did.
The days began finding a rhythm.
Abigail rose early because she liked watching sunlight reach the kitchen windows.
She made breakfast.
Ruth helped with dishes.
Samuel carried wood.
Daniel followed Abigail everywhere, asking endless questions.
Clara loved having her hair braided.
Emily simply wanted to be held.
Abigail never refused.
At night she read to them.
The first evening, Nathaniel remained outside.
The second evening, he stood in the doorway.
By the fourth, he sat in a chair near the stove pretending to repair a harness strap while Abigail read The Secret Garden.
He rarely spoke.
But he listened.
A week passed.
Then another.
The farmhouse changed.
Bread cooled near the windows.
Wildflowers appeared in jars.
Curtains were washed and rehung.
Abigail found Grace's old recipe notebook and, after asking Ruth's permission, began cooking dishes the children's mother once made.
The first time she baked Grace's cinnamon cake, Samuel left the kitchen.
Abigail found him behind the barn.
He was crying.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean—"
"It smells like her."
Abigail sat beside him.
"I can stop making it."
Samuel shook his head hard.
"No."
He wiped his face.
"I forgot the smell."
Abigail understood then that grief wasn't only remembering.
Sometimes it was realizing you had begun to forget.
"Then we'll make it together next time."
Samuel looked at her.
"You would?"
"Of course."
From then on, he helped.
Nathaniel noticed all of it.
He noticed Clara stopped having nightmares.
He noticed Daniel brought books to the dinner table because Abigail had made him proud of learning new words.
He noticed Ruth, who had tried to become a mother at twelve, finally started behaving like a child again.
And Emily—
Emily stopped waiting at the front window for a mother who could not return.
One evening Nathaniel came in from the barn and found Abigail dancing with the children in the kitchen.
There was no music.
Daniel was banging two wooden spoons together.
Clara twirled.
Samuel pretended he wasn't enjoying himself.
Ruth laughed so hard she had to hold the table.
Emily stood on Abigail's feet while Abigail moved carefully around the room.
Nobody noticed Nathaniel at first.
Then Ruth did.
Everything stopped.
Abigail's smile vanished.
"I'm sorry."
Nathaniel leaned against the door.
"For what?"
"The noise."
"This is a farmhouse, not a funeral parlor."
Daniel blinked.
"Can we keep dancing?"
Nathaniel looked at him.
"I don't see why not."
The children erupted again.
Abigail stared at Nathaniel.
For the first time she saw him smile.
It was small.
Almost reluctant.
But real.
That night, after everyone slept, Nathaniel sat alone on the porch.
Abigail came outside carrying two cups of coffee.
"I didn't know if you wanted one."
He accepted it.
"Thank you."
She sat at the far end of the porch.
Crickets filled the darkness.
After several minutes Nathaniel said, "You're good with them."
"They're easy to love."
His fingers tightened around his cup.
"They've had a hard couple years."
"So have you."
He looked at her.
Abigail immediately regretted the comment.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't—"
"No."
He stared toward the pasture.
"You're right."
They sat quietly.
Finally Abigail asked, "Why did you bring me here?"
Nathaniel's face became unreadable.
Her heart beat faster.
"What did my father tell you?"
Nathaniel took a slow breath.
"Not everything."
She waited.
He stood.
"There's something we need to discuss."
Her stomach tightened.
"When?"
Nathaniel looked at the dark sky.
"Soon."
Then he went inside.
Abigail remained on the porch.
The fear she had almost forgotten returned.
The next day, she noticed Nathaniel watching her more often.
Not suspiciously.
Almost as if he were deciding how to say something difficult.
Two evenings later, Abigail overheard Ruth and Samuel whispering.
"Pa went to the lawyer again," Ruth said.
"What lawyer?"
"The one in Asheville."
Abigail's hands froze above the wash basin.
Lawyer.
That word terrified her.
Had Nathaniel discovered the truth?
Did he know she couldn't have children?
Would he send her away now that the household was functioning better?
She spent the next day waiting.
Nothing happened.
Then, exactly two weeks after her arrival, Nathaniel returned from town shortly before sunset.
He carried papers inside his coat.
At supper, he barely touched his food.
When Emily finished eating, he looked toward Ruth.
"Take everyone upstairs."
Ruth stared at him.
"Did we do something?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"Ruth."
She obeyed.
One by one, the children left.
Abigail began clearing dishes.
Her hands trembled.
Nathaniel closed the kitchen door.
The click sounded impossibly loud.
He removed his hat.
Placed it on the table.
Then he reached inside his coat.
"Sit down, Abigail."
Her knees almost failed her.
"Nathaniel—"
"Please."
She sat.
He unfolded a piece of paper.
Abigail recognized the doctor's letter.
The one Walter had ripped apart.
Her face drained of color.
"Where did you get that?"
"Dr. Wallace kept the original."
She stared at him.
"You knew."
"Before I came for you."
Abigail couldn't breathe.
Nathaniel placed another document beside it.
She recognized her parents' signatures.
Then he put a second leather pouch on the table.
It landed beside the papers with a heavy thud.
Abigail stared at it.
"What is that?"
Nathaniel sat across from her.
His voice was calm.
"Tonight we're going to settle something."
Tears filled Abigail's eyes.
"If you're sending me away—"
"I'm not."
She looked at him.
He pushed the second pouch toward her.
"This is yours."
"I don't understand."
"You will."
He tapped the signed document.
"Your parents thought they sold you."
Abigail flinched.
Nathaniel's jaw tightened.
"They were wrong."
He leaned forward.
"I didn't buy you to be a maid."
Abigail stopped breathing.
Nathaniel continued.
"And before the sun comes up tomorrow, you're going to decide what kind of life you actually want."
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