"It's honest," Walt said. "She taught me to carry strings. You're teaching me what to do when they snap.
The first week after Ruth's return they moved carefully around each other, like people learning a house's creaks again. She woke early and made coffee before he could. He cooked eggs the way she liked them after she mentioned it once. They drove into town together and endured Dot's knowing smile and Mrs. Henshaw's cross-examination about Denver ("Too many cars, not enough pies, I assume"). Ruth unpacked slowly, as if rushing might startle the decision into fleeing. Walt gave her the top two drawers of the dresser without being asked. She put the cream prairie dress in the closet beside his winter coat and stood looking at the two hangers for a long moment.
"Is this all right?" she asked.
"It's better than all right," Walt said. "It's the first time that closet has made sense in years."
They walked the pastures in the long May evenings. Ruth learned the names of the cows Walt bothered to name and invented better names for the ones he hadn't. She played on the porch while he fixed a screen door. He taught her to drive the tractor in a lurching Sunday lesson that ended with both of them laughing too hard to continue. When Margaret invited them to a brandings in June, Ruth showed up in boots that had seen real mud and held a calf steady while Walt worked, auburn waves tied back, brown smoky liner softened by sweat and sun, glossy terracotta lips pressed in concentration. Afterward Margaret pulled Walt aside.