Eleanor turned back to him.
"Your mother can always be there because of the love you carry for her."
She placed a hand gently beside him on the floor.
"And maybe there can be room for me too, for whatever new kind of caring we build together."
Daniel studied her.
"You promise you won't leave, even if it gets hard?"
"I promise."
He seemed to weigh the answer.
Then he carefully set the wooden horse on a shelf where it could overlook the room.
"Samuel doesn't remember her much. He was too little."
Daniel looked at the portrait again.
"But I tell him stories so he won't forget."
"That's a good thing to do."
Eleanor smiled.
"Would you tell me some of them sometime? I'd like to know about her."
For the first time since Eleanor had entered his life, Daniel smiled without reservation.
"I'd like that."
They left the nursery together.
But Eleanor carried what she had learned.
That evening, after the boys were asleep, she found Thomas in his study bent over account ledgers beneath lamplight.
"May I come in?"
He looked up.
Surprise flickered across his face.
Eleanor rarely disturbed him there.
"Of course."
She sat opposite his desk.
For a moment, she struggled to begin.
"Daniel showed me the nursery today."
Thomas's pen stopped.
"He told me about... about the other baby."
The pen remained still.
When Thomas looked up, his eyes were carefully blank.
"He shouldn't have been in that room. I've told the boys to stay out."
"He misses her."
Eleanor paused.
"He misses both of them. His mother and the sister he never knew."
"The past is the past."
Thomas's voice sharpened.
"No good comes from dwelling on what can't be changed."
But Eleanor saw the tension.
His shoulders.
The grip on his pen.
"Forgetting isn't the same as healing."
"I'm not trying to forget."
Thomas set the pen aside.
"But I can't live yesterday, Eleanor. I have today to manage and tomorrow to prepare for."
His gaze dropped.
"That's all any of us can do."
Eleanor understood.
But she also heard pain beneath the practicality.
"The boys need to talk about her sometimes. They need to know it's safe to remember."
Thomas's eyes flashed.
"And what would you have me tell them?"
He pushed slightly away from the desk.
"That their mother was perfect and wonderful and that nothing I can give will ever measure up?"
His voice changed.
"That every day I wake up knowing I failed to protect the most important person in my life?"
The rawness stunned Eleanor.
She had never heard such emotion from him.
"You couldn't have prevented what happened."
"Couldn't I?"
Thomas looked at her.
"I should've insisted she go to Denver for the birth. Somewhere with proper doctors."
He stood and moved toward the window.
"Instead, I listened when she said she wanted the babies born at home."
His jaw tightened.
"I let sentiment override sense."