Eleanor smiled at him.
"That's wonderful. Perhaps you can help me teach Samuel."
Daniel's expression changed.
Surprise.
Perhaps because she valued what he knew instead of dismissing him as a child.
A small crack in the wall.
Eleanor filed it away.
After supper, Thomas went outside for evening chores.
Eleanor stayed in the sitting room with the boys.
She brought one of the few books she'd carried with her, a collection of simple stories, and read aloud.
Both children listened with surprising intensity.
"You read different than Papa," Samuel said when she paused.
"Different how?"
"More... like the words have feelings."
Eleanor smiled.
"Words do have feelings, in a way. The trick is learning to hear them."
"Read more," Daniel said.
It was the first direct request he'd made of her.
Eleanor continued until Thomas returned.
He stamped snow from his boots, hung his coat by the door, then paused in the sitting room entrance.
For a moment he simply watched.
Eleanor wondered what he was thinking.
"Time for bed, boys."
Predictable protests followed.
Eventually both children were herded upstairs to wash and change.
Eleanor helped Samuel with his buttons.
Listened to his prayers.
A sweet, wandering conversation with God covering his new mama, his favorite horse, and a request that no more blizzards come.
Daniel was quieter.
He accepted help but said little.
When Eleanor tucked his blankets around him, he looked up.
"Are you really going to stay?"
"I really am."
"Even when it gets hard? Papa says winters here are terrible hard."
Eleanor thought about all the hard things she had survived.
Her family's loss.
The broken engagement.
Months of uncertainty and need.
"I think I can manage hard."
Something in her answer must have convinced him.
Daniel nodded.
"Good."
When Eleanor returned downstairs, Thomas was washing supper dishes.
Without being asked, she picked up a towel and began drying.
For several minutes they worked comfortably.
"They like you," Thomas said.
"Samuel does. Daniel's still deciding."
"Daniel's been the man of the house too long. He's forgotten how to be a child."
Eleanor dried a plate.
"Maybe that isn't entirely bad. Children who grow up quickly sometimes become strong adults."
"Maybe."
Thomas looked toward the ceiling.
"But I'd like him to have some childhood left if possible."
It was the most personal thing Thomas had offered her so far.
This simple wish for his son's happiness.
Something warm unfolded in Eleanor's chest.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Something closer to partnership.
A feeling that perhaps the two of them really could manage this together.
"I'll do my best to help with that."
Thomas nodded.
"I'll be up early tomorrow. Cattle need checking, and there's fence to repair before the next storm."
"What time should breakfast be ready?"
"5:30, if that's not too early."
Eleanor had risen at 5:30 for years as a teacher.
"That's fine."