Thomas looked at Anna.
She immediately became uncertain.
"I hope that's all right."
He swallowed.
"Yes."
He looked at the childish drawing.
"It's all right."
That night after Lily went to bed, Thomas found Anna washing a cup.
"Thank you."
She turned.
"For what?"
"Lily doesn't talk about Margaret much anymore."
"I hope I didn't upset her."
"No."
Thomas leaned against the counter.
"I think I've been so afraid of making her sad that I taught her not to ask."
Anna dried her hands.
"Children are strange with grief."
"You sound like you know."
"My mother died when I was twenty-three."
Thomas nodded.
"I'm sorry."
"For a long time, everyone avoided mentioning her because they thought it would hurt me."
Anna looked toward the dark window.
"It hurt more when people acted as if she had disappeared from the world completely."
Thomas understood.
For several moments they stood together in silence.
Not romantic.
Not yet.
But something opened between them.
A place where grief did not require explanation.
Two weeks later, Anna went into Willow Creek with Thomas and Lily.
She had earned part of her first month's wages.
Nine dollars felt enormous after arriving with twelve cents.
Anna bought thread.
Writing paper.
A new comb.
Then she stood outside the general store staring at a pair of sturdy brown shoes.
Her own boots were worn thin at the sole.
Thomas noticed.
"You need those."
Anna looked at the price.
"Not yet."
"You walk half the ranch every day."
"They'll last another month."
Thomas said nothing.
An hour later, as they loaded the wagon, he placed a box beside Anna's feet.
She stared at it.
"No."
Thomas looked confused.
"They're shoes."
"I can see that."
"You need them."
"I said no."
He was surprised by the sharpness of her tone.
Lily went quiet.
Anna lowered her voice.
"I am grateful for everything you've done. But please don't buy things for me."
Thomas frowned.
"Why?"
Anna hated the answer.
Because Charles had once done the same thing.
Her former fiancé had bought her a winter coat after her father became ill.
Months later, during an argument, he reminded her exactly what it had cost.
After the farm was lost, Charles's mother listed every gift the Whitmore family had ever given Anna as though presenting an account for payment.
Kindness had become debt.
"I can buy my own shoes."
Thomas looked at the box.
Then at her.
Understanding came slowly.
"All right."
He carried the shoes back inside.
He did not sulk.
He did not call her ungrateful.
He did not mention the matter again.
The following week, Anna bought the shoes herself.
That small event mattered more than Thomas ever knew.
Because he had respected a boundary he did not understand.
By the third week, Anna began imagining what would happen when the month ended.
She did not want to.
But she had learned not to confuse temporary safety with permanence.
Mrs. Dalton had heard the schoolteacher might need an assistant through summer.
The pay was modest.
A widow in town could rent Anna a room.
It was possible.
That was good.
She repeated that to herself.
Possible was good.
Yet the idea of leaving the ranch created an ache she did not want to examine.
Then trouble arrived.
It came on a gray Thursday afternoon.
Anna was hanging laundry behind the house when Jasper began barking toward the road.
A rider approached at speed.