"I can't look after them."
"The children tell me their mother passed on--"
"That's right."
Emma heard his voice catch. He'd obviously loved her very much, and still hadn't recovered from her death.
"She got the fever just before Thanksgiving. She died a week later. At the time, I wanted to die, too, but I knew I had to look after the children. I've found out I can't even do that right."
"I'm sure you tried--"
"Yeah, I tried. And it didn't work. And now, I don't have a choice."
That Emma didn't believe. "Mr. Jenkins, there are always choices.--"
"You don't know how many nights I've sat up trying to figure out how to keep them. This is the only way."
"How can you send them away?" Emma recognized the anxiety in her voice, yet she couldn't help it. She had to stop him. "They're your flesh and blood."
"They're better off with their grandparents."
"You're wrong."
He gazed at her, as if he didn't quite believe she'd had the nerve to contradict him. "Mrs. Witherspoon--"
"Miss. It's Miss Witherspoon. I'm not married."
"Sorry. I just assumed ..." His voice trailed off.
Yes, he'd assumed that a woman of twenty-three would be married and have a houseful of children by now. Unfortunately, there was no husband or children in Emma's life. And never would be.
"It's a natural mistake," she said softly. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable in her small kitchen. "You were saying?" she asked.
"Oh ... yeah ... well, I was saying I can't work a ranch and look after them, too. At least with their grandparents, they'll have somebody to keep an eye on them, make sure they eat right--"
"A housekeeper can do the same thing," Emma pointed out.
Sam leaned closer to her. "And what do I pay a housekeeper with? I've barely got enough money to survive the next few months, and if I can't spend every waking minute working my land and taking care of the stock between now and fall, I'll lose the ranch, too. And then, where will the money come from to feed them over the winter--"
"Mr. Jenkins--"
"Look, ma'am. I appreciate your concern. I shouldn't be telling you all my troubles, but you were kind enough to look after the children, and for that I'm truly grateful. But what I do with them is my business."
"But--"
"They'll be on the train to Boston on Monday, so you don't have to worry about them."
Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Would you consider allowing the children to live with me?"
"What?"
Emma bounded up and moved to stand beside him. "I'd love to have them. Truly."
He seemed to consider her offer, but only for a few moments. "No."
"Why not? They'd still be well taken care of, I assure you."
"I'm sure you'd take real good care of them. But the answer's still no. They need a real family. They'll have that with their grandparents."