Emma's Wish

She'd done the right thing. Hadn't she? Wasn't it better that he was angry rather than repulsed by her? For several days now, she'd wondered if perhaps Sam was different, if he was a better man than Barclay and the doctors who'd looked at her with revulsion and pity. The more time she spent with Sam, the more she admired his integrity and his basic goodness. Maybe he would care for her despite her imperfections. They could have a real marriage, be a real family, and perhaps she could even have children of her own. She could have everything she'd ever dreamed of.

But if she was wrong, she could lose everything. Did she dare take the chance?

***

A few mornings later, Emma was tackling the weeds in the vegetable garden behind the house when she heard the door close. Nathan came up to stand beside her. "Are you mad at Pa?"

Turning, she looked up. His face was drawn in a frown, and as he waited for her response, he bent down to pick up one of the weeds in the pile Emma had pulled. He squeezed a leaf between his thumb and finger, then tossed it back in the heap.

Setting down the small hoe she'd been using, she sat back on her heels. "No," she replied. "What makes you think I'm angry with your father."

Nathan shrugged, then kicked at a small mound of dirt at his feet. "Aw ... I don't know ... you just look kinda mad ... like mama used to ..." His voice trailed off.

True, she and Sam had barely spoken since their discussion three days ago, but she couldn't say she was angry exactly. She couldn't speak for Sam, though. Ever since she'd refused him, he'd been walking around like he had a hornet's nest in his breeches, barely speaking, responding with one-word answers when she asked him a question, and avoiding her whenever possible. Meals were the worst, though. Silent, the only sound in the kitchen the clinking of silverware on the dishes. Then he'd go outside and stay there until she was in bed for the night.

Obviously, the strain in their relationship hadn't gone unnoticed by the children.

Emma gave Nathan a soft smile. "I'm not angry. There's nothing for you to worry about."

"Joseph said you was mad and you might want to leave us like Mama did."

Her heart filled with sympathy for the little boy. A lock of dark hair slipped down onto his forehead, and Emma reached out to brush it back. She was a little surprised when he didn't pull away from her touch.

"Oh, sweetheart," she said quietly, "your mother didn't leave you because she wanted to. She died, and people can't control when they die."

"I know that," he said matter-of-factly. "But she wanted to leave us anyway."

Emma's eyes widened. "She did?"

Nathan nodded. "Yep. Her and Pa used to fight about it all the time. She was mad a lot. I don't think she liked Pa very much."

As much as she was curious about Sam's relationship with Catherine, at the same time she felt a little guilty encouraging Nathan to talk about his mother. But her inquisitive nature wouldn't permit her to let the opportunity go by. She did promise herself she wouldn't ask questions, though. She'd only let the boy tell her what he wanted to.

"I'm sure you're mistaken," Emma said.

"Nope. Me and Joseph knew that. Becky was too little, but we're big enough. She used to yell at him a lot."

He paused for a few seconds, his brow furrowed. Then he added, "she used to yell at us a lot, too."

So theirs hadn't been a very happy home, by all accounts. Yet Sam had loved her. Still loved her.

"At least you don't yell much," Nathan went on. "That's good."

Emma's lips quirked in a smile, and she turned away for a moment. Nathan was perfectly serious, and she didn't want him to think she was taking his comments lightly. Instead, she concentrated on a bee flitting among the marigolds edging the garden.

Nathan knelt down in the dirt beside her and snatched a weed in his fist. He yanked it out, and dropped it in the heap beside them.

"And you read good stories," he murmured as he turned away from her and pulled at another weed.

Emma smiled, feeling a lump form in her throat. This was the first time Nathan had voiced anything positive about her presence in their lives. She'd felt it for the past few days, that she was finally breaking down the wall he'd built between them, but to finally have evidence that she was succeeding

was almost overwhelming. "I'm glad you like them," she murmured.

"Will you read us another one tonight?" he asked, gazing up at her with eyes so like his father's.

"Once supper is cleaned up and you have a bath," she promised.

Nathan's lips pursed. "Ew, I hate baths."