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He had to send the children to Boston. He had no choice.
Night after night, he'd lain awake trying to find a way, some way to keep his family together. When Catherine first died, the neighbors had flocked to the house with food and offers of help with the children. Gradually, the visits had lessened. Now, he was left alone to try to keep the ranch going and care for the children by himself.
Sure, his closest neighbor, Fred Holloway, still came by with his wife, Lou, from time to time. But Fred had his own place to worry about. With planting season upon them, he didn't have time to help Sam out, and Lou was too busy cooking for their own hands to help Sam with the children.
Getting up, Sam picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the pot of beef stew on the stove. It seemed they ate stew almost every night since Catherine died, partly because it was one of the few things he knew how to make, but mainly because it was easy and he could leave it simmering, giving him more time to work the ranch rather than preparing meals. If only he had the money to hire a few hands ...
But he didn't. He'd sunk every cent he could scrounge together into building his herd. There was nothing left over.
He'd exhausted all the possibilities until finally, he'd given in and written to Catherine's parents, asking them to take the children. Until he got back on his feet, he'd said.
And he meant to get back on his feet, too. He just didn't know how long that might take.
"Papa!" Becky's voice filtered through his thoughts. "Look!"
Following the direction of Becky’s outstretched arm, Sam noticed the stew bubbling over the side of the pot. "Damn!" he cried, grabbing a towel and lifting the heavy iron kettle away from the heat.
"Papa said a bad word," Becky told Nathan, who had just opened the door and trudged into the kitchen carrying a pail of water.
Nathan scowled. "Ma doesn't like you cussing."
Sam gave Nathan a soft smile. Even after all these months, Nathan still talked about his mother as if she was still alive and had just stepped into the other room for a few minutes. Sam didn't have the heart to remind him again that she was gone. Permanently. It didn't matter any more how much he cursed. Catherine couldn't scold him now.
"Where's your brother?" Sam asked.
"Feeding Lulu and Samson. He won't be but a minute."
Asinine names for horses, Sam thought, but he kept quiet. He'd let the boys name them, and he would have to live with it.
Sam nodded. "Good. Then go wash up and sit down before supper gets cold."
A few minutes later, Sam and the children sat down to their meal. Only the crackling of the logs in the fireplace and the rustle of the wind through the trees outside broke the silence.
Sam tried to coax Joseph into a conversation, but he merely responded with one word answers to Sam's questions. Nathan moved his food around on his plate with his fork, but Sam noticed none of it actually made its way into his mouth. Becky ate her supper in silence, her accusing gaze resting on Sam's face. Her expression was enough to make Sam want to cry.
Finally the meal was over, and the table cleared. Sam reached up and set the last plate on the shelf. "You'd best get off to bed now," he said to the children. "We h
ave to go into town tomorrow and buy the train tickets for your trip to Boston."
Nathan and Becky looked at Joseph, as if electing him the spokesperson. Joseph took one step forward and cleared his throat. "Pa?"
"What is it?"
"Uh ... when ... do we have to go?"
"Next week."
"What day?"
"Monday. Why?"
Joseph shrugged. "No reason. Just wondered."
"How many days is that?" Nathan asked.
"Four," Joseph answered. "Come on."
Taking Nathan by one hand, and Becky by the other, Joseph led the two children up the stairs to the bedrooms, leaving Sam alone, staring into the flames licking at the logs in the stone fireplace.
