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I’ve carried that foal in my pocket for months.
Hoping.
Now, I clear my throat and realize my hand is shaking. When I look back at her, she’s smiling past the tears sliding down herface and falling into the dry grass. I’ve imagined this moment before, but now that it’s here, I’m frozen in place.
“Well…say something,” she whispers.
“Are you…pregnant?” I manage.
Her mouth shakes as she laughs, reaching up to wipe her face. She nods hard and the strangest sensation fills my chest. Like something broke and now it’s bleeding inside me, flooding me with warmth.
I’m not crying, but it’s the closest I’ve come in decades.
“How far along?”
I can’t keep my voice steady and she’s so sweet she pretends she doesn’t notice.
“I’ve missed two periods,” she says, sniffing. “I wasn’t sure the first time, but then I missed another so I had Maddie get me some tests and they were very positive.”
“So eight weeks,” I say. “We need to get you a doctor’s appointment.”
“Maddie has me set up for next week,” she says.
She rolls onto her back and her fingertips skim over her lower stomach. She’s wearing a plain cotton sundress with a slit up the middle so she can pull it aside to ride Angel. I stretch out of my side and slide my hand through the opening to grip her thigh.
Her eyes flicker up and lock to mine. I bend and kiss her the way she deserves. Slowly, enjoying her taste, her scent, the feel of her mouth. I pull away and use my head to push hers aside and kiss her neck.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?” she murmurs.
“For being my wife, for having my baby. Thank you for seeing me for the man I am and loving me anyway.”
“I love you,” she whispers. “And Sovereign Mountain.”
“And the children we have here.”
She’s trying not to cry again. I push my hand in my pocket and take the little wooden foal out. Her eyes widen as I gently place it on her lower belly, on the little rise between her hipbones. The tears break through and trickle down her temples into her brilliant hair.
“I made that in the spring,” I say. “I wanted to hope.”
She turns it over and over in her fingers. “It’s perfect.”
I kiss her forehead. When I lift my eyes, I see the sun is setting over Sovereign Mountain. In the distance, I can make out the cliffs where Clint died. I know beyond it runs the river where she shot Thomas and his body bled out into the dirt.
I’m not haunted by what could be anymore.
Or what has been.
Soon the snow will come and cover Sovereign Mountain. Then it’ll melt and flow into rivers that make green grass cover the pastures. And bluebells will grow over earth that was once stained in blood.
There will be a new Sovereign—perhaps a little boy with my eyes or a girl with her brilliant hair.
Sovereign Mountain will be new again.
And I owe it all to this woman I call my own.
THE END
