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“Yes,” he said. “By myself.” He stepped past her, muttering something she didn’t catch.
She turned, desperate to get him to stay. “Will.”
He whipped back to her. “I want to do better, Rissa. I do. I don’t know how. That’s what I can’t figure out. I know I’ve got this short fuse, and I’ve been trying to lengthen it. I know I speak harshly, and I’ve been trying to tame it.”
“Just keep trying.”
“I don’t think I’m ever going to be as patient or as kind as she wants me to be.” He shook his head again, what had turned soft and crumbly suddenly hardening in a single blink. “You’ll not say anything to anyone about this.”
“No, sir,” she said.
“I have to get back to work.”
“Yes.”
Will opened the door and walked out, pulling it closed behind him. Clarissa moved over to the window that faced the cabin next door and watched her brother cross the greening grass between the two buildings.
She hadn’t been able to pray for her and Spencer to have a baby, but she could absolutely petition the Lord to help Will.
“Please,” she whispered into the glass. “He loves her, and he’s such a good man. Please help him be exactly who she needs—and wants. Please.”
