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Faith.

Mine runs deep, as faith should, and yet I've lost faith in myself.

I've made choices with me and my eldest son in mind, but those choices led to incomprehensible loss.

What have I done?

Was it a poor choice to love again? To give Adam something he wasn't truly aware he was missing? I can't help but wonder if newfound happiness, suddenly gone, leaves us worse off than before.

Lord, I struggle to hide my despair, even in the face of the blessings still with me. I try to hide my guilt, but it haunts me. I sought out love for myself and my boy, and it was . . . glorious.

You saw fit to call that love home, and now, I'm left balancing that memory and the comfort and love it provided with the knowledge that the pain would not exist had I not made that choice.

I am sorrowful, and although he tries to hide it, at times my Adam is beside himself with grief.

And there is another. They are my sons. My Adam and my Hoss . . .

The boarding house window was speckled with ice crystals, each one a perfect abstract design.

Ben twisted in the chair, his shoulder aching—a week of nine-hour shifts had taken a toll.

Across the tiny room, sitting close together on the floor, were his sons, Adam and Hoss. Ben glanced at the boys, playing at stacking blocks of wood.

For the fourth time since Ben had arrived home, eleven-month-old Hoss delighted in reducing seven-year-old Adam's creation to rubble.

The toddler's infectious giggle drew a smile to Ben's face, and it was then that he noticed Adam's pensive expression—the boy's mind was on something other than his toppled wooden design.

"He's learning about consequences, Adam," Ben said. "He doesn't mean to-"

"I know," Adam interrupted as he stood and crossed to his father. "Pa, can we go out and chop down a tree?"

Puzzled, Ben leaned forward, resting his forearms against his thighs. "We talked about this. We already have a Christmas branch, son. It's decorated and hanging in its place. Having a tree in such a tiny room with Hoss crawling and getting into mischief-"

"Not a Christmas tree, Pa, just a tree—for Mrs. Shaughnessy."

"Mrs. Schaughnessy?"

"Yes, Pa. She's a real nice lady. Hoss likes her. She plays games with him and teaches him and sings to him, and she holds him real close when she rocks him to sleep."

Ben stood and reached for Hoss—he'd pulled himself up by holding onto the rickety table in the room. He placed the boy onto the room's only bed and handed him a wooden spoon from atop the dresser.

"Adam, Mrs. Shaughnessy is paid to take care of Hoss, and you, as well."

"But that's just it, Pa. She doesn't just take care of Hoss. She . . . well, the way she looks at him, I can tell she cares about him, loves him. And Pa, Hoss likes that."

Ben's throat tightened.

"Pa, Mrs. Shaughnessy's always giving her preserves and pickles to Mr. Goodwin."

Ben was even more confused. "Who is Mr. Goodwin?"

"He's the man who brings the deliveries to Hanson. He takes Mrs. Shaughnessy's jars to Mason City, to the orphanage there. Don't you see, Pa? She's a real nice lady who likes to do nice things for children—children who don't have mothers."

Now, I understand. Almost.

"But what does that have to do with chopping down a tree?" he asked.

"Mrs. Shaughnessy keeps her jars in her pantry, and it's real hard for her to reach the two top shelfs."

"Shelves."

"Oh, yeah, shelves. So, if we cut down a tree, we can make her a stool—the one she has is all rickety and old. She told me it's was old when she got it, and she's had it since before Mr. Shaughnessy died all those years ago."

Ben had never been more proud of Adam. "You want us to build her a stool."

"Yes, sir. It would be a good Christmas present from me and Hoss, 'cause Hoss . . . I mean, 'cause we love her, Pa."

Adam watched his father's face closely. "Is that all right, Pa?"

Ben took a deep breath and smiled. "Of course it is."

"Are you sure, Pa? I know you're still awful sore and , well, you're still sad and me and Hoss, well, we miss Mama, too."

Adam sat on the bed, next to Hoss. "Pa, is it okay to love Mrs. Shaughnessy? Is it, Pa?"

Ben pulled his son to his chest. "Adam, finding someone worthy of your love is a gift from God, and it makes me proud that you're such a generous soul."

"Then we can make the stool and give it to her?"

"Yes, Adam. We most certainly can. Now, grab your coat and Hoss's, too. Let's get started. Christmas is just three days away!"