As Arthur lied on his cot and closed his eyes, the image of the barn at Deer Head Ranch materialized before him. He walked through the closed barn doors like a mist, and when they were quietly pushed open, he realized his younger self was just inches behind him with newborn Hope slumbering on his chest. There was a soft gaze and grin on his face.

He turned forward again to see what he was looking at: Eliza with her back to him, brushing the horse he'd caught her and cooing sweet things to him. She was in trousers and riding boots, and one of Arthur's white everyday shirts hung loosely about her, tucked in at the waist of her breeches, sleeves folded softly to her elbows. And her long golden waves were flowing freely at her back.

"Did you miss me, boy?" she whispered as she brushed his neck, and it lifted from her like a soft breeze on a sunny summer afternoon.

The stallion nickered low and brought his chin and cheek over her shoulder, quickly tucking her into the space beneath his throat.

"Oh-ho-hooo, I missed you too, sweet boy," she brought her arms up and hugged his neck. "I was only makin' a little human, that's all," she chuckled as she brought the broad brush down across the side of his belly. "Her name's Hope. Arthur let me name her after mama. Well, not 'let'…" she mumbled. "He was very happy to. And he likes the name. Oh, how I love that man, Samson," she whimpered excitedly. "And you'll just love Hope, trust me. But boy, I couldn't wait to get back astride you."

She brought the brush up to his back and stroked him there. "I tried to tell 'im I'd be fine, but…he wouldn't let me. He's very protective, you know," she smiled as she came close and rubbed down across his nose. "Just can't quite tell…" her expression grew pensive, "if it's just because I'm his, and all we are is…friends makin' babies—"

Samson huffed and grunted, quickly shaking the back of his head and pawing the dusty barn floor.

"I know," she scrunched her nose, "it kinda sounds silly, huh? But…I'm still not totally sure…if he loves me. Husband and wife love. The kind where only you fit with the person. He did say we're Celtic souls…" she gazed down as she brushed his shoulder. "And sometimes, the way he looks at me, or the way he holds me… The way he sticks around—really sticks by me, I mean really!—when things get hard… I could swear, he's tellin' me he loves me, without any words."

She shook herself out of her rosy daydream and took a breath as she looked up at him. "He's just a bit…stopped up in the words department," she smirked. "Well. Not all words," she chuckled. "Just the kinds that matter to a woman. Particularly the woman you're married to. Particularly the one carryin' and birthin' your children," she chuckled. Her eyes popped up to Samson's face. "I mean, I ain't complainin'. And truthfully, I'm probably too caught up in my head! He probably does love me. Whatcha think, Samson boy?"

Samson paused and blinked a couple times as he eyed Arthur behind her, who was using his free arm to make big, broad, waving strokes up and down with wide, urgent eyes as he silently mouthed 'Yes!' over and over. Samson let out a whinny and threw his head back high, bringing it down dramatically and definitively.

She laughed and patted his neck. "That's my optimistic boy."

Wincing, Arthur gingerly tiptoed back to the barn door, opened it, and shut it loudly before walking towards her.

She turned to look back at him with smile.

"Breakfast's ready," he grinned. "Isaac's bitin' at the bit."

She silently slipped her arms under his and wrapped him by his midsection as she rested her cheek on his chest with a contented grin and closed her eyes.

"Mmm…he can wait just a couple minutes more though," he smiled as he brought his big hand to her back and rested his chin atop her head.

They stood there for a few moments in the quiet of the barn, with nothing but the sounds of Samson and Boadicea shifting their weight in the hay of their stalls, and the cowbell on her milking cow's neck tinkling low and soft every now and then.

Eliza felt him rub her back, and when she opened her eyes, she saw their newborn daughter sleeping peacefully with her cheek slumped against the other side of his broad chest. And she smiled.

And the scene melted and shifted before Arthur until the master bedroom of the homestead slowly filtered into view. The windows offered no light but the moon, and the kerosene lamp sat bright on the nightstand.

Eliza was alone in the room, preparing herself a warm bath. She turned on the phonograph atop the dresser in the corner and smiled when soft, dreamy music spilled out of the horn. Glancing at her bathing supplies, she took her bar of soap and bath brush. Biting her lip, she also quickly grabbed a bar that she only ever used for Isaac's baths, since its main purpose was to produce pillowy white bubbles. And when Arthur blinked, she was sitting back in the tub with a deep sigh, surrounded by mountains of them.

When his younger self walked into the room, he paused and smiled. "You look mighty comfortable."

She grinned at him and closed her eyes as she lazily sank lower into the sudsy water. "Been a few days. A few days too many," she said as he sat at the vanity mirror to shave.

He worked up a suds in his shaving cup and spread it over his face with the brush. Glancing at her reflection past his shoulder in the mirror, he watched her where she sat with her bare back to him as she lifted a handful of bubbles up to her face, blew a little clump of them into the air, and silently giggled to herself. And he smiled at the sight as he brought his straight razor up to his cheek.

"Say, I was thinkin'…" he began with a light, nonchalant tone, "was thinkin' I might try out a different hairstyle…or somethin'."

Without looking at him, a vague sound of confusion arose from her as she lifted one side of her top lip.

"You know, bein' as we haven't…you know…in…several weeks," he added quietly, letting his eyes linger on her reflection before looking back down to wipe his razor.

This time a nondescript noise of amusement bubbled out from her nose. "You wouldn't like me very much these days, Arthur. I'm sweaty, and I always somehow manage to get somethin' sticky in my hair." She brought a hand up to run her fingers through her golden hair and pulled a tangled clump forward before her eyes.

"Well, you're in the bath now, ain't ya? Sides, I ain't got qualms about sweaty or sticky." He looked back down and shrugged a shoulder. "But anyways, I thought it was either me, or…"

"No, it's just…I been so tired, Arthur, is all," she mumbled. "I mean, we're hardly ever alone, and by the time we get alone, one or both of us is fast asleep. Even snorin'," she tacked on for teasing purposes.

He looked up at her bare back in the reflection with a sardonic half-smirk and continued about his shaving. "Well, I thought maybe you didn't wanna chance another kiddo, thought maybe you felt it was the wrong time," he mumbled, making sure to sound half-distracted as he lifted his chin and brought his straight razor over his skin with a swooping stroke.

He smirked victoriously when he heard the little splash and slosh of the water from her sitting up straight and turning to look at him.

"No, no, that ain't it at all!" she exclaimed softly.

After finishing his shave and wiping the lower half of his face with the cloth, he walked over to the side of the tub, keeping his eyes down on his vest buttons as he nodded. "Well, that's probably it then, that you're tired," he mumbled. "I did figure as much."

"Why," she started in with a bold, indignant tone, "because your old, matronly wife is haggardly now, after two children?" she drawled slowly, lifting her leg into the air, bending at the knee and pointing her toes so her glistening, curvy calf was before his eye level. And she brought it back down under the water in one smooth, slow motion.

And moving only his eyes, he did look up to watch her swan leg maneuver. "No, I didn't say that at all, darlin'," he said low, still frozen and with the subtlest of wry smirks growing on the corner of his mouth.

She sat forward and looked up at him with a knowing smirk of her own, her freckled nose scrunched. "I can see right through you, Arthur Morgan."

His smirk bloomed into a full-on smile. "I was hopin' you'd say that."

Still grinning, she slowly shook her head and quickly reached up, grabbing him by the lapels of his shirt. "My, how the tables have turned."

When Arthur blinked again, it was the next morning.

His younger self was just getting out of bed, trying not to let the bedframe creak underneath him as he pulled to a sitting position and opened the quilt. But Eliza stirred beside him all the same.

"Early riser," she practically growled under her breath.

He turned back to see the crook of her arm hooked up over her eyes to shield out the light and a demure grin on her mouth.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mouth, surprising her for a moment. But she recovered quickly and lifted her arm, bringing her hand to the back of his head and threading her fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss before he had a chance to get away.

And when he finally did draw back, she replaced the crook of her arm over her eyes, with an even brighter grin on her lips.

He smirked as he got out of bed and quickly tucked the quilt up near her to minimize the rush of chilly morning air underneath the covers.

"This…this is just like it happened…in life, ain't it?" Arthur dabbed his finger at the scene. "I remember this. This is how it went, the mornin' on that day we went on that picnic, and had that big fight. And that night we made love to each other, and I…I felt it. The forgiveness. The patience. The love." His eyes popped up to her, and he made his case hastily. "I was so scared, Eliza, I was so scared that I'd have to look my love for you right in the eyes. That I wouldn't be able to hide it from myself anymore, or deny it. And that I'd never be able to leave again. So, I…I left you in the middle a' the night. Left that letter."

He swallowed hard, listening as his younger self dressed and fastened his belt buckle, but he kept his gaze on Eliza where she lied in bed. "Got so much worse after that. I knew I'd hurt you. Real bad. Thought it was the only way…to make sure I stayed away from you, so you didn't get caught up in my life. So I could keep you both safe." He looked down at his hands but winced as he forced himself to look back up at her sleepy form, cozy in the bed. "An' there were times, over the years…we could hardly look at each other. Was too painful."

As his younger self left the room, walked through the front door down the porch and to the barn for Bo, he was swept up so that his point of view was somewhere over his shoulder. He watched him ride out past the creek into the forest. Finally pausing at the foot of a nearby mountain, he took in the dull blue haze all around him that melted into pale pink just before meeting the horizon. The stately pines stretching on, and the mist hovering at their trunks were captivating. And the low, lazy hoots of owls from their perches nearby soothed the soul.

He watched him look over his shoulder back in the direction of the cabin with a soft grin, and he knew this was what he'd wanted for a long time. A partner in life that he loved, who loved him. Beautiful, precious children that reflected them both. A place to call his own, where he could live a simple life of peace and rest in the unruly, breathtakingly gorgeous wilderness.

As he watched, Arthur felt a mingling of loss, sorrow, and gratefulness—just for having known them—and a pained little smile somehow appeared on his face as he looked over at his younger self. "This day ain't gonna be anything like what it was in reality. Is it?" When he saw the easy grin slowly grow on his younger self's face, he let his own grow, and nodded. "I think I'm perfectly all right with that."

After a good several minutes taking in the stillness around him, his younger self watched the sun begin to peek over the horizon, and he made his way back down to the homestead, slowly taking Bo at a trot around the back of the ranch to survey the state of the property. He finally took her to her stall in the barn and gripped his hat to his head as he brought his leg back over her.

When he got back inside the homestead and hung his jacket and hat on the rack, he heard singing from Isaac's room and walked back to find Eliza swaying gently with Hope perched on her arm, Isaac and his mother singing a good morning song to her.

When she saw him in the doorframe, Eliza smiled. "Ah, honey, could you help Isaac dress? I need to change her diaper."

He came and sat Isaac on the edge of the bed, kneeling before him to slip his little breeches and shirt on while Eliza lay Hope down on her back on the bed to change her.

"I could do it myself," Isaac mumbled as his father pulled his shirt on, and his head of blonde hair popped through the collar. "I just turned four already. I'm four now."

"Yep, we all know, sprout," he smirked. "You remind us at least once every hour."

"Well, I already go to the outhouse all by myself."

"All right," he said low as he pulled his socks onto his little feet and sat back on his calves. "Wanna put your own shoes on?"

"Oh," Isaac said quietly as he looked down at his little lace-up boots sitting on the floor beside his feet. "Um," he smiled at his father and brought a finger up to his mouth, "the laces are hard for me…I think."

His father fought a 'that's-what-I-thought' grin as he picked up a shoe. "How's 'bout you try dressin' yourself tomorrow?"

"Okay," he smiled.

When he finished tying up Isaac's shoes, the two of them looked over to the end of the bed just in time to see their resident nine-month-old baby on all fours on the bedspread, still naked.

"I finished changin' her, and she kept lookin' over in your direction," Eliza said to them as she smiled down at Hope, "pullin' herself to turn over onto her belly. She hears our boys' voices and wants to see what they're up to."

She rested her hand to the top of Hope's forehead and brought it back over her short-but-trying-to-grow light goldenrod, wispy curls. "'Hey there, fellas,'" Eliza began in a quiet little high-pitched tone, "'I'm over here, and I'm super cute, and I love you lots, I want in on the fun.'"

Isaac immediately went to the top of the bed and looked at her with a bright, excited smile. "Come to me, baby. Come on, baby," he motioned with his hands.

Continuing to push herself up off the bed, Hope lifted her head to look up at him. Her arms and legs were a bit unsure of themselves, and she swayed gently. When she finally moved, she took a couple scoots backwards, and the three of them laughed.

"No, baby, wrong way!" Isaac giggled.

She looked down at her hands and back up at Isaac and took a quick, wobbly few scoots forward toward him before plopping down flat on her belly.

"Good job, Hopie, good job!" he clapped as his parents smiled. "You such a good baby!"

"Now try…back towards your mama," Arthur said, lifting her just a little, turning her the opposite way, and planting her back on all fours.

As she swayed on her wobbly appendages, Isaac snorted a little laugh.

His eyes slid over to his father at his right, and with a bright, toothy smile, he drew his chin back. "I'm gonna say somethin' funny, Daddy. Ready?"

"Always," Arthur smirked.

He scrunched both shoulders up to his cheeks. "I like her little baby bottom," he pointed. "It's so round and soft and squishy, like two bubbles."

His father smiled brightly and chuckled with him.

"Awww, who wouldn't love it?" his mother mumbled with duck lips as Hope took a few unstable scoots towards her, and she scooped her up under her arms onto her own forearm. She gave her bottom a light, soft smack—just enough to cause a little sound—and Isaac and Arthur laughed.

At the sound of their laughter, Hope looked over at them with a wide smile and bright, twinkling eyes and bounced on her mother's arm. And the sight of her trying to join in on the inside joke made them laugh even more.

"Everybody loves your sugar sweet baby bottom," Eliza said. "And you know what? I love your baby fingers…" she brought her hand up to her mouth and made munching sounds, "and your baby arms…"

Each time she playfully munched her skin, Hope giggled and laughed.

Arthur quickly came and scooped off her mother's forearm and onto his own. "And your baby neck…and your baby belly…" He munched her there ferociously, until she was throwing her head back and cackling raucously, and they all couldn't help but laugh right along with her.

"You hungry?" he looked at Eliza, the effects of laughing still lingering on his face. "What you want for breakfast?"

"Oh, whatever you two are in the mood for," she said as he handed her Hope. "Just gonna feed her, and I'll be right out."

Arthur walked out into the kitchen with Isaac following in his wake as his mother quietly closed the door behind them.

"All right, bubba," Arthur said as he stood before the kitchen counter and Isaac went to the table, "what'll it be this mornin'? Oatmeal, eggs, or flapjacks?"

He turned to see Isaac climbing up into the chair with his teddy in one arm, looking at him with a pinched, knowing smile on his face.

"Flapjacks it is," his father smiled in return.

"With extra honey."

"Extra honey, you got it," he said as he pulled the cast iron skillet out from the lower cabinet. He whistled as he quickly threw together a batter, and when he went to work at the iron stove, he began singing and mumbling to himself. "Oh baby, oh baby, I've told you before. Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor… Rye whiskey, rye whiskey, rye whiskey, I cry! If I don't get rye whiskey, I surely will die."

"What's that song, Daddy?" Isaac laughed behind him.

"Why, you don't like it?"

"Sure, I just never heard that one before," he smiled, slowly shaking his head side to side.

"No, I don't 'spect so," Arthur chuckled.

"Why're you all, super happy today?"

"What you mean?"

"Well, you're so happy you're whistling an' singing funny stuff while you cook. Didn't you notice?" he giggled.

"Ha," he smirked and gave his head a single tip to the side while the flapjacks sizzled in the pan. "Didn't really think about it. I guess it… Well, your mama and I got a chance to, uh…cuddle…last night. For the first time in a while."

"Cuddle?"

"Yeah, we did some good cuddlin'," Arthur smiled and nodded half to himself, trying not to laugh while keeping his attention on the still-cooking flapjacks.

"Mama's the best at cuddling. Now I get why you're super happy. She always makes us smile."

"Yeah, your mama's a…real, real special person. Best I know."

"Mm-hmm," Isaac sang. "Like a princess. Lucky you married her before some other guy did, huh?"

He wheezed and nodded. "Yeah, I do have that thought about ten times a day."

"Should be a hundred."

Pausing, Arthur turned and looked at him with lifted eyebrows and a burgeoning, incredulous grin. "Well thank you for remindin' me. Good Prince Isaac," he bowed his head to the side before turning back to the stove.

"You're welcome," he sang quietly with a tight little grin as he made his teddy step across the table top.

Arthur turned to look back at him with his coffee mug before his chest. "Hey, you wanna help me out on the grounds today? Got a fence needs fixin'."

Isaac smiled with twinkling eyes. "Yeah!"

"After breakfast I'll go get my tools from the work bench. Just be ready on the porch by the time I come back, all right?" he said as he brought the mug up to his lips.

"Mkay."

Just then Eliza came out with Hope dressed and on her arm. Her own golden waves were dangling loose at her back. "Mm, smells good," she said as she walked past Arthur and started pulling Hope's cubby chair out from the table. "What'd I miss?"

"Daddy told me you cuddled last night."

Arthur immediately snorted into his mug and tried not to choke as he looked over the rim and briefly saw Eliza's wary look before glancing at Isaac's innocent one.

Eliza smirked as her eyes slid over to her husband. "Why yes, we sure did."

"He was so happy it made him sing. He was singin' from it," Isaac smiled at his father. "I liked it, it made me laugh," he mumbled with a chuckle.

As he brought his mug back down, Arthur's eyes shot wide, his gaze trained on him, and his brows pinched. "Come on, kid," he fought to get out in a strained, quiet whisper. He finally brought his mug back up to his lips and glanced at Eliza, closing his eyes and giving his head short little shakes.

With her lips pursed tight, Eliza grinned and mumbled a little trill of a chuckle as she watched her husband work to hide his brewing blush. Her tone was high when she said, "Well I'm sure glad."

He cleared his throat and finally set his mug down on the counter. "Who wants flapjacks?!"

Eliza scoffed a laugh and shook her head as she started to go to the cupboard to pull down a jar of applesauce. But as she passed him, she quickly reached down and cupped his rear, giving it a good tug with one smooth motion—just long enough to get a good grip, and just briefly enough that she was finished by the time her body passed his, so Isaac wouldn't see.

Arthur jumped and nearly swallowed his own tongue before letting out a low, "Good god…" wiping his hand over his face, and wagging his head—all to the sound of her all-too-amused giggle.

"I think what Isaac's really trying to say," she began as she poured the applesauce into two bowls, "is that it's only right an' healthy he should have parents who like to be round each other," she said lightly as she passed Isaac a bowl and a spoon before sitting down beside Hope. "Ain't that right, Isaac sweetie?"

"Mm-hm," he nodded as he dove into the applesauce, licking his top lip after taking a bite.

"And you know, I think what I'd like to add," Eliza said in mock concern, furrowing her brows as she fed Hope a little bite of applesauce, "is that…you assumed I'd be upset or embarrassed at the thought of Isaac knowin' we cuddle and snuggle. But really, you're the embarrassed one, Arthur dearest." When he glanced back at her over his shoulder with a deep-set, knowing smirk, she couldn't help but smile. She looked back at Isaac across the table. "But anyone who cuddles with his wife as good as your daddy does, should never be embarrassed—"

"All right!" Arthur said as he finally turned with a plate piled high with flapjacks in one hand and a jar of honey in the other. "Enough, it's enough," he wagged his head with a wheeze. "I learned my lesson," he looked at her with lifted brows as he sat at the table. He looked across the table at Isaac. "And it's that there's no shamin' this woman. No shamin' her," he shook his head with a smirk.

"Why should there be?" she asked in a high, indignant tone past the bite of applesauce she'd taken. "It's 1892, and I'm a married woman desperately in love with my husband." She rested her elbows on the table, looking at the spoonful of applesauce in her hand. "And we're both just ripe for, uh…what was it, Isaac? Snugglin'?"

"Cuddling," he said as he reached over the table and flopped a big, round flapjack onto his plate, licking his thumb.

His father immediately dropped his fork with a little clank, set his elbows on the table, and rested his forehead against his folded hands.

"Cuddlin'," she smiled brightly at her husband with twinkling eyes as she watched him sit back up. And by the time he was looking back at her, she was smiling so brightly that a vein was starting to show in her forehead, and she bit her lip.

"Your mother takes joy in makin' me squirm, Isaac."

"Oh, yes. Yes," she nodded with the same unhindered smile.

Hope began to mumble and whimper, and she rested her tiny hand on her mother's arm. When she turned to her, she had her little mouth wide for more applesauce.

"I also told 'im he's lucky he got to marry you, 'stead of somebody else," Isaac's little voice said as he pulled the honey dipper from the jar.

"Oh…well, that's exactly how I feel about him, Isaac," she said as she fed Hope another bite, then turned to smile at Arthur. "Exactly how I feel."

Arthur smiled back at her, then caught a glimpse of the amount of honey on the honey dipper Isaac was trying to get away with. "Too much," he said quick and a bit louder than normal speaking volume. "Let it run off."

Isaac held the honey dipper over the mouth of the jar for a few more seconds as the honey slowly ran off, then made a move to pull it over his plate. But his father reached over and scraped the dipper against the inside of the jar before he had a chance.

"Better."

Isaac dangled it over his flapjack and slowly dragged the stream of honey back and forth. "I wanted extra."

"That's still gonna be extra, trust me," he smirked, slowly blinking his eyes.

When Arthur finished eating, he kissed Eliza on the cheek and took his hat as he walked through the the front door. He went out to the barn, donned his work clothes that he kept there, and grabbed his wooden box of tools by the handle, carrying it with one hand.

When he came back towards the porch, he heard Isaac's little voice as he sang softly to himself:

"Thou my best thought, by day or by night, waking or sleeping, your presence my light…"

He walked around to the front of the porch to see his son sitting on the porch swing looking down and dangling his little feet back and forth.

When Isaac looked up and noticed his father, he smiled bright and tried to seamlessly transition into, "Rye whiskey, rye whiskey, rye whiskey, I cried!" singing every 'whiskey' with force and gumption.

His father smirked and scoffed a laugh through his nose as he watched Isaac walk towards him and down the porch steps. "Your mama's gonna have my hide if she hears you singin' that," he said low and quiet. Pausing, he looked up, then back down at him with a wry, widening grin. "Matter of fact, best just keep right on singin' it."

He looked up at the open doorway and called, "Hun! I'm takin' the kid!"

"Which one?"

He scrunched a brow. "One can walk, and don't need his mama's teat!"

"Oh. All right," she laughed.

He couldn't suppress a wheezy, airy laugh as he shook his head and looked down a moment.

She came through the doorway with Hope on her forearm just in time to see the two of them turning to walk away together with the corral fence to their left. "You're gonna have so much fun, Isaac. Stay close to your papa. Listen, and do exactly as he says, okay?"

"Okay," he called back to her.

She smiled as she watched Isaac hurry to take two or three steps for every one of his father's big, firm steps. And she could just hear them say,

"You look extra tough today."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You almost always got your hat on, but today you got chaps. I like 'em." Isaac ran ahead a bit and hunched down low a moment to get a better look at his father's feet as he walked past. "And I really like your spurs a lot," he pointed his little finger.

He grinned down at him by his side. "Your mama likes 'em too."

As Isaac stood back up straight and scurried to catch up with him, he asked, "Could I have some spurs, Papa?"

"Wouldn't be much point," he chuckled. "You ain't ridin' yet."

"Well when can I ride?" he whined a little.

"Soon," his father smiled. "We'll get you up on a horse soon. Don't you worry."

With that they were out of ear shot, and Eliza's soft smile remained as she turned to go back inside.

"'S just up here. You ready to get to work?" Arthur asked.

"Yup," Isaac nodded, trying to resemble his father's strong, easily confident gait.

"Good. All that book learnin'…it's great an' all, don't get me wrong. But you gotta get outside. In the wilderness—learn about the world by touchin', hearin'. Breathin' the fresh air. Your mama knows that. We've just got Hope, and she's real young yet. Mama can't be out here with us as much as she wants right now. But she's right. You gotta pay attention, and I expect you to listen well when you're out here with me. Understand?"

Isaac nodded firmly and quickly. "Yes, Papa."

"Here we go, right here," Arthur said, setting his toolbox on the ground as he crouched before the broken fence post with his right knee on the ground and the other still bent near his chest. And Isaac sat right beside him. "All right, you gonna hand me the tools I ask for?"

Isaac nodded again. "How 'bout if I don't know which one you mean?" he squinted, cocking his head a little.

"I'll tell you what it looks like," his father smirked with a chuckle. He began setting up the new crossbeam he'd fashioned against the existing post, making sure it was positioned properly. "All right, I need the level."

Isaac's brows scrunched quizzically as he looked down into the tool box.

"It's got a vial, er—a tube of water, with a bubble in it."

He reached in, pulled out the level, and handed it to him. "Why you need that?"

"To make sure the beam is straight—straight with the ground, I mean—like all the other beams in the fence. Look how straight they all are."

Isaac looked around at the rest of the fence. "Why they all need to be straight?"

"So they link up properly. If they didn't, they'd grow weak much faster, and fall apart."

Isaac watched his father's hands and noticed the fine dust transferring from the new beam to his fingers as he held the wood piece steady. "What's that stuff on your thumb now?" he pointed to his wide thumbnail.

"Sawdust."

"Why's it on the wood?"

"'Cause that's where I cut it earlier. The saw ground the fibers of the wood a bit," he drawled.

"Hm." He watched his hands move, and looked to his own hand and back to his father's again. "Wow," he smiled up at him and brought his pale little hand close to his. "Look how much bigger your hands are compared to mine, Papa."

He smiled warmly. "Yeah."

"They make mine look teeny tiny," he mumbled with a melodious giggle, and his father huffed a little laugh of air through his nose. "Why're your hands so big?"

"Eh, I don't know," he mumbled and shrugged one shoulder. "Just…made that way, I guess. Had a big man for a father myself."

Isaac gasped with wide eyes. "Am I gonna get big hands too when I grow big?"

"Probably," he smirked under the brim of his hat as he returned the level to the tool box and took out a long nail. "Need the hammer." Knowing Isaac knew that one, he watched him grip the heavy tool with both little hands, heft it over the edge of the box, and hand it to him.

Isaac intently watched him hammer the nail all the way down into the wood, strike after strike. "Why's it make that tinkling sound?"

"'Cause it's metal on metal." He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and returned the hammer to the box, pulling out a coil of wire. He wrapped it around the post and crossbeam several times, finally holding it tight to the post and turning to Isaac. "Diagonal pliers. Gotta be real careful with it. Can you guess what that one looks like?"

Isaac pursed his lips to the side and pulled it out of the box by the grip.

"That's exactly right. Good job, sprout," he smiled.

Isaac excitedly beamed with pride. He watched him trim the wire before returning the diagonal pliers to the box. "All right. Last one. Plain ol' pliers."

Isaac retrieved the pliers and handed them to him. As he watched him bend the edge of the wire tightly in on itself over and over, a bird chirped in a tree nearby, and he asked, "Papa, why do birds have two wings instead of three?"

"'Cause they fly best with two."

"Why do horses have four legs?"

"'Cause they run fastest with four."

"Why do fish live in the lake?"

"'Cause somebody's got to, so it might as well be fish."

"And why you love me and Hope and Mama?"

"I just do, all right? I—" he said hastily. When he caught himself and looked up, Isaac had a wide, thin-lipped, all-too-wise grin plastered across his face. Arthur let his eyelids hover half-mast and smirked faintly, knowing he'd been expertly set up for a checkmate by a four-year-old. He sheepishly went back to twisting the wire before him.

But after a couple minutes of quiet, he realized with regret that his son felt he needed to fish for words of affection from his father. And he looked over at him. "Hey…" he began gently and tentatively, "you know I love you and Hope, right?"

"Yeah. I know," Isaac nodded as he looked down and fiddled with the long blades of grass.

"Good." He tried to go back to finishing the fence.

"And I know you love Mama too. But you should tell her sometimes."

Moving only his gaze, he looked at his son from the corner of his eyes. His brows drew up ever so slightly as the simple words fell to the soft earth between them with a thud like an anvil.

And both Arthur and his younger self sat there gazing at him, wondering for a moment where he got such wisdom at so young an age—that peculiar, precious sort of wisdom, familiar to him for its ability to so effectively cut straight through bullshit to the point. And with so few, such simple words.

But it was only a moment. He didn't need longer to wonder where he'd gotten it. Because he knew it wasn't from him.

.

Dear Readers,

Sorry you had to wait for this! It's not the most exciting of chapters. I wanted to combine it with the next chapter, but that portion's nowhere near ready yet. I am a bit excited about the next one though. You'll be able to get to know Hope a little better. 😉💕

I also want to give a shout-out to guest-reviewer Ariana and the anonymous guest, who both left reviews today. Thank you both so much! I see you, and I really can't say how much I appreciate it. It does my heart such good to know that somebody is reading and enjoying my hard work. 💞

- Rosie