Dreams to Daylight

by RivetingRosie4

After having lost Eliza & Isaac and avenging their deaths, Arthur struggles to cope and keeps his grief intensely private, refraining from even journaling about them. His intense emotions grapple with him until they leak into his dreams, the only outlet he's left for them. Memories first, then regrets, then wishes and lovely imaginings for what could've been.

20. 20

One night while on a hunting outing, when Arthur had pitched a tent far from camp, he lied back on his bed roll and drifted to sleep to find his younger self standing in the corral with Boadicea one afternoon.

He was dressed in his usual full cowboy getup—black hat, worn shirt and vest, work pants, boots, and spurs—and he was gently stroking the long white patch on Bo's forehead and nose until his fingers were grazing the velvet peach-colored space between her nostrils.

"You be on your best behavior, hm?" he was whispering to her. "I know you will, I don't have to tell ya." He came close and rested his forehead under her ear, just behind her eye for a moment as she blinked her red eyelashes. He brought his hand down across her neck, feeling the veins in her glistening sable red coat. He pulled back and looked at her. "But I'm trustin' you with everything today. My very life."

As he looked into her black eye, and she blinked and let out an easy breath through her nostrils, he knew she understood.

He smiled softly at her and turned to his family where they all three waited against the corral fence in their pants and cowboy hats.

"All right, sprout and sprite," he said as he looked down at the children, who were visibly antsy. "I've adjusted the saddle, girth, and stirrups; she's ready for ya. But we gotta get some rules out in the air first."

Both Isaac's and Hope's eyes were glued to him, hanging on his every word.

"Rule number one," he began. "She's doin' you a favor. Just like any horse you ever ride. I know you never would, but it has to be said. Don't you ever, ever," he said firmly, "kick, or hit, or beat a horse in any way. Ever. Understand me?"

They both nodded quickly.

"'Course not," Isaac agreed.

"Never ever," Hope shook her head.

"This beast weighs only about thirty-five times what you weigh," he said, squinting one eye as he spoke. "She's nothin' to mess with. So you always treat her with respect. Rule number two. You pay attention to her. If she's agitated, you calm her. If she's hungry, you feed her. She ain't a wooden toy. Far, far from it. She's a livin' being. More like a friend. Speak kindly to her. You be good to her, she'll be good to you."

They both nodded again.

"Rule number three. If the horse is ever too agitated, you dismount, quick as you can. Means you get down. And I'll teach you all that. But for now, we're just gonna get you used to ridin'. All right?" He smirked at the sight of their excited smiles. "Isaac, you're up."

Isaac's little chest didn't know whether to suck in air with a gasp or exclaim in anticipation. So what he did was something like a quiet combination of both as he stepped forward in his brown cowboy hat.

His father scooped him by the underarms and lifted him up into the saddle, and Isaac looked over at his mother with the biggest smile.

Arthur grinned as he gently slipped his son's boot into the stirrup. "Your foot in the other stirrup?"

Isaac nodded, still with a delirious smile.

"You look so good, Isaac! Gonna have lots of fun," Eliza smiled at him as she came forward. "You ready? You listen to your daddy and I, all right?" When she received another nod, she stroked Bo's haunch and quietly murmured, "Good. Bo's a real good girl. You treat her nice and gentle, like the kind boy I know you are."

"Yes, Mama," he said quietly as his father held up the reins.

"All right, sprout, first thing's first," he said. "You keep the reins slack—means no tuggin', no pressure—when you wanna stand still. You ain't got spurs on, 'cause I want you to get used to things first. But give her a light squeeze with your heels when you wanna go forward."

Isaac promptly obeyed, and Bo took a tentative step forward, not knowing if this little fellow's orders were an extension of her master's.

Arthur clicked the back of his tongue with a single, "Yup," to encourage her, and they were off at a slow pace, Arthur walking beside. "Good girl," he added.

Standing near the corral fence with Hope, Eliza watched from beneath her own brim with a grin as Arthur took him around the corral, showing him how to tug the reins this way and that, how to give a horse various instructions. He'd show him each command, then have him try it himself.

After a while, Arthur's instructions brought them back to where Eliza and Hope were standing.

"All right, my little sprite," was all he needed to say for Hope to run towards her father with arms outstretched to him, her blonde curls bobbing and swaying beneath her cream cowboy hat as she went. He scooped her up onto his hip, then gently held her out over the saddle, where she straddled it behind her brother.

The very moment her breeches-covered bottom touched the sable leather saddle, she scrunched both fists under her chin with an, "Eee!" followed closely by a bubbling giggle, a bounce, and a tight, excited smile.

Arthur grinned wide. "Okay, take it away, Isaac. Keep Bo close by."

Not turning his back to them, he took a few backwards steps until he was beside Eliza where she stood reclining against the corral fence. Standing in her dungarees, a belt, and a loose button-up, she had her elbows hanging over the back of the fence and her wrists draped over the boards. He joined her in the same position, and they watched Isaac direct Bo with the reins, Hope with her little arms around his waist.

"Sit up in the saddle, much as you can," Arthur said. "Takes some strain off the horse."

Isaac promptly spruced up and straightened his back.

"And keep your heels down in the stirrups," Eliza called to him. "Remember: heels down, toes up."

"Heels down, toes up, heels down, toes up," they could hear Isaac mutter as he did as he was bade.

"You wanna grip the horse with your legs—your thighs," Arthur added, patting his own thigh, "not your ankles. Keep your ankles away from the horse 'til you want her goin' faster."

With just those few pointers, Isaac quickly began riding easier and more confidently. Before long, he was taking Bo at a trot, heading in the opposite direction from his parents.

"Hey. That's plenty far enough, Isaac. Bring her on back," Arthur called. When Isaac didn't tug the reins and bring her back towards them, Arthur stepped up on the fence post and called again, "Isaac!"

Still, Isaac pretended not to hear him.

"Get a load a' this joker," he mumbled to Eliza, keeping his eyes on Isaac before stepping off the fence and whistling high and loud. "Bo. Come on back."

Not another moment passed before Bo turned her head and started back to Arthur.

Eliza groaned and let her forehead fall into her hand with a subtle grin. "Isaac..."

"Hey...that's not fair!" Isaac hollered and stood in the stirrups when he realized the horse wouldn't respond to his tugging on the reins.

"That's exactly fair," Arthur said low as he walked away from the fence toward them.

"How'd you get her to do that?" Isaac asked.

"'Cause she's my horse, she ain't yours," Arthur said as he gently took the reins from him, and they slithered from Isaac's hand. "And she actually listens to her daddy," his eyes flashed up at him with a sardonic smirk.

Isaac slumped back into the seat of the saddle.

"Keep pullin' stunts like that, it'll be longer 'fore we get you your own," Arthur said.

Isaac popped his head up to look at him. "My own horse?"

"Me too?" Hope gasped.

"Sure," Arthur couldn't keep down his burgeoning smirk. "Didn't think you were gonna be ridin' Bo or Samson forever, did ya? Your ma and I need our horses."

"When? When can I get my own horse?" Isaac asked quickly as Hope continued to smile bright.

"When you've trained to where I'm satisfied," Arthur said bluntly. "Satisfied you're safe an' smart on a horse. Which means you listen to me when we train, and no more stunts like that you just pulled."

Isaac relaxed his shoulders and grew quiet.

"You're brand new on a horse, Isaac. If anything'd happened, I couldn't've gotten to you in time to help. And you had your sister with you too. I think you still don't realize how dangerous a horse can be. I'm tryin'a protect you, all right?"

"Yes, Papa."

"You straighten up about it, and you'll have your own horse 'fore you know it. Promise."

Isaac did just that, training with his parents at least an hour each day on either Boadicea or Samson for the next several months. And though she was still a bit too young to ride on her own and retain numerous riding safety precautions, Hope grew accustomed to riding accompanied by someone for the time being.

Finally the day Isaac had been waiting for had arrived, and they all rode down the mountain to the town stables together.

As they strode inside, Arthur made sure the liveryman understood: "We need a couple a' calm horses. Young, healthy, dependable. But above all, calm. Steady. Even-keeled. Make sense?"

"Oh, sure, sure," the liveryman nodded. "All mine are just such—raised by the hand from a foal. Though some are younger than others." Looking over to his side, he tipped his head towards the family and instructed his teenage daughter to show them around the horses for sale.

They began to peruse the stalls, chit-chatting amongst themselves about each horse they passed. Isaac went ahead, and his feet slowed to a stop in the hay when he saw the horse a couple stalls over.

"Wow..." he breathed to himself as the horse sighed through his nostrils at the sight of Isaac. "C'mere, Papa! Mama, Papa, Hope, come look at this one!"

They walked over to find themselves standing before a black chestnut thoroughbred in his prime, dark coat glistening, black eyes gleaming.

Arthur reached out and brought his left hand under the horse's chin, running his right up the horse's brown-black nose. He asked the stable girl to bring the horse out of the stall.

"You think he's calm enough, Papa?" Isaac asked as the horse was brought out.

"Sure. Raised from a foal," Arthur said slowly, his voice like syrup as he looked into each of the horse's eyes to make sure they were clear, then peeled back his lip and looked at his teeth. Satisfied, he brought a hand behind the horse's front knee, a silent request to have him lift it to ensure his movements were fluid and without pain.

And as he continued to inspect the horse, Eliza bent to the side and whispered to Isaac. "Your daddy's bein' a little picky," she smirked. "But I think that's the one, Isaac."

He smiled as he watched his father glide a hand over the horse's back.

"Mama!" Hope called from her spot before a stall several feet away. "Look at this one!"

Eliza walked over and stood beside her. "That's a Palomino Dapple. She's beautiful."

"She's my friend."

She looked down at her with a laugh. "Already?"

"Yeah," Hope grinned. "C' I have her please?"

Her mother smiled as she looked back up at the mare, knowing they'd be leaving with two horses that day. And they did, each one hitched behind Boadicea and Samson. And neither Isaac nor Hope could keep their heads turned forward where they sat in the saddles in front of their parents.

That afternoon found them in the corral, with Isaac astride his new black chestnut stallion, Arthur standing nearby with Boadicea, and Eliza astride Hope's new Palomino Dapple mare with Hope herself in the saddle before her.

"So..." Arthur reclined against the corral fence with his arms folded. "What're you gonna call him? Good horse got to have a good name."

"Hmmm..." Isaac thought a moment, pursing his lips to the side as he turned the horse around and faced his father. "Jim. I could call him Jimmy!"

Arthur smirked and nodded loosely, knowing his young son all too well. "For Jim Hawkins from Treasure Island, right?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, naw," Arthur wheezed with a shake of his head. "You can't name a horse Jim. Hawkins," he nodded his head. "Hawkins is much better."

"Oh yeah! I like that even better. I could call 'im Hawk for short!"

"'S a great name," Arthur grinned. He looked over at his wife and daughter on her new horse. "An' what about you, sweet babygirl? What you wanna name your horse?"

Hope was already leaning forward, stroking the mare's soft neck with her little hand. "What you want me to call you, girl?" She leaned down close and kissed her, and the mare immediately let out a brief squeak of a knicker, lifting each front hoof one at time and arching them high in a giddy little dance.

A smile spread over Arthur's face, and he chuckled with lifted brows. "She's a sprightly one!"

Hope gasped. "That's it! Like what you call me sometimes!"

"What—do I call ya sprightly?"

"No, sprite! Your little sprite!"

"Ohhh, I like that," Eliza smiled with a low, lilting tone. "Hope and her Sprite."

Hope smiled up at her mother.

"Well... Whatchyou say we ride out with the new horses, break 'em in a bit, huh?" Arthur said as he pulled himself onto Boadicea, tucking one foot in the stirrup and slinging the other leg over her. He grinned at the sounds of their exclamatory whoops as he led them from the corral and down the mountainside, towards hillier country.

Arthur watched the little family as they rode in the light of a sun beginning to set—his younger self at the helm, Isaac next, and Eliza with Hope in her lap bringing up the rear. He took note of Isaac's contented smile as he watched his father riding ahead of him. And his own eyes widened when he realized Isaac was shifting and changing before his very eyes, growing taller in the saddle, and older until he was about thirteen or fourteen years old.

He wasn't given an extra moment to process the sight, when suddenly Hope rode up, alone on Sprite—herself now aged to about ten or eleven and still dressed in dungarees—and shouted to Isaac with a big smile as she passed him, "Bet I can beatchya!"

The two of them could only watch as Hope quickly rode ahead with a laugh, holding her pale cowboy hat to the back of her head, her loose curls flying behind her.

A devilish grin slowly drew on Isaac's mouth as he tucked his spurs into Hawkins's side and took off after her. "Hey! You cheated! You started before you ever even let me know we were racin'!"

"What—Hawk too lazy to make up for it?" Arthur could hear Hope's playful jab from up ahead as Isaac leaned forward and prompted Hawkins to dig in.

They both passed their father like blurs, and when Arthur saw the back of his own head where he sat atop a sauntering Boadicea, he realized only as an afterthought that the version of himself before him was no longer younger than himself. That it must've been around the year 1901, making him about thirty-eight.

Just as his perspective shifted to where he was able to see his older self's face, Eliza rushed up beside him on Samson, dressed in brown riding trousers and her tan cowboy hat.

She glanced over at her husband with a wry grin as she passed him, following the children. "Come on, Arthur. You ain't about to tell me Bo's worn an' weary, are ya?" Her grin blossomed into a smile when she caught a glimpse of the devilish smile on her husband's face before turning to face forward in the saddle, and she laughed as her blonde waves whipped her face.

The four of them raced down the path with forest trees on either side, until there was a break, and they raced further through the clearing.

When they were all finally standing atop a hill gazing at the sunset, Hope looked over at her mother with a gentle smile and said softly, "God brought out his paintbrush, Mama."

Eliza grinned as she looked out from beneath the brim of her hat at the brilliant celestial array, none of colors muddied—strokes of pinks, swaths of oranges, dabs of purples. She took a deep breath and let herself feel the shift from warmth of light on her face to the cool of evening. "He sure did."

When Arthur blinked, they were all back in the house one afternoon, and Eliza was bustling about the kitchen, setting plates at the dining table and finally pulling a pie out of the iron oven.

When Hope walked into the room, Eliza asked her as she gingerly placed the pie on a rack on the table, "Where are they? Could you get the milk out of the ice box? Are they almost here?"

"Yeah, they're almost back," Hope said as she hurriedly pulled an open glass bottle of milk from the ice box and set it on the table.

"Well, that wasn't very long," Eliza lamented.

Hope chuckled. "Papa can only keep him distracted so long, Mama. He'll start to get suspicious."

Not a minute later, Arthur walked in and whispered, "You got it ready?"

"Trying!" Eliza strained in a whisper as she retrieved a knife for the pie. "Where is he?"

"Takin' the horses to the stable, but he could be here any—"

And just then, Isaac sauntered into the room unawares.

"Happy birthday!" they all shouted as Isaac smiled.

"Ohhh, fourteen!" Eliza grinned and held her arms out as she went in to hug him. "I can't believe it."

"We made you blackberry pie!" Hope said. "Mama and Papa picked 'em, Mama made the dough, and I sugared the berries."

Isaac looked the pie over. "Can't wait to dig in," he said.

"But first! Presents," Hope said, going into the pocket of her apron and handing him something. "This one's from me."

It was a smooth, flat, rounded dark gray stone that fit in the palm of his hand. She's painted it with the words, 'Best Brother on Earth' and a little filigree design around the edge. Looking up, he offered her a small smile. "It's great, Hope."

His mother then came forward with a small bundle of folded parcel paper. "From us," she said quietly, unable to say more with her emotions bubbling so near the surface.

He took it and unfolded it to find a white embroidered handkerchief. "What's this?" he asked, pulling it from the paper and looking up to eye the others and see if they had something else hidden behind their backs.

His mother smiled bright. "I made it for you."

He looked up at his father, who was standing behind his chair at the far end of the table. "But I wanted new boots. I told you that."

Hope stood there looking back and forth between them.

Arthur noticed Eliza's smile beginning to falter, though she kept her eyes on their son, and his own smile started to smooth. "Well, your mother took the time to make you this instead. Was her idea. Take a look at it, I think you'll really—"

"What would I want with an old rag?" Isaac said in a monotone pitch, looking up at him with half-mast eyes.

And just like that, any trace of a smile fell completely away from his father's mouth, replaced in one instant by disgusted shock, and in the next by a wrathful scowl.

He pointed firmly to Eliza, who was standing there looking at Isaac with crimped eyes and a limp, open frown. "You get your ass over there and apologize to your mother 'fore I break it," he said so quickly the ending of each word was hardly distinguishable from the beginning of the next.

And Isaac eyed him, huffing, lips clenched tight, trying to decipher if he really meant it, whether he could make a bet that he didn't. Neither of their gazes budged, and finally Isaac relented.

"Sorry," he said without looking at his mother, the sound of the word forceful and blunt as he set the handkerchief on the table and took a seat.

As the air quieted, Hope swallowed and tried to smile. "Okay...why don't we all sit and eat some pie, huh?" She nervously continued as the rest of them slowly did so, her father still steaming, and her mother quietly sniffing. "I'd hate for this delicious piece of hard work to go to waste!" She picked up the knife and began to cut into the pie. "Wait 'til you try it, Isaac," she said, trying for cheery as she laid a piece on a plate for him.

But as she passed the plate to him, her elbow caught on the bottle of milk, overturning it and spilling it all over the table. As they all quickly stood from the table in response, Isaac suddenly jerked for the handkerchief and used it to wipe up the spill.

Arthur watched as both Isaac and Eliza paused, slowly looking up at each other. Eliza's jaw hung loose, and her eyes were misty. Without a word, she rushed from the table and flew down the hall to their bedroom. And Arthur followed her, shooting an angry glare Isaac's way as he passed him.

At the sight, Isaac glowered and huffed off to his own room, closing the door with a slam, leaving Hope to plop back down in her seat and nibble on her forkful of blackberry pie with a forlorn half-smirk.

Isaac never emerged from his room for supper. But that evening, after Hope had gone to bed, and after he'd done some thinking, he silently ventured out towards the dining room, stopping behind the corner when he heard his mother sniffling.

"You know—he never even said thank you," he heard his father say, "not one single time. To anyone. For any of it. So goddamn ungrateful, so nasty and unkind. When'd he get so goddamn entitled? When the hell did that happen?"

Isaac carefully inched past the corner to see his father resting back against the kitchen counter, leaning in close to his mother. Isaac could hear her sniffles from where she stood hunched over the counter, though her back was to him.

"And when I saw your face..." his father continued with drawn brows. But his jaw flickered at the thought. "I swear, I coulda busted his ass. Smacked the stupid right out of his head."

His mother gently shook her head. "You know you never would," she said, her voice barely making it above a whisper. Isaac watched her back and shoulders tremble. "Truth is... I know they love you more. They always have."

Isaac closed his eyes. The sound of her voice... So labored and pained, her breath quivering so intensely, she'd barely been able to get the words out. The effect was berating his heart, forcing him to consider what she must be experiencing—the thought of going without her own children's love, or of them having only so much love for her.

"No, no, no..." his father whispered, coming closer and rubbing big circles across her back as she cried. "It just ain't true. Just ain't true at all. 'Liza..." he whispered in her ear and rested his forehead on her temple. He drew back just a bit and looked at her. "If only I could show 'em, all that you been through for 'em," his father continued softly. "What a mother's love goes through, and comes out strong. If they could see what I get to see..." he shook his head, his eyes sagging at the sounds her sobs. "He'd never even entertain the thought of treatin' you that way."

Hanging his head in shame, Isaac quietly went back to his room.

And the next morning when the rest of them had already congregated at the table for breakfast, he timidly stepped forward, his head still low. "Mama?"

As they all stopped what they were doing, she looked up at the sound of what might as well have been her name, a name she had embraced and taken into her heart. When she saw Isaac, contrite and downcast, that same heart melted within her.

"Mama," he said again amidst sniffles as he finally managed to look up and meet her eyes, bulbous tears filling his own. "Could you ever forgive me, Mama?"

Her brows drew up, and she didn't waste another moment. "Isaac!" she cried, going to him and wrapping him in her arms. "Of course. Of course I forgive you, sweetheart."

Isaac clenched his eyes as she pressed him to her shoulder, his tears flowing down his cheeks at the blessed words.

She brought her hand up and cradled the back of his head as she rested her cheek against him. "I will always forgive you, Isaac. And I will always, always love you. No matter what."

He sniffed and relished the soft fabric of her pale blue chambray blouse, knowing that however desperately he wanted to be a man, he had to let himself be his mother's baby in this moment. "To the moon and back?" he whispered as he drew away to look at her.

Her expression almost crumpled, and she brought her hand up to the crown of his head, framing his temple with her palm. She drew her lips inward and slowly, silently shook her head. "The moon could stop shinin', and fall away from the heavens, and I will still love you."

Closing his eyes again and sniffling through a broken smile, he quickly rested his head down on her shoulder again. "I love you, Mama," he said. "So much."

Hope and Arthur stood at the opposite end of the kitchen table, gazing with soft smiles at the scene.

"Your mother's always loved restoration," Arthur said quietly to Hope, keeping his eyes on the pair. "She's got a real soft heart."

"She absolutely does," Arthur said where he stood just behind his older self and his daughter. "But that's why I... Why she's good. So, so good to me."

"What you don't know is, you do too, Papa," Hope grinned up at her father to her right.

Her father squinted over at her with a smile.

Meanwhile Isaac was drawing back, wiping his tears away with the back of his forearm, and saying to his mother, "Show me the hankie, I wanna see it."

Eliza wiped her tears away from her cheeks and hurried to produce the handkerchief, a little stained but dried and cleaned. She held it up and quickly pointed to one of the scenes she'd embroidered. "Here's all four of us, at the swing under the tree back in Misty Willow, see there?" she said quietly. "And here's you as a baby. Our first..." she smiled warmly. "This is you and Buster, see? 'Member Buster?"

"'Course I do," Isaac chuckled with another sniff. He continued to gaze over the intricate handiwork, the little scenes of their life together.

"And here's you and your daddy, fishin' at the river." She tisked her tongue. "I love it when we fish together."

"You stitched all that?" Isaac guffawed.

She nodded.

"Wow. It's so beautiful, Mama. Thank you." He kissed her on the cheek as he tucked it into the pocket of his vest. "I'll keep it always right by my heart."

She quickly brought her hand to the side of his face and kissed the opposite cheek once, twice, three times and more.

Grinning past his cheek still squished by her hand, Isaac looked up to see his father smiling bright.

"'At's what I like to see," Arthur said.

When his mother finally released him, he smiled at her. "Got any pie left?"

"Oh, yes! 'Course we do!" Eliza said as she went to the breadbox to retrieve it.

"We waited for you," Hope said, leaning forward on the table until her shoulders were up near her ears.

Isaac's soft smile was all the genuine thanks he could muster through his cloud of emotion as they all took their seats at the table.

"Whoever said we couldn't have pie for breakfast?" his father was saying. "Got everything you need—eggs, grain, fruit..."

"Sugar," Eliza grinned wryly as she began cutting slices.

"Sure, but..." he drawled as he got comfortable in his chair, "we won't talk about that part." His smile widened when they all laughed in response.

As the scene shifted and changed, Arthur found himself watching his older self finish dressing in the master bedroom, darting his head periodically from around the threshold to look down the hall. He'd pull his head back from around the doorjamb, continue buttoning the cuff of his button-down, and poke his head back into the hall after no more than twenty seconds.

Finally, he walked down the hall and stood before the open door with his hands out.

"Let's get a sense of urgency here! Come on! Let's go!" he said in a strained, high tone, gesturing with sweeping motions towards the front door.

All he received was tight smirks, eye rolls, and scoffs.

"He's only in town one day," he held up a finger as he began to walk off down the hall. "Photographer's only in town one damn day, and if we miss him, we miss him for the year. We'd have to get our asses all the way to San Francisco. You all know that!"

Eliza grinned warmly as she continued buttoning the back of Hope's day dress. "We've never missed him before, dearest," she said without raising her voice an inch, knowing he'd still hear her.

"Let's not try our luck, please," he replied with a bit of a whine.

"I don't hear you eggin' Isaac on."

"Ha! 'Cause he never dallies or fusses. Gets his stuff done 'fore I ever have to ask," he wheezed.

Eliza rolled her eyes to herself with a deep smirk.

"Mama, could you put a braid in my hair?" Hope asked softly, still fiddling with the bunch of wildflowers she'd picked and planned to tuck into the braid.

"Oh, you know your daddy's much better at braids. Why don't you ask him, sweetheart?"

"Daddy, could you please—" she began to call.

"I heard..." he grumbled.

Eliza's grin blossomed into a smile, and she scoffed a laugh.

"Come on down hear an' sit at the vanity," Arthur said.

Hope smiled and ran out of the room towards her parents' bedroom, quickly sitting at the mirrored vanity as her father took his place standing behind her.

Eliza appeared behind the threshold and watched the two of them.

Arthur brought his thick fingers to Hope's hairline, running them back through her blonde curls as he began to section out three tidy pieces of hair for a French braid. "Ain't got time for this," he quietly grumbled. "You two're gonna end up makin' us drag ourselves all the way down to the bay."

Hope smiled down at her bunch of flowers and spoke in a gentle yet matter-of-fact tone. "Mama says we always make time for the important things."

Arthur paused mentally at the words, and his braiding slowed as he looked down at her where she sat focused on her wildflowers. His only daughter, approaching eleven years old. Sweeter than any honey the world could produce, and more precious than any gem dug from the earth. And growing into a young lady much faster than he'd ever care to admit.

Eliza noticed that when he spoke again, his voice was mellow and quiet, as if his words were meant only for their daughter, though she was sure he didn't know of her own presence at the threshold.

"You know, your hair's awful curly. Where'd you get all these curls?" he said playfully.

"Mama," she smiled bright. "Says she had hair just like me when she was a girl."

"Yeah...but Mama's hair's much more relaxed now. More like waves. Ain't as bouncy as yours. Think your's'll fall out a bit?"

Eliza couldn't help but grin at the sound of the gravelly voice she knew so well turned to such warm, rich velvet.

"Don't know," Hope pursed her lips to the side. "Wonder when Mama's went to waves."

Arthur continued to braid her hair, making sure to keep it as tidy as he could with her wispy curls. "Look towards the wall for me, sprite," he said, and she did so. And after a few more seconds, he added, "All right, almost done. Look up for me."

Eliza's grinned bloomed into a wide smile when Hope promptly tilted her head back and looked up to find her father gazing down at her; and he immediately placed a quick peck on her forehead, as if hoping to get it in before she realized it was the only reason he'd asked her to look up.

Their daughter's expression melted into a smile. "Love you, Daddy."

"Love you too, babygirl," he whispered as she handed him a pale blue ribbon, and he tied off the end of her braid.

Eliza's vision blurred a bit at the scene, and she closed her eyes for a moment at the sound of her husband's words, resting her temple against the doorjamb.

In the next moment Arthur was watching all four of them go into the photo studio in town, dressed in clean and tidy day clothes. And they came out minutes later with a family portrait in his older self's hand as they all climbed back up into the wagon seat.

And Arthur took them down a couple streets until they reached the mercantile for some supplies and sundries while they were in town. They all hopped down and entered the general store, both children immediately making it their business to roam the aisles for fruit, candy, and anything else that might catch their fancy.

While Arthur began to peruse, Eliza noticed an upright Gabler piano against the far wall that hadn't been there the week before. She tried to ignore it and follow the others for their usual short-and-to-the-point grocery trip. But it caught her eye again, and she found she couldn't resist its pull.

When Arthur heard the tinkling sound of piano, he turned to find Eliza seated at the piano bench with her hands over the keys, playing something akin to classical—smooth and slow and intimate, yet lilting and jovial. As the soothing sounds continued to drift his way, he found he couldn't resist her pull.

Before he knew it, he was standing beside her at the bench. "I didn't know you could play."

"I thought you knew everything there was to know about me, Morgan," she said in a buoyant tone before grinning up at him.

He couldn't help but match her grin.

As she looked back down at the keys, her fingers stumbled over a few notes, and her grin pulled into a tight frown. "It's been a while..." she chuckled, and she smiled when he chuckled with her.

As a wisp of blonde hair fell into her eyes, her husband reached over and gently tucked it behind her ear. He watched as the melody took her fingers down across the keys until all other sound paused for just a moment as she lifted her hand and pressed a single key towards the end of the piano for a high, cheery note. And her hands would go back to playing the melody until she did the same again.

"It's an old folk ballad. My papa loved 'em," she said softly.

Arthur smiled as he watched the pattern of her hands over the keys. Removing his hat and setting it atop the back of the piano, he sat beside her on the bench. And when her pale, slender fingers reached the keys where his big hand hovered, he pressed the one cheery key he knew she needed.

She looked at him beside her with a smile, and they continued in that way.

Isaac walked through the aisles, following the direction the music was coming from with a bag of sugar cubes in one hand until he found his parents sitting at the piano in the corner. When Hope appeared at the end of the aisle with a half-eaten pear in one hand and a paper bag filled with peaches in the other and started to quickly turn down another aisle to continue shopping, Isaac heard her bustling around behind him.

Without taking his eyes from the pair, Isaac whispered to her, "Hey," and when she looked at him, he gestured with his chin towards them.

When she looked up and saw the scene at the piano—her mother playing so relaxed, her father's big back hunched beside her with one hand resting on the back of the piano and the other hovering over the keys—a smile spread over Hope's face, matching Isaac's.

Finally, Eliza's hands slowed to a stop as the song came to an end.

Without a moment's hesitation, her husband whipped his head to look up in the direction of the shopkeeper's counter, saying loudly, "We'll take the Gabler!"

And that afternoon they were riding back up the mountain with an upright piano in the wagon bed.

When they got home, Arthur watched his older self walk to the fireplace and prop the new family portrait atop the fireplace mantle, at the end of a string of at least seven or eight others. As his older self walked away, Arthur took the opportunity to look at the portraits, knowing they each represented a year of the family's life.

He smiled at the first two, remembering the scene of his younger self requiring another photograph, asking the children to supply funny faces, and surprising Eliza with a kiss on the cheek. As he went, he noticed the way both children had grown in stature, the different hairstyles and clothing. The way the shade of Isaac's hair was darkening just a smidge as he aged, growing just a bit more like his own.

But as he continued down the line, he started to notice some other things. The earlier photos resembled the wacky one more closely—relaxed postures, smiling faces, a general closeness amongst the four of them. And the farther he got, the more rigid and still their stances had grown again over the years. The more space there was between them. The more their smiles had relaxed and faded into something flatter and more neutral.

When he reached the end of the line, two more photos slowly appeared into existence, signaling the passage of two more years. And the family portraits contained four faces with nearly flat affects—small smiles on Isaac's and Hope's faces, even a faint smile on his own face—but Eliza's smile was almost completely gone. And there was a visible, measurable space between husband and wife—no playful touching, no cuddling. He understood now why Isaac and Hope had taken note and been so happy to see the smallest signs of easy, public affection between the two at the piano in the mercantile.

As he gazed at Eliza's expressionless face in the most recent photo, now around thirty-four years old and beautiful and lovely as ever, he could only imagine that it was life with a heedless husband—one that indeed saw and knew very well the longings of his wife's heart and chose to ignore them out of fear, one that couldn't or refused to give her words of love and affection—that could produce such a disposition in such a woman.

And his gaze shifted to his older self in the same photo—luckiest bastard that ever existed on the face of the earth as he was, and still unable to properly cherish what he had.

Bitterly wagging his head at himself, Arthur turned from the mantle and almost flinched when Hope, now thirteen, nearly ran straight through his mist-like form.

"Here're the eggs!" she said, hastily yet gingerly transferring them from her cupped apron onto the kitchen table. "Finished with my chores, I'm goin' to check on Ellie!"

Eliza jolted for the eggs as they began their lopsided rolls across the tabletop. She was in work pants and a tucked button-down herself, and Arthur was in his full rancher getup eating breakfast at the table.

Eliza eyed Hope's pale pink flower-printed day dress. And she clucked her tongue. "I've told you so many times, babygirl! You can't climb into the chicken coop wearin' your dress!"

"I know, I know..." Hope mumbled.

"You'll tear it all to shreds for one," her mother continued over her voice, "and for another, you'll track...fowl stuff into the house." She scrunched her nose at the thought. "Go on and change into britches 'fore you go see Ellie."

Where he stood watching the scene, Arthur smirked at the thought of thirteen-year-old Hope climbing one leg after the other over the chicken coop fence in her country frock every morning, her yellow curls drawn up near her forehead.

"All right, all right!" Hope said with a smile and a loose sway of her head as she turned on her heel and made for her room.

At the same time, Isaac was briskly walking out from his, dressed in work clothes and a cowboy hat himself.

Standing to the side and watching the scene, Arthur's eyes shot wide. "Isaac!" he breathed as his eyes traveled up and down his tall form, finally resting on the angular features of his face. "You're all grown up! Nearly a man!"

Isaac whistled before grabbing a single piece of toast from the table, and a Redbone Coonhound promptly emerged from his bed on the floor in the corner. "Cop, come on, boy," he said in a deeper voice than Arthur had ever heard from him before, and the long-eared dog followed closely behind as Isaac took a bite from his toast. "Thanks for breakfast! Takin' Copper out, Pa. You comin'?"

"Be right there, just a second," his father said as he started to stand from the table. But Isaac had already walked through the front door. Eliza was wrapping some food in a gingham cloth at the kitchen counter when he said for her benefit, "Just goin' with Isaac for our mornin' ride, then I'm takin' Bo to the farrier."

She stilled and looked at him as he pushed his chair in. When he didn't seem to remember, she looked back down at her task, her mouth open and her jaw rigid. "She's sweet on you," she finally said.

He froze himself and lifted his eyes to her. "The liveryman's daughter." Though the words formed a question, the tone declared his blatant disbelief.

She looked back up at him and simply pulsed her eyes and jutted her chin a bit in response.

He immediately let out a little wheeze as he resumed movement. "No."

She tilted her head and silently sighed. "I wish you'd listen to me," she said quietly, without any defiant inflections as she handed him his midday morsel of apples, cheese, and almonds. "Sometimes I know what I'm talkin' about."

He silently took the gingham-wrapped food and stuffed it into his satchel. By the time he looked back up, she was already turned back around towards the kitchen counter.

He eyed her as she gathered Isaac's lunch together, her movements fluid and graceful, yet quick and efficient—the result of years of mothering. But if one looked closer, one could see that every small movement, every little motion, every detailed action was layered with the most transcendent love for her husband and children. Was done with only love as the intention and guiding force, no matter how tiring the task.

"Ellie's due to drop her foal today," she said without looking up at him, referring to Hope's first breeding mare that was all her own. "Gonna join Hope for the birth before I make my rounds."

He nodded. "I'll stop by her stall 'fore I head down the mountain, make sure everything went okay."

He watched her hand him Isaac's lunch and continue with Hope's and her own. But he got caught up, and lost himself watching her; though it must've been only a few moments, it could've been hours. Every part of her did things inside him. The worn leather vest she wore and the denim of her jeans, just one sign of her hard work as an equal partner alongside him, for all these years they'd been together. The wisps of stray hair escaping her loose braid, a trademark of her spunk and charm. The feathery lashes, so curly where they sat above her freckled cheeks that were just touched by the sun.

There she was, a mere inches away, but somehow, she felt chasms away—chasms that, for reasons he couldn't seem to recall, felt daunting to cross.

He finally swallowed and opened his mouth to quietly remark, "You got britches on today."

She glanced at him. "Sure. I do every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. You know that."

He nodded and softly grinned, though she'd already looked back down. "I like 'em." But I like everything you wear, he thought to himself.

She continued about her business, hardly acknowledging his compliment.

But he continued watching her, and his eyes drifted down the sleeves of her white button-down work shirt to her right hand, where the bones of her wrist were framed by the soft cuffs. He found himself reaching out, gently taking the fabric of the cuff between his first finger and thumb.

Though it was the barest touch, almost imperceptibly soft, Eliza stilled when she felt her husband's fingertip on her wrist bone, as if the meeting of skin and skin sent up bells and whistles and flags to her brain. Keeping her gaze on the food before her for a few more seconds, she finally lifted her right hand to take his in hers. But it wasn't there.

She turned just in time to see him walking out through the front door. And when his sturdy form was gone from the frame of the threshold, she looked back down, and ran the pads of her fingers over her wrist where he'd touched her. She finally rolled up both sleeves to the elbow, exposing all of both forearms before stuffing Hope's and her own lunches into her satchel and heading out the back door towards the stables.

When Arthur had himself walked out onto the front porch, he saw the young hound dog lying lazily to his right, and Isaac already saddled on Hawkins before him, with Boadicea waiting beside him. He quickly took the porch steps in twos, mounted Bo, and the two of them rode at a canter around the far edges of the sprawling property, surveying the land and the state of the fences.

As they rode, Arthur noted the presence of the couple hands they'd hired to help tend to the property, who were already out that morning spreading hay and roughage about the corral field. Since about a month ago, he and Eliza had recognized the fact that with the number of horses they'd acquired, the work on the ranch had grown to the point that they needed to offset it a bit.

Continuing about the property, Arthur would point things out to his son—overgrowths that may need trimming soon, signs that their breeding horses were healthy where stood grazing in the field, tracks near the property line and what predators they could be a sign of.

But as they came towards the end of their ride, Isaac took off at a gallop, as he usually did.

"Race you to the overlook, Pa!" he shouted with a smile.

And Arthur grinned as he took off after him, knowing it always arose from Isaac's desire to prolong their one-on-one time together.

When they finally reached the hill that overlooked the property, they stopped side by side to take it in.

"Beautiful," Arthur said.

"Uh-huh," Isaac concurred. "Nothin' like it."

"This is nice," Arthur said lightly. "Get a little pause, and some fresh air 'fore you head to work."

"Sure," Isaac responded, his thoughts now venturing to his coming day at the mercantile in the town down at the foot of the mountain.

A few minutes of quiet went by as they listened to the sounds of nature around them—warbling birdsong, soft breeze through the wild heather, chipmunks munching and chattering.

"Pa?" Isaac finally said with his deepening voice as he looked over at him.

"Yeah."

"What do you do when you…when you're…fond of a girl?"

His father dipped his head, then slowly looked over at him with a smirk. "Got one you like, huh?"

Isaac half-smirked and looked down. "There's this girl in town, works at the doc's office across the street from the general store where I been helpin' out. She steps out onto the porch and beats the rug at the same time I'm pushin' broom. Emily. Emily's her name. I been over there for a…bogus cough," he added sheepishly.

Arthur couldn't help but smirk.

"Got hair black as midnight, pale blue eyes," Isaac continued, "cheeks like roses—they look as soft too. She makes me smile and laugh." He swallowed and quickly glanced down. "But every time I think I'll get up the courage to ask her to take a walk with me or…go to the café, I…crave like a coward."

Arthur grinned and shook his head, taking an inward breath as he said, "You got it bad, all right."

"Well, what do I do?" he rushed to ask, looking up with desperation written in the folds of his forehead. "What'd you do with Ma?"

Arthur's smile fell and slid to one side. "Eh… You don't wanna know. You don't wanna do it like we did anyways."

"Well, things turned out all right for ya. She's your woman."

"Yeah, but…" he sighed through his nose as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, "only after hard, uncertain times. And it almost didn't happen that way." He chuckled and returned his hand to the reins. "Your mother, she… She's a very special woman. Ain't nobody like her. I got lucky. She's kind and patient, compassionate, thoughtful, big-hearted. And she ain't afraid to take chances on people. 'At's the only reason she's my woman." He smirked and tilted his head to the side. "And I'm her man."

Isaac nodded and started to grin. "I 'preciate you waxin' sentimental, Pa, but…don't help me none."

Arthur looked over at him. "You want my advice? Don't touch her. Understand me? If you find it too difficult, don't even so much as hold hands. Got that? You don't touch her 'til that ring is on her finger, and you've both said 'I do.' Don't touch her," he added a bit firmly. He paused and eyed him. "You haven't yet…have you?"

"No…" Isaac squirmed in his saddle. "And I wasn't plannin' on it either."

"Good," he nodded. "That's good for me to hear. You're a good kid. But let me tell ya, you don't gotta plan on it. What you need to plan for is not touchin' her."

"I get it."

"Lovemakin'…it's serious business. And I don't mean to sound overly grave…" Arthur shook his head loosely and mumbled, almost to himself. "I just mean that, there ain't no reversin' it. It knits two people, real tight together. In ways you can't even hardly…put into words. Y'know?" When he looked over at him and saw his utterly blank expression, he had to work to keep his latent smile down. "No. You don't."

Arthur took a deep breath and let it out as he continued, the latent grin still on his mouth, "I know it's hard to hear, and it don't make much sense right now. But she deserves it. Deserves a man who'll respect her, do right by her. Wait for her. A man who don't think all she is, is skin an' bones. Don't you want that for Hope?"

Isaac grumbled and whined. "Pa, you gotta go an' bring Hope into this?"

"I said—don't you want that for Hope?"

"'Course. 'Course I do."

"Or would you rather have some creep comin' along to dupe Hope and take her maidenhood and…decide that's all he cared for, and walk off to leave her lonesome?"

"No!" Isaac said, his brows pulling tight together. "I'd track 'im down and knock 'im on his ass! Might even put a couple holes in him. For good measure," he added with a single nod.

Arthur chuckled. "There we go. That's what I like to see. You been at her throat too much recently. You gotta look out for your sister."

"Aw, Pa…" he whined. "She follows me around! She does whatever I do! It annoys me to no end."

Arthur smiled. "It's 'cause she looks up to you! Adores you! Wants to be like you. What's more flatterin'?"

Isaac looked down and lifted his brows. "When she was little, she was my favorite thing in the world. But now…she just never leaves me alone."

"Sixteen and thirteen…" Arthur smirked as he looked off at the morning horizon. "Tough ages."

"It ain't like I don't love Hope. I do. But I guess… Maybe it's that I don't love her when she gets annoyin'."

"That ain't how love works, and you know it," Arthur looked over at him with faint concern on his brow. "Your mama and I taught you better 'an that."

Isaac nodded. "I know. It's just that, sometimes, every great now and then I mean…I can get so…"

"Prickly. Crotchety."

"Yeah!"

"I've seen it," Arthur nodded with a grin. But he ended up loosely shaking his head with a chuckle. "I swear, it amazes me how you can be so much like both your mother and me." He peered at him from the corner of his eyes. "One thing your mother's taught me is your feelings from one day to the next don't have nothin' to do with how you value somebody." He shook his head. "It don't change it. You love Hope. I've seen it. And you're a good big brother."

"Yeah… I'd go to hell and back for her," he smiled. "She's actually…my best friend," he smirked, glancing at his father. "Don't tell her I said that though."

Hanging his head, Arthur shook it and wheezed.

"I do love her," Isaac smiled. "Just as much as I love you and ma." His face finally pinched, and he tilted his head to the side. "But that don't make her any less annoyin' at thirteen."

Arthur laughed hard. "You're stubborn as a mule. Got that from me too. Well… Your ma can be stubborn too, but…only about the things that matter."

Isaac paused and sat up straight in his saddle. "Hey, why don't you and Ma have some more kids? That way we can have babies and toddlers 'round again. I always thought we'd have more brothers and sisters."

"Oh…I don't know," Arthur sighed. "We're gettin' older. I just turned forty. And…your mother's in her thirties. I just don't know if we could handle it. Don't know if her body could take it. I might be makin' more of it than it is," he mumbled, "but I just don't know. Givin' birth to Hope sure seemed to take it out of her at the time." He gave his head a single tip. "She always did want more though."

"Well, give her more then! Let her tell you if she can't handle it." Isaac paused and dipped his head to look over at him. "Are you…not sweet on each other anymore? Do you not, you know…like each other anymore?"

"Oh, Jesus," Arthur wheezed as he removed his hat with one hand and raked his fingers through his hair with the other before returning his hat to its place. "We ain't ever had any trouble in that area. Never any trouble at all." He shook his head with a smile. "It's a wonder we don't have a whole gaggle a' you little 'uns," he made a sweeping motion out in front of himself with his hand. "Your mother is a fine lady and a real fine woman. She don't often know it," he smirked wryly, "and I have to remind her every now and again."

"I know," Isaac rolled his eyes. "I can hear you remindin' her."

Arthur's eyes quickly shot wide, and his brows scrunched as he turned his head to look at him. "Well, you just plug your damn ears then!" As Isaac laughed heartily, he started to grumble, "Christ… Can't make love to my own wife in my own goddamn house…"

"I'm gettin' your goat, Pa," he shook his head with a growing grin. He squinted one eye at him. "You sure can have a rotten mouth when you get angry."

His eyes slid over to him, and he smirked wryly. "My mouth ain't even the most rotten there is." Suddenly his brows furrowed, and he tried to look forward as he shifted in his saddle a bit. "Why're we talkin' about this anyway? Ain't nothin' to talk about with your young son."

"I know how things work. Ever since you and I had that horrible conversation last year."

"Don't remind me," he grimaced. "I've done plenty of awful shit in my time, and that was the worst thing I've ever had to do. I'm just glad your mother was the one to do it for Hope. Ugh, dear god," he chuffed and rolled his eyes. "Just the thought." He paused and looked at him again. "How'd we even get to this topic?"

"Well… I started by askin' you how to handle bein' fond of a girl."

"Right. Just talk to her, son. Spend time with her, be a friend to her first. It'll make things a whole lot simpler." He smirked as he slowly looked forward again over the scene of their family land. "Don't worry about stumblin' over yourself or…comin' across as some idea of perfect. Just be Isaac. If she's a good woman, she'll see what we see, and she'll love you for it." His face relaxed a bit as he continued to contemplate, and he added, "Above all, just…treasure her, like she deserves."

After a few more minutes of quiet, he said, "Let's head back. You gotta get to work anyway." He pulled the reins and started to turn Boadicea around.

"Pa?"

Arthur stopped and looked back at him.

Isaac wore a tight, wobbly grin and chuckled airily, "I wouldn't…really shoot the feller."

His father's face relaxed into a bright smirk, and he couldn't help but chuckle as he contemplated just how much… "I love you, son."

Isaac smiled and nodded. "Love you too, Pa."

They rode back down, Arthur to the ranch, and Isaac toward town. When Arthur reached the ranch stables, he tethered Bo, dismounted, and quietly walked inside towards Ellie's stall. He found Hope and Eliza crouched in the hay on the floor of the stall, a brand-new foal among them, trying out his tottering legs.

After delivering him, the mare had sat in the hay to enjoy her toddler's presence. She neighed and sighed a little as she watched him endeavor to learn about his surroundings.

Hope reached out and stroked the mare's chestnut haunch. "Good job, Ellie girl. You did so good."

Standing to Eliza's left and just behind her, Arthur leaned against the stall door and watched her smile softly, her voice even softer as she brushed a stray loose curl from Hope's face.

"It's one of the many very wonderful things a woman can do..." Eliza said. "Foster life."

Hope smiled at her. When the unsteady foal took a quick few steps, she turned to watch it.

Eliza's periphery alerted her to someone's presence, and she turned her head, her face immediately relaxing into a soft smile when she saw Arthur. Noting the mixture of tender affection, familiarity, and fatigue in her expression, he softly smiled in return. He also noticed the faint mist on her brow, the sleeves of her work shirt now rolled up in soft bunches to her elbows.

Eliza watched him straighten from off the stall door, and her smile slowly fell away as he sauntered out of the stables. She slowly looked back at Hope, and she reached out again to tuck Hope's hair behind her ear. "You be all right here for a while?"

Hope grinned. "'Course."

Pressing her hands to her knees, Eliza stood. She left the stables, mounted Samson, and donned her tan cowboy hat and riding gloves as she took him at a trot out towards the corral. She stopped where the pair of men were still unloading bales of hay from the wagon and spreading it over the field.

"Mrs. Morgan," one said to her as she leaned over in the saddle and took a bit of the hay from the wagon bed in her gloved hand.

"Zachary," she responded, keeping her eyes on the stalks of dry hay as she rubbed it between her thumb and first finger. "This is oat grass. We wanted alfalfa or clover."

"This was cheaper," he shrugged one shoulder as he started towards the wagon bed again. "Figured..."

She looked out at the field, already half-covered with the wrong hay. "This is fine for now. But alfalfa and clover keep the horses full for longer. I'd appreciate it if you'd follow my instructions next time."

"'Course. 'Course," he nodded, stooping with his pitchfork for more hay as the other man took his bunch into the field. "Grandest apologies, m'lady."

She looked over his head into the pasture to take note of the horses that were already grazing there. "Firefly and Mercedes need rub downs, to loosen their muscles. I can do that later if you'll take 'em back into the stables this afternoon."

"Oh, I'll be sure to do that, ma'am."

She continued to inspect the pasture, looking for one horse in particular—a mustang she and Arthur had caught about a month ago. When she wasn't there, her ire began to grow, and her voice heightened in pitch. "Why is Hadassah not out here? I told you she's fine, that she doesn't need to graze on her own anymore…"

"Aw, I'm sorry about that," he said low as he shook his head, though she continued over his voice. "You know, I just plumb forgot, ma'am…"

"…that she's ready to join the other horses. She needs to be acclimated, to adjust to life here…"

"Just slipped my mind," he said simply, his tone calm and quiet as he looked up at her with a smile.

Eliza closed her eyes for just a moment and let her shoulders ease a bit before looking back at him. "It's all right. I can bring her over, it's not a problem." Adjusting the reins in her hand, she prepared to turn Samson back around to fetch Hadassah.

"Hey…" she heard and paused.

"Ya know…ice cream social's comin' up. Everybody in town's goin'," he said, resting both wrists over the handle of his pitchfork where he'd stuck it in the ground as he looked up at her on her mount. "If you didn't have someone…available to escort you that day, I could…"

Eliza slowly looked up from underneath the brim of her hat.

"…make it up to ya by makin' sure you get there safely."

Looking down at her leather-clad hands as she gripped the reins, Eliza shifted in the saddle a bit. And lifting only her eyes, she finally looked up at him. She spoke calmly, but clearly and firmly. "Mr. Bellamy, if I'm able to find time to make it to the ice cream social, my husband will be the one to accompany me."

Lifting his chin and brows, he mimed an 'Ah,' and made a show of shrugging as he took his wrists off the top of the pitchfork handle and prepared to use it again. "Well, I mean, I hardly ever see the two of ya together round the place, I just figured…"

"You figured wrong, Mr. Bellamy," she said, leaning forward in the saddle as she began to turn Samson around. "My husband and I are very close."

He lifted one brow and muttered under his breath, "Don't seem so close to me…bitch."

She froze and looked back at him. "What'd you just say?"

He immediately let his jaw drop in defense, "Aw, you misheard me! I was…"

"Get your ass the hell off my property!" she shouted, lifting one arm to point towards the horizon. When he didn't move, but instead squared his jaw, she sighed through her nose and quickly took her pistol from its holster. "Both of you," she said, gesturing to the other man as well, who was straightening from being stooped. "Now. You are no longer employed by the Morgan family."

They both slowly lifted their hands, and though Bellamy took an extra second to glare at her, they began to do exactly as she'd demanded.

"I don't ever wanna see your faces back here," she added, keeping her pistol pointed at them. When she was sure they were gone, she holstered it and turned back in the direction she'd come.

As she took Samson at a trot, she found herself dwelling not on the conflict the interaction had ended with, but on the tense overture that had occurred just before.

She was no child. She knew exactly what the man's aim had been in making such overt advances, hidden beneath a seemingly innocent offer. And he'd known she'd be able to decipher it. It was that simple fact—that he'd been unafraid to risk it, on the chance that she found herself 'locked' in a dissatisfactory marriage—that kept her mind snagged. That he'd seen something, in his time at the ranch. Something between the two of them—or a lack of something, even—that he thought might represent a distance. Indeed, he'd even said it out loud, that he hadn't perceived them to be close.

If she were honest with herself, it had been that, more than the slur, that had compelled her to require him to remove himself.

The thought of being intimate with any other man besides Arthur in any way—emotionally, spiritually, or physically—thoroughly disgusted her. She couldn't even bring herself to imagine experiencing the blissful sensations of lovemaking in the arms of anyone else, and she didn't want to. But it wasn't just that; it was the deep closeness that she'd felt the lovemaking sprang forth from, that she longed for. At least, it had always been that way on her side. And she'd always felt that lovemaking knitted them even closer together, somehow.

Perhaps it was silly, perhaps it had always been nothing more to him than fooling around.

No. No, she knew Arthur. He'd never treat her so—use her and play with her heart. No, she knew Arthur like she knew the skin on the back of her own hand.

She paused and looked down once more at her leather-gloved hands as she held the reins loosely.

She thought of Arthur, and where she knew he was at that moment. She thought of how she couldn't say for sure that he cared whether or not she were unfaithful.

It was that thought that blurred her vision and sent a painful lump into her throat. And rather than going to retrieve Hadassah, she immediately turned Samson towards the homestead and spurred him into a canter.

When she arrived at the porch, she hopped from the saddle, ran up the steps and inside, and began frantically pacing back and forth across the sitting room.

"Arthur," she sniffed to herself as she tore off her gloves and tossed them on the floor, "Arthur, you know I love you. You know I do. With all my heart. I meant what I said on our wedding day, and I meant it forever," she gestured firmly. "But Arthur, you just… I just have to know, I have to know…" she whimpered, bringing her hands to her forehead. "Do you love me, or not? Just tell me. Once and for all, just tell me."

She slid her hands down over the rest of her face. "I have to know, I have to know!" she shouted, finally grabbing a nearby shoulder-height bookshelf and jostling it as if it were him, with a strength in her frustration that she hadn't realized she'd had.

Through her tears and sniffling, she was alerted to the sound of something dropping and looked down to see one of their shared journals, an earlier one in their series of filled journals over the years. This one had been finished quite a few years ago—it was one of their first together. And for the life of her, she couldn't seem to remember whether she or Arthur had closed it and set it on the shelf with the others.

Now there it sat on the floor, opened to the two pages closest to the back binding—two pages she'd never laid eyes on before in her life.

As she drew closer, she realized it was a drawing of herself, seemingly one Arthur had done while she'd been asleep. It was a tender portrait—she was clearly naked, with nothing but a sheet over her. He'd taken care to make it lifelike and honest, with her arm draped over the pillow beside her where he usually lay, her hair cascading softly and haphazardly near her cheek, and the side of her breast just peeking above the edge of the sheet.

As she knelt to pick it up, she noticed the date in the top corner—it had been the evening their family had arrived in California, and they'd spent the night in a hotel.

And as her eyes drifted to the bottom of the page, she saw it. Three tiny pieces of insignia that changed her whole world:

A❤ E

Slowly sitting on the sofa with the journal, her eyes filled and ran over with tears as she proceeded to read the accompanying letter he'd written on the page to the right.

At the same time, Arthur was in town having the farrier restore and fit Boadicea's hooves with new shoes at the livery. He'd dropped her off, sat under a tree to eat the lunch Eliza had made him while he waited, and was heading back to the stables to pick her up.

As he did, the liveryman's daughter noticed him walking up from afar off. "Pa, you didn't tell me Mr. Morgan'd come by," she said where she stood at a stall stroking a horse's nose.

"You weren't here when he got here," he chuckled from around the corner.

She watched Arthur saunter towards the mouth of the stables. "I'll bring Boadicea out for him." And when Arthur stepped inside, she was leading Bo forward by the reins with a smile. "She's all ready for ya, Mr. Morgan."

"Thank you kindly," he said with a courteous smile. He looked at Bo and patted the bridge of her nose. "How ya doin', girl? They treat ya good?"

"Surely," the young lady laughed.

"Oh, I'm sure you did, I'm just ribbin' ya," he drawled quietly as he walked around to Bo's side.

She followed around the other side of Bo.

"I know she's getting' a little up in age, but…I've retired her, you know. She hardly ever sees a sprint anymore, 'cept when she wants to," he smiled at her over Bo's back.

She smiled in return. "She's a great gal, and she's still got a lot of life left in her. 'Specially with a master who treats her so well." She watched as he bent slightly at the waist and began lifting her legs one at a time to inspect each shoe.

"You know, shoein' never was somethin' I learned along the way. Just never picked it up. I been tryin' to learn though. Nippin' and raspin', blacksmithin' and every other kinda thing. There's a whole lot to it," he chuckled.

She smiled as she watched him take one of Bo's back hooves in his hand and note the way it had been cleaned and filed before the new shoe had been hot-footed and nailed on. "Pa's been doin' it for years."

She stood beside him and carefully took Bo's foot from him at her ankle. "See, this is the sole," she said, pointing out some of the parts of her hoof. "This is the bar, and this is the hoof wall. And this is what we call the frog, see?" she said quietly, nearing a whisper. "I don't know why it's called that," she glanced up at him with a laugh.

With his eyes still on Bo's hoof, he smiled and brushed his fingertips over the sole, focusing on committing those other words to memory. Bar, hoof wall, frog. Not at all realizing how close the two of them needed to be to share her hoof in their hands.

And suddenly he felt her hand resting so free and easy on the lowest part of the small of his back, just above his rear. The barest touch, and he was recoiling, yanking away and looking down at her like she was the bloody leftovers of a predatory feast he'd stumbled upon somewhere in the forest.

She simply looked up at him with a day-dreamy grin.

And still, he recoiled. From the overt suggestiveness of the contact. The forward advance with no provocation.

The fact that Eliza had been right.

That she'd seen it, in any number of their interactions when she'd been present. That she'd cared to notice it, and when he couldn't have believed himself desirable. And, with an inward alarm, she'd done her best to warn him. To keep what was rightfully hers. What she wanted.

Without another word to the young woman, he mounted Bo and spurred her to a full-on gallop, fleeing danger and flying home to his love.

His love. He did love her. He always had. He'd even always known. But now he'd tell her. Now she'd know too. There was nothing in the world that could stop him. Now she'd never have to worry again.

Now he'd tell her.

Restraining himself to keeping Bo at an easy trot as long as they were on an incline up the mountain, he spurred her back to a gallop when the ground leveled out again. When they made it to the ranch, they sped through the archway, and he kept an eye out for her. When he didn't see her anywhere about the place, he took Bo to the homestead porch, where she nearly skidded to a stop.

Lurching in the saddle, he hopped down, took the steps by twos, and burst through the front door to see her on the sitting room sofa, hunched over a book.

She looked up at him with glistening tears streaming down her cheeks, the sunlight from the open doorway behind him illuminating her green eyes.

When he caught a glimpse of the drawing, he knew exactly which journal it was, which page.

Keeping his eyes on hers, he simply nodded and rushed to her as she stood. He quickly took her face in both hands and kissed her passionately as she wept and gasped for breath.

"I knew it!" she tried to say between the smacks of their kisses, but it came out more like a cry. "I knew it all alo-ho-oong!"

"I know you did," he said between kisses, hasty again for her mouth as he took her in his arms. "I know you did."

He knew as he felt her arm come under his, felt her hand rest on his back, felt her wet tears against his own cheeks and her hiccups, that she was weak in the sense that her big heart was absolutely overcome with emotion. But at the very same time, she was still the strongest person he knew. She was fighting, not through or in spite of the emotions, but to work them into every physical move she made. Fighting to show him her love. All the while, trusting him to the uttermost—that he'd see her in her vulnerable state and not only accept her in all her facets, but treasure her.

And he felt all the very same things.

"What I should've written there, sweetheart," he said before tilting his head to the right just a bit and letting his bottom lip drift to the far corner of her mouth for a full kiss, "is that I always will." Another deep kiss, though quick and clicking as he drew his lips away to say again, "I always will."

Her brows drew up tight as her tears continued to stream down, and she whimpered into his mouth.

He stepped forward, gently leading her to walk backwards in the direction of the master bedroom, knowing neither of them wanted to break their kisses. As they went, she stumbled just a bit, and her hands going up into his hair knocked his hat off onto the floor before they'd made it to their room.

Arthur fumbled for the doorknob, and as the door gave way, they quick-stepped back into the room, and he swung it closed and locked it behind them.

He quickly returned to her, bringing his big hands to her face under her jaw as he kissed her and gently pressed her back to the wall in the process. Before long their hasty hands were on each other's collars, traveling down to undo the buttons of the other's shirt.

As his thumbs hastily flicked each of her buttons from their holes, he prepared himself for the sights of her beautiful chest, the freckles and beauty marks he knew so well, the frills on the edges of her chemise and undergarments. What he'd completely forgotten was the beloved sapphire, and as he tossed each placket of her button-down aside, there it was. Tried and true where it hung against her skin. Never voluntarily removed from her body, since the day he'd first fastened it to her.

He was a bit captivated for a moment, watching it twinkle in the sunlight that streamed in from their bedroom window, against her softly heaving chest. For the briefest, most fleeting moment, something quiet in him wanted to leave her that way—gasping for breath against the wall, so beautiful as she still was to him, framed by an open, rumpled work shirt that was quickly falling away from her shoulders.

But as his left hand rose to her chest, his fingertip touching the surface of the precious stone before his palm slid up over the place her heart resided, that feeling utterly vanished. He watched her close her eyes the moment his skin met hers, and he realized what he'd already known: it was being joined, in all things, that she so dearly longed for. They both longed for.

As he lifted his hand to the side of her face, she pressed her cheek into the pocket of his palm and kissed his wrist, his palm, until her lips made it to the wedding band on his ring finger. Her big green eyes flashed up at him, and he quickly closed the space between them again, kissing her as both their sets of hands flew down to each other's belt buckles, hurrying to undo them and unbutton their pants.

What followed was a breathless flurry of impatiently tugging shirts from their tucked places and tossing them away, pushing undergarments from shoulders and down across arms as they slipped to the floor, yanking off boots and flinging them aside, unfastening a pale blue ribbon from its braid to let the golden hair cascade freely. Arms and hands and fingers clutching and clasping tight once they were finally bared to each other. And somewhere in the mix, Eliza had had the wherewithal to twist the knob above the bathtub's faucet.

So the rushing sound of warm water played somewhere in the far-off distance when his chin eagerly hitched forward a couple times for her as she pulled away from his kiss to look once more at him. Her husband, still so striking as he began to mature. The one who'd journeyed with her through life over the years. The one who knew her. The one, she knew now, who loved her.

As he stood there and watched her every move, she brought her hand over his chest and trailed a path with her fingers down over his torso, venturing lower until her fingertips were softly tracing a vein in his lower abdomen. She brought the same hand down to savor the dimple in the side of his pert rear, the solid, sturdy muscles of his hip, finally sliding her palm back up to the planes of his broad chest.

He took her hand then, where it rested on his chest. And when she reached her fingers up for the hair dangling near his forehead, hungrily leaning forward for his mouth, he met her with a renewed eagerness.

It was several minutes later that found them cemented together in the hot water of the bathtub, Eliza in his lap with her legs spread and wrapped around him, Arthur sitting up with his hands to her bare back, eyes closed and kissing each other with an unhindered passion.

When a knock suddenly sounded on the bedroom door, and they heard Isaac call, "Ma, you there?" Eliza started all at once with a little jump, immediately responding, "Y-yes?!" as the bathwater sloshed around her.

Arthur let his eyes grow wide, his brows flattening in disbelief as he tilted his jaw to the left and stared at her.

The two of them communicating without a word, she looked back at him with a tight grin and a nervous, apologetic bite of her lip. Only after his glare did she realize that if she'd simply been able to keep quiet, Isaac would've been none-the-wiser to their presence.

"Have you seen Pa?" Isaac asked from the other side of the door.

Eliza let out an almost silent chuff of air as she slid her hand up to her temple and across her forehead and Arthur wagged his head. "I-I thought you were s'posed to be at work, sweetie?"

"Well, yeah, but…my gloves busted, and the day's only half over. Still got lots of crates to move, and we won't get our order for another pair in 'til next week," he said. "I was wonderin' if he's got his work gloves on 'im, and if I could borrow 'em."

Eliza glanced at Arthur's gloves where they lay on the floor, her voice sliding in time with her panicked half-frown. "Oh… No, he doesn't have his gloves on him…"

Arthur grimaced as if he'd bitten from a lemon and frantically waved, signaling her get him off their backs.

"Wait. Wait, so you've seen him? Where is he?"

Watching her gnaw at her lip and knowing her thoughts, Arthur slowly shook his head.

She strained in a whisper, "I've never lied to him before!"

His eyes grew wide, and he whispered in return, "What're you gonna tell him—'he's inside me'?"

Eliza immediately gasped and had to restrain her laughter. "Sh-shh-shhhh!"

"You shh!" Arthur smiled bright at the sight of her silent laughter.

They shushed each other back and forth, Eliza fighting silent wheezes, until he quickly caught her mouth with his, the water sloshing for a moment again from their movement.

When Isaac thought he heard something, his brows came together, and he inclined his ear to the door. "Ma? You know where he is? Can't seem to find him anywhere on the ranch. And his hat's here on the floor."

By then Arthur had brought his mouth down to her neck under her jaw, and Eliza's eyes had all but rolled back into her head at the suction of his passionate kisses there.

"Oh… Oh, god…" she whimpered and whined.

"Ma?" Isaac asked once more.

Arthur drew away and noted the drowsy cupidity across Eliza's face, the way her head was wanting to loll forward just a bit. And he finally looked at the closed door with a fed up half-frown. "We're havin' ourselves a bath," he called.

"Pa— W-what? You're both in the bath?! E-augh!" Isaac guffawed.

"Gettin' to work on those brothers and sisters you said you wanted!" Arthur said with a smirk.

At that, Eliza snapped awake and opened her eyes wide to look at him. "What'd you just say?"

"Blech! Yack! Next time, just don't respond!" Isaac was saying.

"W-what was that you said?" Eliza tried to ask again.

"Serves ya right, now leave us be!" Arthur was saying.

But Eliza couldn't take her eyes off him. "Arthur," she said softly with drawn brows as she tried to wrangle his attention again by looking into his eyes, "what'd you just say?"

His smirk grew into a grin as he looked back at her and said quietly, "You heard me."

Her eyes began to fill as she smiled brighter and brighter until he finally kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

And after, they both sat quiet and still, Arthur leaning back against the tub and Eliza with her eyes closed and her right cheek resting softly on his chest. Just breathing in each other's closeness, for as long as possible.

He couldn't help but grin as he looked down at her and rubbed her back. "Ready to get out yet?"

Barely moving, she lifted her shoulder and cuddled in even closer to him. "Don't ask me to let go, Arthur," she whispered. "Not now."

His grin brightened a moment. "I ain't."

Without opening her eyes, she slowly grinned.

When Arthur stood from the water, she stood with him. And as they stepped out from the tub together one leg at a time, she held fast to him, letting no space come between them and making the transition just a little clunky. And it struck him, that the way she clung to him was both very childlike, and very adult, somehow.

Arthur took a towel and made measly efforts to dry them both while they remained in each other's tight embrace. And still holding onto each other, they walked to the bed together and lied down on their sides facing each other.

For a long time they remained quiet, feeling the leftover water droplets on their skin gradually cool and dry against the sheets, Arthur reaching up to brush her hair back from her forehead, Eliza running her thumb across his plump bottom lip, closing her eyes and opening them to simply look at him.

And when he met her green eyes, he could read her thoughts there. "You wanna know," he began ever so quietly, using a volume just loud enough to reach her ears and nothing more, "my thoughts for you. What they're like."

She spoke not a word but kept her eyes on him.

He took a breath to steady himself, knowing he'd have to dig deep for words that resided so deep in his heart. When he finally spoke, his words were slow, measured, and quiet.

"You're a part of me. Almost more a part of me than myself," he said, covering her hand on his chest. "When I think about you, Eliza…" he looked up at the ceiling and shook his head with a grin, "everything in me is found. Somethin' wants to leap out from my chest," he chuckled as he looked back at her face. "Because I'm home. Wherever you are, I'm home." He looked into her quickly filling eyes. "And when I hold you in my hands…" he said, going into an even deeper whisper as he brought a hand to her bare back, "I know I've got a treasure more precious than anything this world could ever give me."

As he maintained her gaze, he brought the same hand up and ever so gently stroked the top of her soft cheek with the back of his first finger, brushing away some of her drying blonde hair as he did. "Emerald eyes…" he breathed, "the last thing I hope I see before I die."

Her expression finally crumpled, and she brought her hand to rest on the side of his face as she drew closer, until they were breathing the very same breath. "Arthur…"

And as they breathed their desperate confessions of love back and forth to each other, there was Arthur in the corner, watching with deeply sagging eyes and a painful lump in his throat. He finally brought a hand over his forehead and eyes and rubbed hard.

When he pulled it away though, the scene had changed entirely.

All four members of the family were at the table for supper one evening not many days later, passing plates covered with food back and forth to each other.

"Ma?" Isaac finally broke the quiet. "How did pa ask you to marry 'im?"

She tilted her head in thought as she took a bowl of green beans from him and finally smiled. "He didn't use so many words to ask, actually," she chuckled. "He pulled out the ring and slid it on my finger while we were in the middle of a kiss."

"Oh, in the middle of a kiss, huh…" Isaac moved his bite of food around to his cheek, throwing a brief glance his father's way before looking down at his plate. "Pa was twenty-four when you and he first met, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"And you were nineteen?"

"That's right," she smiled as she scooped some green beans onto her plate. "Why?"

"Oh, ah, I's just wonderin'…what was a usual age for girls to've met their beaus and married their husbands, is all," he shrugged one shoulder.

Passing the bowl of green beans to Hope at her left, Eliza's brows came together for a fleeting moment as she looked down the other end of the table to meet her husband's eyes.

"Well…" Arthur said from his spot hunched over his plate as he munched a mouthful, "it's all right for you to give thought to all that, Isaac, but…not every girl needs a beau or a husband. Ain't that right, Hope baby?"

Eliza kept quiet but let her eyes drift between them.

"What you mean by that?" Hope asked simply.

"Well… You ain't got a beau anywhere on the horizon, right? Don't have any plans to go down that road," her father said.

"Ohhh. Nope," she sang sweetly, her long blonde curls jostling as she shook her head a bit.

Eliza watched Arthur give a single, strong nod as he looked back at his food. And when she noticed Hope's upward gaze and the way she touched her fork to her lips, she also noticed that it flew completely under Arthur's notice.

"Unless Brett Walker asks me to the ice cream social, of course," Hope suddenly said, promptly going back to the food on her plate without a second thought.

Eliza had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into laughter when Arthur's eyes shot wide and he sat up and looked at Hope.

"OhhhhHHHH!" Isaac said with rising volume and a widening grin where he sat across from Hope.

"What!" Arthur started in. "What're you talkin' about? You're thirteen years old!"

"What, what's wrong?" Hope was saying quietly. "It's only an ice cream social."

"Brett Walker, who the— W-what— 'Cause you're my babygirl, that's why!" Arthur said over her voice. "You ain't ever supposed to have a beau, you ain't ever allowed to get married," he said, with more panic than firmness in his tone as he cut the air with his hand to accentuate each phrase.

"Wh— Wait," Hope paused and looked at him with a quizzical arch to one brow and a squint. "Don't you ever want grandkids?"

"Well… sure!" Arthur shrugged both shoulders and held his palms out. "But not from you! They can come from Isaac and his woman!" he gestured with a thumb to Isaac.

Hope gasped with wide eyes at Isaac. "You got a woman?!"

"N— Nooooooo…" Isaac began low and loud, lifting his hands in defense, beginning to pat the air to defuse Hope's shock and rising excitement, as he'd done so many times as a little boy. "I don't got a woman yet. I don't got a woman yet."

"Yet!" Hope shouted.

And the near indecipherable chaos between the two immediately erupted as they spoke over each other, their loud volumes a hallmark of the way they often teased each other, rather than a harbinger of fighting and arguing.

And all the while Eliza's laughter was bubbling up out of her as she watched her husband slump a little in his chair and let his forehead fall towards his fingertips with a bittersweet, resigned look written all across his eyes and brows. His eyes carried the same look when they met hers over the hubbub between them from across the table. But when he saw her sweetly and slowly shaking her head, the way she bit her lip and the jostling of her shoulders from laughter, the vein rising in her forehead, and the empathetic, knowing look in her eyes, he couldn't help but smile warmly.

The passage of time—how it wouldn't slow, and all it left behind and brought with it. They both knew well that bittersweet was exactly what it was.

Where Arthur stood to the side, he watched the scene shift and change as the playful shouting slowly fell away, until he was looking at another day in the homestead, several weeks later.

During a day of rest, Isaac, Hope, and his older self were at the dining table taking a much-needed break from grounds work to play a few hands of rummy.

"Hey, I was thinkin' of lunging Ellie behind me and Sprite later today. You think she's ready?" Hope asked her father.

"Sure," he said, resting his forearm on the table from having his hand on his chin. "Probably healed up enough. Be nice for her to get some exercise, stretch her legs a bit."

"What you think, Mama?" Hope called down the hall to the bedroom where her mother was. When she didn't get an answer, she set her cards down and walked to the open bedroom door to see her mother in a day gown standing before an open chest, rummaging through it and humming to herself. "Mama?"

Hope watched as her mother continued to bend at the waist and pull little pieces of clothing out of the chest. Once she even held one up, clucked her tongue at it with a low, "Aw," and brought it to her chest before bending to rummage through the chest again.

It took a moment for Hope to realize they were her and her brother's baby clothes—onesies, sleepers, booties, and things of the like.

"Wait… Isaac! Get over here!" Hope frantically called.

At the sound of Hope's voice, her mother looked up at her, the tiny clothes still held to her chest.

Isaac rushed to Hope's side, their father not far behind.

"Wait, wait…" Hope said slowly and quietly, gently dabbing a finger in her mother's direction. "Are you… Are you havin' a baby?"

Eliza's eyes darted to Arthur, who was rubbing the back of his neck with lifted brows and a relaxed grin. As she looked back at Hope and Isaac, she bit her lip tight to try to keep her own grin down. But it burst into a full smile as she quickly nodded and took a breath.

Hope needed only a moment to process before her eyes grew wide and she erupted into a squealing, ecstatic shriek.

Arthur let out an airy chuckle as he dropped his hand. "Well, there goes the big surprise."

Isaac's grin slowly grew across his mouth as he stood there a bit dumbfounded.

But Hope was verging on a hysterical conniption. "I'm gonna be a big sister! I'm gonna be a big sister!" she screamed as she threw her arms around her mother's neck.

Eliza received her with loving arms as she beamed over at the boys.

Isaac finally came over and tenderly joined in hugging his mother. "Mama..."

Again the scene morphed and shifted before Arthur until it was clearly the day of Eliza's delivery; there was low moaning and groaning coming from the master bedroom as Hope stood in the sitting room worrying her bottom lip and Isaac paced across the floor beside her with his hat in his hands.

Finally Hope walked down the hall, and Isaac perked up to follow her as she opened the bedroom door to stick her head in and have a peek.

"How's it seem to be goin' in there?" Isaac asked her, beginning to lean towards the opening of the door.

But she quickly straightened and closed the door behind her. "Uh, you don't wanna look in there."

"What? Why?"

"'Cause Mama's buck naked! She's sittin' on the edge of the stool, and Papa's rubbin' her lower back!"

Isaac had long since leaned backwards a bit and let his eyelids drift half-mast as he puckered an assuring frown and waved a hand. "'Buck naked' was all you had to say."

Hours seemed to go by, taking them into the evening as they remained in the sitting room, finally withdrawn to the sofas, with the sound of their mother's groans, strains, and yelps in the distance.

Isaac was sitting forward with both elbows on his knees, one hand rubbing the back of his head, the other hand clutching and bunching his felt broad-brimmed hat.

Sitting with a book in her lap to try to distract herself, Hope smirked and shook her head at him. "Bubbie, you're never gonna get that hat back to its rightful shape."

He glanced up at her and smirked in return before looking back down at the crumpled hat. "Good thing it's my no-good work hat," he chuckled. He paused and looked back up at her. "Been a while since you called me that...Hopie."

She looked up from her book at him, and a smile grew on her face.

It was when they suddenly heard a different kind of cry arise—a tiny, bleating wail—that they both perked up and turned to look back at the room before both looking back at each other with hopeful smiles.

After about another half hour, the bedroom door finally opened, and their father's voice quietly called for them.

As he stood in the corner of the hall taking in only one side of the scene, Arthur watched as the children walked down the hall together and in they went with bright smiles, Hope first, and Isaac right behind her with his hat still in his hands.

"Look at you, Pa! You're beamin' ear-to-ear!" he could hear Isaac say.

"Shh-sh-shhh! Keep it down," quickly followed, with a chuckle tacked on the end.

Just as Arthur took a step to follow them into the room, with a blink of his eyes the scene changed once more on him.

The house was bright with sunlight streaking in through the windows one morning, and he watched Isaac and Hope where they stood in the dining room busying themselves with cooking and breakfast preparations.

Isaac was at the iron stove, and when he laid strips of bacon across the cast-iron skillet, the sounds of sizzling and crackling immediately filled the air.

Standing beside him in her pale green day dress, Hope was cracking eggs into a bowl and quickly scrambling them with a fork.

The two of them were a seamless team in their breakfast efforts, needing scarcely a word between them, and Arthur couldn't help but smile at the sight.

When suddenly a very small blonde-headed child silently walked out from the hallway in nothing but a white diaper, Arthur's eyes grew wide.

"Hey, baby..." Hope said softly with a bright smile when she noticed the new addition to the room. Taking note of the groggy eye-rubbing, she asked, "D'you just wake up?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Did Mama already change your diaper?"

"Um, Dada."

"Dada did?"

"Yeah."

"Are they still gettin' up?" she asked with a knowing grin.

"Yeah."

"You hungry?"

"Yeah. Um, lots," the child nodded grandly, rubbing their sweet little pot-belly tummy.

"Lotsa hungry? Ohhh... Let's get you some breakfast," Hope said as she walked over, scooped the child up, and settled them on her hip. "Wanna help me pick the leaves off the strawberries?"

"Mm-hmm..." the child responded with one finger in their mouth and the other arm draped contentedly on the back of Hope's shoulder.

But when Hope turned and Arthur tried to get a look at the child's face, his brows came together, and he pulled back at the sight—there was no face. At least, not for him. For him, the child's face was completely blank, an empty, blurry space.

Unable to move, he followed Hope with his eyes, watching as she sat at the table before a bowl of berries with the child in her lap.

The little one wasted no time picking up a strawberry and munching on it. "Bubbie," Arthur could hear them say. "Where Bubbie?"

"Bubbie, _'s callin' for ya," Hope said with a smile. But for Arthur, it was like her voice had been all but smudged out when she said the child's name.

"Here I am," Isaac turned with a bright smile. "Yep, I'm your bubbie!"

"Oh, no, no!" Arthur protested with an incredulous grumble. "Naw, this ain't right!"

"Wants to share a strawberry with you," Hope sang as the little one lifted a berry to Isaac.

"Ohh, yummy, thank you," Isaac said.

"What do you say?" Hope said to the child. "Can you say 'you're welcome'?"

"Yah weh-cah," the little one said.

"Is it—Is it a boy or a girl?" Arthur said frantically. "What's their name?"

Eliza and his older self emerged from the hallway with bright smiles.

"G'mornin', all!" Eliza sang.

"Smells good out here," Arthur grinned.

"Takin' care a' my baby?" Eliza said.

"Oh yeah," Hope said with a smirk and a bump of her little sibling on her thigh. "We got berries."

"Berries?! Oo, yummy! C'mere, baby!" she smiled, scooping up her youngest by the underarms, kissing them over and over on their soft, pudgy cheek, and bringing them onto her hip.

The little one immediately held out their half-eaten strawberry to her, and she took a bite. "Mmm, you're so good at sharing, sweet baby!"

"Oh, come on!" Arthur shouted in an aggravated tone. "This is my dream! Show me their face, tell me their name!"

The little one looked over at their father and called, "Dada."

"You wanna go see Dada?" Eliza said softly.

"C'mere, little one. Here we go," Arthur said as their youngest leaned forward and held their arms out for him, and Arthur took them from Eliza's arms and pulled them onto his own hip.

The little one looked over at Eliza. "Mama."

"My turn again? Yay!" she said with a smile as she reached out for them and took them into her arms.

They looked back over at Arthur with a tight, burgeoning grin. "Dada."

"My baby," Arthur growled low as he quickly took them back into his own arms.

The little one immediately smiled bright and let out a wild, tinkling cackle that finally faded with deep, low breaths. They looked over at Eliza with a bright smile. "Mama."

"My baby!" she said, unable to keep from laughing as she quickly pulled them back onto her hip.

And again, the little one threw their head back and let out a squealing cackle.

"No, no, no..." Arthur breathed with his brows drawn tight and a panicked feeling rising in his chest as he watched them all smile and laugh. "Don't leave me out. Please… Don't leave me behind..."

He gazed at all of them, clearly so content, free, peaceful, and overjoyed in each other's presence.

When the little one was once again back in his older self's arms, he watched him kiss their neck and toss them up into the air, laughing heartily when the little one giggled and cackled.

And before the babe came back down into his arms, Arthur woke up.

The pattering sound of rain on his tent filled his ears, and only the dark of night surrounded him.

Eliza. Isaac. Hope. Their faces at all different ages as they smiled and laughed were overlaid against the backdrop of the inside of the top of his tent. And all he could think about was the fact that he was lying on the same cold, hard Earth that they were all three buried in.

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Dearest Readers,

We've been making our way to this chapter for a long time, and, though we still have quite a few chapters to go in the work, I cannot believe we're finally here. I've had some scenes in this chapter (e.g. Arthur & Isaac's convo at the overlook) written for a long time. And I've had all of the scenes tucked in my heart for a long time. I hope it touched yours.

Just so I can rest easy, I want to be sure to mention once more that it's never been my intention to distract from the tragedy of the simple fact that Arthur lost Isaac & Eliza, and that their loss is tragedy enough. One of my aims with this work has been to explore the thoughts of the additional potential for happiness and healthiness lost there.

I am extremely nervous/excited about the next few chapters. I have no idea what you guys will think of them. But hopefully it'll be ok and you'll enjoy them.

I've created a poll of sorts for you guys! This is a very special one, bc I dumped all the pictures of Eliza and Isaac from the whole series so far into one place. As a bonus, I also included some picrews of Eliza at the end!

It's just a couple questions, meant for me to hear your honest and sincere thoughts, no matter how brief or long. forms . gle /9H9wZBHHdgeEYGTH7 (Remove all spaces when you copy and paste it into the browser.)

I'm fairly certain this is the last chapter that will be this long, so if that makes it tough to read for you, please know that there shouldn't be another chapter this long!

I've been contemplating recently how amazing it is that anyone has followed this series to this point. I'm never sure whether anyone is still around on this site, but if you are, thank you—yep, you!—so so much. Each of my readers are the sweetest!

Love to all,
Rosie