PART 2 — THE FIRST TIME HE CALLED HER MAMA

“Ma…”

The sound was barely more than a breath.

Maeve froze.

Toby’s feverish fingers тιԍнтened around her bruised wrist. His eyes remained half-closed, and his little face was flushed beneath the tangled hair.

“Ma…”

Tess lifted her head from Maeve’s lap.

For three weeks, Maeve had heard Toby cry, shout, and occasionally laugh. She had heard him call for his sister and whisper to himself beneath the table.

But she had never heard him call for anyone else.

Maeve swallowed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I’m here.”

She did not correct him.

She did not tell him she wasn’t his mother.

She simply dipped a clean cloth into cool water and laid it across his forehead.

The night seemed endless.

She kept the fire alive, changed the cloth whenever it grew warm, and offered Toby small sips of water when he woke. Tess refused to leave her side.

Every so often, the little girl asked the same question.

“Will Toby go away?”

Maeve looked at the sleeping boy.

“No. We’re going to keep looking after him.”

“But Mama went away.”

Maeve’s hand stopped.

“What happened to your mama, Tess?”

The little girl stared at the fire.

“She went to get medicine.”

“And?”

“Papa said she’d come back.”

Maeve waited, but Tess said nothing more.

A little before dawn, Toby’s breathing became easier. His fever had begun to settle, though Maeve knew he still needed proper medical attention.

When Gideon finally returned, he came through the door carrying a bundle of rabbits.

He stopped at once.

The cabin was quiet except for the crackling fire.

Maeve sat beside Toby, exhausted, with Tess asleep against her shoulder.

“What happened?” Gideon asked.

“Toby had a fever. A bad one.”

Gideon dropped the bundle onto the table and crossed the room. He knelt beside his son, pressing a hand against his forehead.

“Lord above…”

“He’s cooler now,” Maeve said. “But we need a doctor. I don’t know what caused it.”

Gideon looked at her.

“You stayed up all night?”

“Of course.”

“You should’ve sent for me.”

“You weren’t here.”

He looked toward the window, where the first pale light of morning had appeared.

Then he looked at the children.

“Thank you,” he said.

It was the first time Maeve had heard those words from him.

She nodded, too tired to answer.

Gideon took the horses out again before breakfast, riding down the mountain to fetch Dr. Bell.

He returned several hours later with the doctor and a small bag of medicine.

The doctor examined Toby carefully and said the child needed rest, fluids, and close watching. He also warned Gideon that the boy’s weakness was not something to ignore.

When the examination was over, Dr. Bell drew Gideon aside.

“Those children have been through more than you realize,” he said quietly.

Gideon looked toward the kitchen.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

The older man glanced at Maeve, who was warming broth over the stove.

“Children don’t forget being hungry,” the doctor continued. “And they don’t forget being frightened. You can’t repair everything with a clean bed and a full bowl.”

Gideon lowered his eyes.

After the doctor left, he stood outside for a long time.

Maeve found him near the woodpile that afternoon.

“You should eat,” she said.

“I’ve eaten.”

“Coffee isn’t supper.”

He almost smiled.

“Always this stubborn?”

“Only when people need feeding.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Gideon said, “Their mother died last winter.”

Maeve looked at him.

“I thought Tess said she went for medicine.”

“She was taken to the settlement when the fever started. She died there. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them properly.”

“Why not?”

He stared at the snow.

“Because I didn’t know how to explain that their mother wasn’t coming home.”

Maeve understood then.

The empty bedroll. The little wooden cup beside the hearth. The way Tess stared at the road whenever footsteps sounded outside.

Gideon had not simply neglected his children.

He had been living inside his grief, leaving them to live inside it, too.

“Children need the truth,” Maeve said gently. “Even when it hurts.”

Gideon nodded, though his face тιԍнтened.

That evening, he sat with Toby and Tess beside the fire.

He told them their mother had been very ill, and that she had died. He explained that she had not abandoned them and that nothing they had done had caused it.

Tess cried quietly.

Toby said nothing.

But when Gideon opened his arms, both children moved toward him.

Maeve turned away to give them privacy.

And for the first time since arriving at the cabin, Gideon Reed cried.

The next morning, Maeve discovered something unexpected.

A small wooden box had been placed beside her satchel.

Inside lay a pair of warm gloves, a new wool shawl, and a folded note.

Your wages for the first month. You have earned every cent. —Gideon.

Maeve counted the money twice.

It was more than she had ever held at once.

She found Gideon outside repairing a fence.

“You paid me too much.”

“No.”

“I haven’t been here a full month.”

“You’ve worked every day.”

“I was traded for two mules. I didn’t think—”

“Don’t say that again.”

His voice was firm, but not angry.

“You weren’t worth two mules, Maeve. You were worth more than the man who traded you could understand.”

She looked down at the money.

“I don’t know what to do with this.”

“Keep it. Save it. Spend it. It’s yours.”

For the first time, Maeve began to imagine a future that belonged to her.

But that future was interrupted two days later.

A rider appeared at the cabin shortly before sunset.

He was a thin man with a gray scarf and a frightened expression.

“I’m looking for Gideon Reed.”

Gideon stepped outside.

“Found him.”

The stranger glanced toward the window.

“I’m from Red Creek. I have a message about the children.”

Gideon’s face changed.

“What message?”

The rider pulled a folded document from his coat.

“Someone’s asking questions about Toby and Tess. Says their mother left instructions before she died.”

Gideon took the paper.

Maeve watched from the doorway as he read it.

The color drained from his face.

“What is it?” she asked.

He folded the document.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

But later, when Maeve went to put the children to bed, she noticed that Gideon had locked the wooden box where he kept his papers.

And beneath the door, she saw a second envelope.

It carried the name of a woman Maeve had never heard before.

Mrs. Eleanor Whitaker.