simple words relayed an understanding far wiser than her years. With a solemn expression, Jemma studied him. Nate got the impression she was measuring his worth, waiting for a response. He found himself not wanting to disappoint her.
“I understand.”
“Good.” The child turned around and scurried over to Alice, crawling up into the older woman’s lap.
Without another word, Nate headed out into the night. Worry quickened his steps on the unfamiliar dark path but he reached the barn safely. Once there he blew out the lantern and eased open a door, slipping inside.
One swift glance down the length of the barn revealed the boys standing in front of Meadowlark’s stall. Nate moved closer quietly, trying not to let them know he was there. He stepped up onto a hay bale for a better vantage point next. The foal lay in a nest of straw in a corner of the stall while the mare stood against the door. Only the murmur of voices and the soft nickers received in response were clear but he didn’t need to know what they were saying. All that mattered was they were safe.
Finding comfort in the company of horses was something Nate identified with strongly. Loath to disturb them, he remained in the shadows, allowing the boys a measure of privacy. They stayed for some time but when they finally shuffled by him, their tears had dried.
Nate trailed them home. Once they’d slipped safely inside, he relit the lantern and returned to the barn. There he spent a few moments with Jack, giving him affection, then did one final check on all the animals before returning to the house. Alice answered his soft knock, opening the door for him. The room was still almost eerily quiet and not one child, or Hannah, was in sight.
Assuming the young woman was settling the children down for the night, Nate followed Alice to some chairs, taken from by the table, near the fire. He waited until she sat before taking a seat himself.
For a moment, Nate studied the woman, who was like a second mother to him, while he figured out the best way to start what promised to be a hard conversation. Her hands clasped together in her lap surprised him. She always had a project. Even at the end of a difficult day, he’d seen her sewing or knitting. Once he’d asked her why she didn’t rest and she’d said it was her way of relaxing. At fifteen he’d found her answer odd, now an adult, he understood.
“Tell me.” His words were simple, delivered in a kind tone.
Her sigh, almost soundless, washed over him with a wave of emotion. “I can’t get through to him. He won’t listen to me.”
Nate kept his jaw from dropping with effort but couldn’t help shaking his head. Although he’d witnessed the sorry state of the man himself, her statement was hard to accept. Jed had always been especially close to his mother. He treated her with the utmost respect. Even after he moved away, a grown man, he’d returned to the Bar 7 as often to visit as to get advice because he genuinely valued Alice’s opinion.
“Hard to believe?”
“Yes.”
“For me too.”
“What changed?”
“What hasn’t?” Heart-deep sorrow filled her eyes, then she shifted her gaze from his to look at the fire.
“I noticed he’d been drinking at Bessie’s funeral. I thought… I figured he was grieving…”
“He was and is.”
“Grieving or drinking?”
“Yes.”
Nate reached out, covered her hands with his and gave a gentle, comforting squeeze. The creak of a door opening drifted to him. He looked over to see Hannah stepping into the room. Her expression took on a worried cast when the young woman noticed them. She started to turn around.
“Please stay.” Alice’s request made Hannah change course, cross the space to the older woman’s side and she knelt beside her.
Concern filled Hannah’s tone. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re not.”
“Are you sure you want me here?”
“It’d be a blessing if you’d help explain what’s happened to my son.”
“All right.”
Nate stood and waved Hannah toward his chair, stepping away when she attempted to decline his offer. He walked off, quickly grabbing another chair and carried it back over. In less than a minute, they sat flanking Alice, each being supportive.
“Jed isn’t… coping well with losing his wife.”
“She’s been gone less than a year. Isn’t that expected?”
Alice smiled sadly. “Grief doesn’t have a time limit. My Harry has been gone twenty years and I miss him every day. It’s fine for him to mourn still. But…”
“His drinking is out of control?” Nate guessed.
“There’s that but…”
The older woman fell silent. After a time it became clear she wasn’t going to continue immediately. Nate looked to Hannah, hoping for assistance. She drew in a deep breath then picked up where Alice had left off.
“It’s beyond normal grieving. Losing Bessie the way he did devastated him.”
“The way he did?”
“You don’t know?”
“Alice was upset and we didn’t want to pry.”
“Evie had confided she was in the family way and Ben was nervous already. I thought it best to not share details,” the housekeeper offered in a whisper.
“It probably was,” Nate assured her. “And I don’t need to know now if it’s going to bother either of you.”
Hannah shifted in her seat, painful memories filling her with restless energy. “It’s still hard to talk about but… I think knowing what happened to Bessie makes it… easier to understand how he is now.”
“You’re sure?”
Over the last several months, a deep friendship had grown between her and Alice. The older woman had no relatives besides those in this house. There was no one who’d help her except, perhaps, the Rolfes, who Alice claimed considered her family. It was important Nate understood the situation. Once he did, Hannah would see if her friend’s faith in those people was justified.
Or not.
“I am.” After another deep, fortifying breath, Hannah began. “Bessie was expecting. She had trouble carrying a baby after John but that day she had made it past the months when she had problems before. She hadn’t been sick in weeks. I thought…”
Alice reached over, taking her hand. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I thought she’d be fine.” Tears welled up and Hannah let them fall. “So Jemma and I went to see my mother. She had been feeling ill for some time. The doctor didn’t know what was wrong with her and I was worried.” She paused, steeling herself for the hardest part. “I should’ve been worried about Bessie too.”
“Hannah,” the older woman chided her softly.
With a shake of her head, Hannah went on. “Jason said after their noon meal Bessie felt tired. Jed took the boys out in the field with him so she could rest. They found her collapsed in the grass on their way home hours later. While Jed carried her home, Jason ran to the nearest neighbor, the Hendersons, for help. She’d miscarried and kept bleeding. Dr. Benton told me that when he arrived, Jed was cradling her, rocking in the chair he’s likely sitting in now. She’d already passed on.”
“I’m sorry.”
Hannah wiped her cheeks with her free hand. “Thank you.”
“You think Jed feels