25
Mary led the way.
She rode the little paint pony Conn had given her.
Behind her, the boys rode in the mule cart with the dog.
She could have ridden alongside them, but she didn’t want to talk. Not now. Not to George.
He was agitated. And she knew why.
He’d come here to take her home.
Now, he was upset, wanting her safe at home, but the decision was hers, not his, and she made it before his arrival.
But she sensed something else in George, a change she had been anticipating. He was growing up, and he wanted to be seen as a man.
That was good and proper, and she was happy to see him not just standing taller but also taking himself more seriously. He was seventeen, after all, not seven. It was past time.
She supposed his slow progression to manhood was partly her fault.
And maybe more than partly. Maybe mainly.
She hadn’t exactly doted on the boy, but she’d always been there for him. She had always been a worker, and while she hadexpected her younger brothers to work, she’d always been too busy working her hardest to pay much attention to how hard they were working.
Whenever George banged up against a problem, she jumped in and fixed it. This started when they were very young, and with that sort of thing, there is rarely a moment when people even consider changing the dynamic.
These thoughts left her feeling vaguely guilty now, as if by doing too much, she had inadvertently prolonged his childhood, keeping him reliant on her, weakening him.
Whether that was true or not, she was thankful to see he had matured during her absence. He was taller, and his voice was deeper, but mainly, it was the way he carried himself.
She could sense that he now viewed himself differently and wanted her to share that view. She hadn’t missed his irritation when she had called himGeorgie.
That irritation, though slight, had surprised her. She’d always called himGeorgie, and he’d never minded.
But she could tell he had moved past it, so she would do her best not to call him that anymore. Honestly, it would be difficult to remember.
But she must. Because it was important to George.
He’d put on a stern face when she revealed that she wouldn’t be returning with them, and she’d known he was ready to argue.
That’s why she had immediately asked for their help, telling them the truth, that she needed them, a thing she had almost never done.
That request had knocked George off-balance and kept him from pressing her.
Temporarily.
She knew she would have to answer his objections soon.
She glanced back at them now.
It warmed her heart to see her brothers. It really did. How she loved them. And she was so thankful that they had come quickly in her moment of need.
James was rattling on as always. He was animated, pointing at the peak of Mt. Sherman and jabbering about something.
George, on the other hand, stared straight ahead, gripping the reins. His face was set and looked troubled yet determined.
She would not be able to delay him much longer.
