“You still have her?” The question slipped out before Rose could stop it.
“Of course, though she’s retired now,” James said quietly. “Some things are too precious to let go.”
The weight of his words settled over the table like morning mist, and heat rose to her cheeks. She focused on her plate, cutting her eggs into precise pieces while the conversation continued around her.
She hadn’t expected this warmth, this easy acceptance. Her mother had always spoken of their departure in hushed, urgent tones—how the Balfours would never forgive what had happened. And then, when she was twelve and Vincent began to require her to sing with Mama, Mama had told her what actually had happened to make them leave the Balfours. She’d understood why they couldn’t come back here.
She’d always assumed the Balfour family knew the truth and would hate her for it. Was it possible they didn’t know?
“Tell us about yourself, Rose,” Mandie said gently, setting down her teacup. “What have you been doing these past years?”
The question she’d been dreading. Rose’s fork paused halfway to her mouth as six expectant faces turned toward her. “I’ve been in Virginia City,” she said carefully. “I…performed. Singing.”
“Singing!” Mrs. Wang clapped her hands together. “I knew it. You always had such a beautiful voice, even as a little one. Remember how you used to sing while you helped me with the washing?”
Rose managed a smile. “I remember.”
“Virginia City must have been exciting.” Thomas leaned forward. “All those mining fortunes being made and lost. I heard they have theaters there now, real fancy ones.”
“Some.” She took a small bite to buy herself time. How could she explain the smoky back room of Murphy’s Saloon, the calculating eyes of men who saw her as entertainment rather than a person? “It’s a…busy place.”
Robert spoke in a gentle tone, like he could sense her discomfort. “Well, you’ll find it much quieter here. Mrs. Wang, perhaps after breakfast, you could show Rose around? I imagine much has changed.”
Gratitude flooded her, and she smiled. “I’d like that very much.”
Mrs. Wang beamed. “Yes, yes. New stove, bigger pantry. And I teach you my grandmother’s recipe for steamed cabbage—very good for strengthening the blood.”
“I’d love to learn it.” Truly. The thought of spending her days in the familiar warmth of Mrs. Wang’s kitchen, learning recipes instead of dodging unwanted advances, felt like stepping into sunlight after years in the shadows.
“Wonderful.” Enoch pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. “We’ll be working on the haying in the north pasture today.”
Robert stood as well, but his gaze lingered on Rose with that same gentle consideration his tone held moments ago. “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask. We want you to feel comfortable here.”
“Thank you.” Her words came out too soft, but the brightness that entered his gaze warmed her insides. Robert possessed a good heart. She could see that from only these few interactions.
After the men filed out, their boots echoing on the wooden floors and their voices carrying back from the hallway, some of the tension eased from her shoulders.
“Rose.”
She glanced back to see James lingering in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. His gaze locked on her, his eyes earnest. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Then he turned and left before she could respond, leaving her with Mrs. Wang and Mandie—and the tumult of her emotions—in the sudden quiet of the dining room.
CHAPTER 6
The scythe blade swept through the tall grass, each pass in time with James’s pulse—a steady, urgent cadence, edged with something close to worry.
He stopped to check their progress and mop his brow, though the mountain air held a chill that hadn’t been there just last week. His brothers worked nearby, silent and intent, their motions fluid, almost spare, as they cut and forked the hay into the wagon. The north pasture stretched ahead, a little more than a quarter cleared now, but winter pressed close behind them, cold and relentless as a wolf on the scent.
Enoch straightened and stared at the work they’d accomplished. “Let’s get this load in the shed, then we’ll stop to eat a bite.” His words formed white clouds, and the lines at the corners of his eyes seemed deeper than usual. They all felt it—the urgency to finish storing all the hay before the first snow. The cattle that would soon need every bit of it to last through a hard winter.
Thomas drove the team toward the shed in the corner of the pasture that they’d built to house the hay. Each field contained such a building, making it easy to fork out hay for the cattle once snow covered the ground.
The four of them worked in silence, stacking the hay high in the shed.
His thoughts kept drifting to the breakfast table, to the way Rose had looked when she’d smiled at Robert—that same warm expression she’d once reserved for James alone. The memory sat in his chest like a stone.
“James.” Enoch’s voice cut through his brooding. “You’re woolgathering.”
