“Do you suppose this baby will enjoy the snow as much as I do?” she asked as Jonathan settled a thick blanket over their laps and took up the reins. The handsome chestnut and the sleek black horse that were to pull the sleigh stamped their feet in the snow.
Jonathan laughed. “Most children do. My brothers and I would spend hours outside, throwing snowballs and building snow forts and fashioning the snow into the shapes of people.”
Catherine tried to imagine such a childhood, and she was glad her little one would get to partake in such fun. She rested a hand on her stomach as the flutter of the baby’s movement came again. It was the most reassuring feeling—at least when she didn’t find herself struck with fear after hours of not feeling anything at all. She was trying to grow used to the idea that this child might actually be the one she brought into the world, but the uneasiness never entirely disappeared. She didn’t dare feel too comfortable, else she be taken by surprise when she lost this baby too.
She wanted this child’s birth more fiercely than she’d ever wantedanythingin her life. Each day, she thought of the things she’d happily give up if God were to grant her this one baby—as if He were in the business of bargaining.
The sleigh sailed over the snowy road, and before Catherine knew it, they’d left Grover’s Gulch behind. Jonathan had taken them in the opposite direction of the boarding house, past the livery and down the road that followed the railroad tracks for some distance before it would branch off and become engulfed in a steep mountain climb.
“This is truly the most perfect place,” she said as she took in the snow-laden trees, the drifting flakes, the pristine white upon the ground, and the mountains that scraped the blue of the sky.
“I’m glad you think so,” Jonathan said as the horses trotted merrily along. “Despite how rough it can be at times.”
Catherine watched him as she spoke, admiring how easily he handled the horses. “Most of those miners remember their manners when they see a lady. They’re good, hard-working people.”
He smiled at her then and reached for her hand as he shifted the reins to his left hand. “You have the biggest heart, Mrs. Clark. To be honest, I feared that after the incident with March, you’d insist upon leaving Grover’s Gulch.”
Catherine laughed. “I’m tougher than that. I’ve faced worse in my life.”
“Which is not something I like to hear, but it’s something I greatly admire about you.” His gloved hand squeezed hers, and she wished it were warmer—not to melt the snow, but just so they could shed their gloves and mittens and she could feel the warmth of his hand against hers.
“I don’t know that I’m all that admirable,” she said. “But thank you for the compliment.” She paused, looking out at the pristine, white world around them and imagining Jonathan as a boy, firing snowballs at his older brothers. “Tell me more about your family. Where are your brothers now?”
“The two eldest still live in Missouri. My middle brother works for the railroad out of Chicago.”
“And the fourth?” she asked.
Jonathan kept his eyes on the horses as he answered. “He passed on several years ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Catherine felt as if that were something she ought to already know, but Jonathan hadn’t spoken much on his family without prompting.
“It’s all right. It’s been some time ago now. Tom met with an accident while working as a wagonmaker.” Despite his words, his expression was pained, and Catherine wanted desperately to comfort him in some way.
“Time may pass, but we never forget those we love,” she said, wishing she could embrace him in a hug instead. “I’m sure you must have many good memories of growing up with him.”
Jonathan pursed his lips and said nothing for a moment. Just as Catherine started to wonder if she’d said the wrong thing, he said, “Some.”
It was a puzzling response. “Was he cruel to you?” It was the only explanation Catherine could think of.
“Tom?” He shook his head. “We were close in age and the best of friends when we weren’t fighting over the most pointless things.”
Catherine waited for him to explain. “I don’t understand,” she finally said. “It sounds like you’d have many cherished memories with your brother.”
“Between the two of us, yes,” he said. He didn’t look at her, and she knew then that his reticence to talk about his family had nothing to do with his brother.
A moment passed, and before Catherine could decide whether to ask another question, he spoke up again.
“My father wasn’t the kindest man where his family was concerned. He was short-tempered and prone to taking his anger out on those he loved.” He paused. “I assume he loved us, in his own way, but I honestly don’t know.”
Catherine said nothing. Although Harlan had never been violent toward her—he simply was neverthere—she’d wondered the same about her marriage. “It’s impossible to know,” she said finally. “I hope that he did, but only he and God know for certain.”
Jonathan nodded. “I’m sorry to burden you with this. But sometimes I fear . . .” He halted the horses and turned toward her. “What if I’m like him?”
Catherine’s eyes widened at the thought. She couldn’t imagine such a thing, not from Jonathan. “It’s impossible. You’re the kindest, gentlest, and yet most protective man I’ve ever known. You’re nothing like your father.”
He swallowed as he searched her face. She wasn’t certain what he looked for, but he finally gave her a tight smile. “I’d like to think I’m not, but I never thought my eldest brother would be either. And yet from what I know of his interactions with his own family, he’s just like our father.”
Catherine’s heart broke. She lifted her free hand and wrapped it around his upper arm. “Youaren’t. You are not your brother nor your father. You are Jonathan Clark. You are your own man, nothing more and nothing less. Do you hear me?” She’d never believed anything so wholeheartedly in her life, and she desperately needed him to hear the words, to believe inhimself.
