“We played “’Ring round Wrow-see. Poc-et full pos-ee,” Jewel murmured, her eyes already heavy. “I-vee watched. Krista held my hand. She lit-tler, Pa-pa,” she said in an amazed tone. “Lit-tler than me.”
“I know, Sweetheart. Close your eyes now.”
She fell asleep within minutes, exhausted by all the excitement. Her breathing deepened into the slow, even rhythm that meant she'd be out for at least an hour.
Torin stood over her bed and watched her sleep—this trusting, miraculous child—and felt the anger that he'd been holding at bay surge forward, filling the space that tenderness had briefly occupied. He stalked from the room and into the kitchen.
Ivy stood facing the stove, her back straight, her hands wrapped around a mug. Tea by the wafting scent. She turned when he entered. Her hazel eyes were steady, but the set of her jaw betrayed the tension beneath her calm.
Torin could see that she’d been preparing—marshaling her arguments, arranging her words, readying herself for the battle she knew was about to begin.
“Before you say anything,” she began, lifting her mug as if raising a shield. “Inga and her sisters arrived unexpectedly while you were gone. They brought a letter from Katie. I couldn’t send three children away without?—”
“You broke your promise.”
She cringed. “Not purposefully. They were coming from the house just as we emerged from the woods. There was no time to pull back or hide.”
“You invited them to play with my daughter.” His voice was flat—the toneless, carefully controlled flatness that hid his anger. “Despite the fact that I specifically told younovisitors. You knew my wishes before you accepted this job. You went behind my back.”
“I didn’tinvitethem. Jewel saw the girls and went to the girls herself—we came out of the woods and they were right there. She ran to them before I could stop her.”
“You could have called her back. You could have thanked the girls for the letter and sent them on their way. Instead, you sat on the steps andwatchedwhile my daughter played with children without first discussing the situation with me.”
“There wasn’t time.”
“That’s not the point.” He pressed his palms flat on the kitchen table and leaned forward. “The point is that I made a decision. As Jewel’s father. As your employer. And you overrode me.”
“In a way, I suppose.” Ivy set down the mug with a careful, deliberate motion. “Torin. Did you hear her laughter? Did you hear the sound she made playing with those girls? She washappy. A different kind of happy than she's ever been with us.”
“She’s happy with us. She has everything—everyoneshe needs.”
“She doesn’t haveotherchildren.” Ivy stepped closer, her voice dropping, losing its defensive edge and taking on an earnest, pleading quality.
Her tone almost disarmed him, and he resented her for that vulnerability. “She has you and she has me and she has Brave.”
“We are not enough. She’s achild, Torin. She needs to play withchildren.” Ivy reached and placed a hand on his arm—lightly, the barest brush of her fingers against his sleeve, the same gentle touch she'd used by the lake when he'd told her about Mary Beth. A touch that saidI'm not your enemy. I'm saying this because I care.
He shrugged off her hand. The gesture was sharp, almost violent, and he saw her flinch—a small, involuntary recoil that made him feel simultaneously justified and ashamed. “Jewel doesn’t need playmates. She has you. She has me,” he repeated but quieter than before. “That’s enough.”
“In some ways, she’ll always be a child, Torin. Youknowthat.”
“And what will Jewel do when the children she plays with grow up and no longer want to play?”
Ivy paused, drawing in a careful breath. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer but no less fierce. “First of all, you're assuming that the girls won't still want to be around her when they mature. You don’t know that. You're projecting your experience—Mary Beth’s cruelty, your family’s rejection—onto children who've done nothing but hold your daughter’s hand, sing together, and spin in a circle with her.” She held up another finger. “Secondly, there are younger Swensen children. Krista is nine. There will be others. Jewel could have child companions for years—maybe for the rest of her life, if you’ll let her.”
“Ivy—”
“And thirdly.” Her voice rose, the heat returning despite her apparent efforts to contain her emotions. “You’re assuming that Jewel won’t learn more. That she won’t expand her interests. That she won't develop more ability to interact with people as she gets older. Why wouldn't adults want to be around her? Do you think Hank will stop loving her when she has a woman’s body instead of a child’s? Will Brian? Will Cora? Will Elsie?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “WillI?”
Torin said nothing. The stillness in the kitchen was the silence of a courtroom after a verdict—heavy, final.
He looked at her across the kitchen table—across the distance that was more than the width of a table, across the gulf between his fear and her hope, between his experience and her faith—and he felt his expression close. Not angry. Not cruel. Simply and firmly closing the door on this argument.
“She has us,” Torin said at last. “We will have to be enough.”
A frown drawing her eyebrows together, Ivy searched his face for a long moment.
Torin could see her weighing options, considering arguments, testing the walls for any crack she might press a word through. He watched the moment come when she realized none existed.
