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Eden blinked back tears.

“What you did mattered, Edie. Especially when I was too mean to thank you.” He nudged her knee. “I can walk to the mercantile now. Laurel knows what to do when my head hurts. Mama might even let me carry a water bucket someday.”

“You’re still catching your foot on the third stair.”

“I’ll have Laurel remind me.”

“She won’t know which one.”

“Then I’ll show her.”

There was no argument Eden could make without proving his point.

A cup struck the kitchen table harder than necessary.

“Mama,” Josiah called, “you might as well come in.”

“I was not listening.” Mama replied a little too quickly.

“You’ve been listening since Eden found the shoes.”

Mama appeared with a dish towel twisted between her hands. “A mother may walk about her own house.”

“You were standing in the doorway.”

“I was checking the dust.”

“In the doorway?”

“It gathers everywhere.”

Eden held out her hand, and Mama came to her. More silver showed in her hair than before Josiah’s accident. She hadn’t slept well since the telegram arrived.

“I want to bless you,” Mama said.

“I know.”

“I’d also like to lock the door.”

Josiah lifted a finger. “I object to imprisonment on the eve of my wedding.”

Mama ignored him. “Nebraska is far away, and these people are strangers.”

“Emily Pickett has been honest with me.”

“Honesty won’t keep your heart from breaking.”

“Neither will staying here.”

Mama lowered herself into the empty chair, clutching the towel.

“You think we don’t need you anymore.”

“We do need each other, Mama. Josiah is getting married, and I…” Eden hesitated. “I think I’ve been so occupied caring for everyone I’ve been afraid to ask what comes next.”

Mama smoothed a crease from the towel. “I’ve spent my life being your mother. I don’t know what I’ll do when you both have homes of your own.”

“You can visit,” Josiah said. “Provided you don’t bring the laundry.”