Rebuilding Wolverine Ridge took most of the summer.
Bitter Creek helped.
That astonished Charlene more than anything.
Men from town arrived with lumber.
Women brought food.
Miners hauled stone.
Mrs. Higgins organized a sewing circle to replace Charlene's lost inventory.
Even Nathaniel sent roofing materials.
Jeb stared at the wagon.
"Send it back."
Charlene crossed her arms.
"No."
"Don't want his charity."
"It's not for you."
"Whose is it?"
"The roof's."
Jeb glared.
Charlene smiled sweetly.
"The roof has no pride."
Caleb laughed so hard he dropped a hammer.
The new barn was larger.
So was Charlene's workshop.
They built windows along one wall.
Ruth claimed a small desk in the corner.
By August, orders resumed.
Jeb also began raising horses for sale instead of relying almost entirely on trapping.
The ranch grew stronger.
The family did too.
Then Charlene became ill.
At first, she assumed it was exhaustion.
She woke nauseated.
Food smelled strange.
Her body felt heavy.
Jeb became worried.
"Doctor."
"I'm fine."
"You threw up three mornings."
"Perhaps your coffee is finally trying to kill me."
"My coffee's good."
"Your coffee can remove rust."
By the fifth morning, Ruth looked at Charlene over breakfast.
"Mama?"
"Yes?"
"Weren't you supposed to go to Bitter Creek last week?"
Charlene blinked.
"For supplies?"
Ruth reddened.
"No."
Charlene stared at her.
Then understood.
Her monthly bleeding.
Late.
Very late.
The spoon slipped from Charlene's hand.
Jeb frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She stood too quickly.
"Charlene?"
"I need air."
She walked outside.
Her hands shook.
Impossible.
The word thundered through her.
Impossible.
Five years married to Nathaniel.
Nothing.
Three years alone.
Doctors had not formally examined her, but everyone had concluded the same thing.
She could not conceive.
That conclusion had destroyed her marriage.
Defined her reputation.
Changed her life.
And now—
No.
She would not hope.
Hope could be crueler than certainty.
Charlene told no one.
For two more weeks, she waited.
The symptoms increased.
Finally, while Jeb took Caleb and Samuel to inspect horses, Charlene rode to Bitter Creek.
Doctor Hale examined her.
Then smiled.
Charlene hated him for that smile.
"Say it."
"Mrs. Russell—"
"Say it."
"You're with child."
The room blurred.
Charlene gripped the table.
"No."
Doctor Hale's smile disappeared.
"I assure you—"
"I can't."
"Clearly you can."
"You don't understand."
He knew enough about Bitter Creek to understand immediately.
"Charlene."
She stared at him.
Doctor Hale spoke gently.
"Infertility is not always simple. A marriage can remain childless for many reasons."
Her breath caught.
"You mean—"
"I'm saying nobody ever proved the problem was yours."
Charlene's eyes filled.
Nathaniel.
Years of accusation.
Years of humiliation.
A divorce granted because everyone assumed she had failed.
"What do I tell Jeb?"
Doctor Hale looked surprised.
"The truth?"
"You don't know him."
"He seems difficult to miss."
Despite everything, she laughed.
Then she cried.
Doctor Hale handed her a cloth.
"This should be happy news."
"It is."
She wiped her face.
"And it terrifies me."
Charlene rode home slowly.
Jeb met her in the yard.
"Where were you?"
"Bitter Creek."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
His brow lowered.
"We discussed—"
"Jeb."
Something in her voice stopped him.
The children were nearby.
Charlene said, "Walk with me."
They went toward the creek.
Jeb grew increasingly concerned.
"What's wrong?"
Charlene turned.
"I saw Doctor Hale."
His face changed.
"What did he say?"
She could not find words.
Jeb stepped forward.
"Are you sick?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Charlene looked into the face of the man who had married her precisely because he did not care whether she could give him children.
"I am pregnant."
Jeb stared.
He did not move.
Not even blink.
Charlene almost laughed nervously.
"Jeb?"
Nothing.
"Please say something."
He sat down.
On a rock.
Charlene's fear rose.
"Are you upset?"
Jeb looked at her as if she had spoken another language.
"Upset?"
"You already have five."
He stood again.
"Charlene."
His voice broke.
Then the enormous mountain man began crying.
Not discreetly.
Not one dignified tear.
He pulled Charlene against him and buried his face in her hair.
She laughed through her own tears.
"I thought you were unhappy."
"I can't feel my legs."
"You've survived avalanches."
"That was different."
He pulled back.
His scarred hands touched her face with astonishing tenderness.
"You're sure?"
"Doctor Hale is."
Jeb looked down at her stomach.
Nothing showed yet.
Then he dropped to his knees.
Charlene smiled.
"You spend an unusual amount of time kneeling lately."
He placed both hands lightly against her dress.
"Baby."
One word.
Wonder filled it.
Then Charlene's smile faded.
"Jeb."
He looked up.
"I'm afraid."
His expression softened.
"So am I."
"What if something happens?"
He knew what she meant.
Abigail.
Ruth's illness.
Everything they had survived.
Jeb stood.
"We don't know tomorrow."
"No."
"But today?"
Charlene breathed.
"Today we're happy."
"Then that's enough for today."
They told the children at supper.
Caleb nearly choked.
Ruth screamed.
Samuel asked how large the baby was.
Henry wanted to know whether it could hear him.
Tommy looked offended.
"I baby."
Everyone laughed.
Ruth hugged him.
"You'll always be our baby."
Tommy considered this.
Then nodded.
"Good."
Caleb became quiet later.
Charlene found him outside.
"What's wrong?"
He shrugged.
"Nothing."
"You're terrible at lying."
He stared toward the mountains.
"What if you love the new baby more?"
Charlene's heart cracked.
"Because it's mine?"
Caleb nodded.
She sat beside him.
"Look at me."
He did.
"Do you think I love Ruth less because she wasn't born from me?"
"No."
"Samuel?"
"No."
"Henry?"
"No."
"Tommy?"
Caleb smiled faintly.
"He'd probably climb inside your dress if you let him."
"Exactly."
Charlene took his hand.
"Love isn't a pie."
Caleb frowned.
"What?"
"You don't run out because another person gets a piece."
He laughed.
"That's a terrible example."
"I'm pregnant. I'm hungry."
That made him laugh harder.
Then he leaned against her shoulder.
"You love me?"
Charlene kissed his hair.
"Very much."
He whispered, "I love you too."
It was the first time.
Charlene looked away so he wouldn't see her cry.
The pregnancy changed life on Wolverine Ridge.
Jeb became absurdly protective.
He objected to stairs.
Heavy pots.
Horses.
Snow.
Rain.
Mud.
Sharp objects.
Long walks.
Short walks.
Charlene finally snapped, "If you wrap me in blankets and place me on a shelf, I will divorce you."
Jeb looked genuinely wounded.
"I was helping."
"You tried to carry me to the outhouse."
"Ground was icy."
"Jeb."
He raised his hands.
"Fine."
Then he secretly sprinkled ashes over the entire path for traction.
Charlene pretended not to notice.
By winter, her belly was round.
The children spoke to it nightly.
Tommy believed the baby lived behind Charlene's belly button and attempted to feed it crumbs.
Ruth sewed tiny clothes.
Caleb carved a cradle with Jeb.
Life felt almost too perfect.
Then Charlene began bleeding.
It happened one January morning.
She looked down and saw red.
All sound disappeared.
"Jeb."
He came running.
His face turned white.
Within minutes the wagon was prepared.
They raced toward Bitter Creek.
Charlene lay wrapped in blankets, one hand over her stomach.
"Please."
She wasn't sure whether she spoke to God, the baby, or herself.
Jeb held the reins with one hand and hers with the other.
"Stay with me."
"I'm here."
"No. I mean—"
His voice broke.
Charlene squeezed his hand.
"I know."
Doctor Hale ordered bed rest.
The baby's heartbeat remained strong.
But the bleeding frightened everyone.
For two weeks, Charlene stayed in Bitter Creek because traveling home was too dangerous.
The children rotated visits.
Jeb barely left.
One evening Nathaniel came to the doctor's house.
Charlene had not seen him closely for months.
He looked older.
"Bethany sent soup."
"Thank her."
He put down the basket.
His eyes went to Charlene's belly.
Word had spread.
Of course it had.
"So."
Charlene waited.
Nathaniel swallowed.
"I suppose Bitter Creek was wrong."
"You mean you were."
He nodded.
"I mean I was."
There was no bitterness in him now.
Only regret.
"I've thought about it."
"Don't."
He looked surprised.
"Don't what?"
"Don't make this child a judgment against yourself."
Charlene rested a hand on her stomach.
"You hurt me. That was wrong."
Nathaniel lowered his eyes.
"But this baby isn't punishment for you any more than my childlessness with you was punishment for me."
Nathaniel looked at her.
"You're kinder than I deserve."
"No."
Charlene smiled faintly.
"I'm simply tired of letting shame decide people's lives."
He nodded.
Before leaving, he said, "I hope the child is healthy."
"So do I."
The bleeding stopped.
Charlene returned home in February.
Jeb carried her across the threshold despite her protests.
Spring came.
The baby grew.
So did Charlene's fear.
But happiness grew beside it.
At night, she lay with Jeb's hand over her stomach.
Sometimes the baby kicked him.
"Strong."
Jeb smiled.
"Stubborn."
"That's from you."
"Could be you."
"I'm delightful."
He kissed her forehead.
"Terrifying."
By early summer, Doctor Hale predicted only weeks remained.
Then a violent storm struck Wolverine Ridge.
Of course it did.
Charlene woke after midnight with pain.
She knew immediately.
"Jeb."
He sat up.
"What?"
"My water broke."
The mountain man who had faced wolves, avalanches, gunmen, and fire stared at her in pure terror.
"Now?"
Charlene groaned as another contraction came.
"No, Jeb. Next Thursday."
He jumped out of bed.
"Caleb!"
The entire house woke.
Ruth ran for towels.
Caleb saddled a horse to fetch Doctor Hale.
But rain had turned the creek dangerous.
He returned twenty minutes later.
"Bridge is out."
Jeb's face went blank.
Charlene gripped the bedframe as another contraction hit.
"Then we're doing this here."
Jeb whispered, "We?"
Charlene glared.
"Unless you'd like me to postpone."
Ruth, twelve now and far calmer than her father, brought water.
"I helped Mrs. Turner when her baby came."
Jeb looked horrified.
"You did what?"
"Women do things when men are away, Pa."
There was no time to discuss it.
Labor lasted until dawn.
Charlene screamed.
Jeb held her.
Ruth helped.
Caleb kept the younger boys downstairs.
At one point Charlene cried, "I can't."
Jeb pressed his forehead against hers.
"You can."
"What if—"
"No."
He repeated the words she had once given him.
"Don't bury somebody before they're gone."
Charlene stared at him.
Then pushed.
A baby's cry broke through the storm.
Everything stopped.
Ruth began laughing and crying.
Jeb stared.
"Girl."
He sounded stunned.
Ruth wrapped the tiny infant.
Charlene reached.
Her daughter.
After years of being told she would never experience this moment, Charlene held a newborn against her chest.
She cried so hard she could barely see.
Jeb sat beside her.
"She's perfect."
Charlene looked at him.
"She's loud."
"Also perfect."
The children entered cautiously.
Tommy, now nearly four, stared suspiciously.
"Baby?"
Charlene nodded.
"Your sister."
He touched one tiny foot.
"Small."
Caleb laughed.
"What do we call her?"
Jeb looked at Charlene.
They had discussed names.
Dozens.
But suddenly only one felt right.
"Abigail," Charlene said.
Everyone became silent.
Jeb's eyes filled.
"You sure?"
Charlene looked toward the portrait above the fireplace.
"Abigail Hope Russell."
Ruth covered her mouth.
Caleb turned away, crying.
Jeb kissed Charlene.
"Abigail Hope."
The storm passed.
Sunlight entered the cabin.
And in the home where grief had once swallowed nearly everything, a newborn's cry rose into morning.