“I guess that’s it,” Caleb said, as he finished lashing the final crate. He was wearing a long-sleeved work shirt and overalls; he’d let his hair grow long. He checked the load on his rifle, a lever-action .30-06, and put it up on the seat. “We really should get moving if we’re going to make Hunt by dark.”
They were headed to one of the outer settlements, a two-day ride on the buckboard. The land had only just been incorporated, though people had been homesteading there for years. Caleb had spent most of two years preparing the place—framing the house, digging the well, laying out fences—before returning for Pim and the baby. Good soil, the clear water of the river, woods heavy with game: there were worse places, Peter thought, to start a life.
“You can’t go yet,” Sara said. “The girls will be heartbroken if you leave without seeing them.”
Sara had, simultaneously, signed these words for Pim, who now turned to her husband with a stern look.
You know how Bill is, Caleb signed. We could be here all day.
No. We wait.
There was no point in arguing when Pim had made up her mind. Caleb always said it was the woman’s stubbornness that had kept them together while he was stationed with the Army on the Oil Road, and Peter didn’t doubt it. The two of them had married the day after Caleb had finally capitulated and resigned his commission—not, as he often pointed out, that there was much of an Army remaining to resign from. Like nearly everything else in Kerrville, the Army had scattered to the winds; barely anyone remembered the Expeditionary, disbanded twenty years ago, when the Texas Code had been suspended. It had been one of the great disappointments of Caleb’s life that there was nobody left to fight anymore. He’d spent his years in the service as a glorified ditch digger, assigned to the construction of the telegraph line between Kerrville and Boerne. It was a different world than the one Peter had known. The city walls went unmanned; the perimeter lights had gone out one by one and never been repaired; the gate hadn’t been shut in a decade. A whole generation had grown to adulthood thinking the virals were little more than exaggerated boogeymen in scary stories told by their elders, who, in the fashion of all old people since the dawn of time, believed theirs had been the vastly harder and more consequential life.
But it was like Kate’s husband, Bill, to be late. The man had his positive qualities—he was far more easy-going than Kate, counterbalancing her often humorless maturity—and there was no question that he adored their daughters. But he was scattered and disorganized, liked the lick and cards, and lacked anything approximating a work ethic. Peter had tried to bring him into the administration as a favor to Sara and Hollis, offering him a low-level job with the Bureau of Taxation that required little more than the ability to use a stamp. But as with Bill’s brief forays into carpentry, farriering, and driving a transport, it wasn’t long before he drifted away. Mostly he seemed content to look after his daughters, make Kate the occasional meal, and sneak out to the tables at night—both winning and losing but, according to Kate, always winning just a little more.
Baby Theo had begun to fuss. Caleb used the delay to pick the horses’ hooves while Sara took Theo from Pim to change his diaper. Just when it had begun to seem that Bill wouldn’t show, Kate appeared with the girls, Bill bringing up the rear with a sheepish look on his face.
“How did you get away?” Sara asked her daughter.
“Don’t worry, Madam Director—Jenny’s got it covered. Plus, you love me too much to fire me.”
“You know, I really hate it when you call me that.”
Elle and her younger sister, Merry, who everybody called Bug, dashed to Pim, who knelt and hugged them together. The girls’ signing abilities were limited to simple phrases, and all exchanged I love you, circling their hearts with a flat palm.
Visit me, Pim signed, then glanced up at Kate, who explained what she was asking.
“Can we?” Bug asked eagerly. “When?”
“We’ll see,” Kate said. “Maybe after the baby is born.”
This was a sore subject; Sara had wanted Pim to delay their departure until after the birth of their second child. But that wouldn’t be until nearly the end of the summer, far too late to plant. Nor did Pim, in her obstinate way, plan to return alone for the birth. I’ve done it before, she said. How hard can it be?
“Please, Mom?” Elle begged.
“I said, we’ll see.”
Hugs all around. Peter glanced at Sara; she was feeling it, too. Their children were leaving for good. It was what you were supposed to want, the thing you worked for, yet facing it was a different matter.