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“I’m sorry, Sara. I screwed up, I know that.”

Jenny appeared, a little breathless. “Okay, looks like she bought it.”

Sara glanced at her watch. “That gives you about an hour, Bill, before your wife shows up. I suggest you come clean and beg for mercy.”

The man looked terrified. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing you deserve.”

* * *

27

Caleb was building a chicken coop when he saw a figure walking up the dusty road. It was late in the afternoon; Pim and Theo were resting in the house.

“Saw your smoke.” The man who stood before him had a pleasant, weathered face and a thick, woolly beard. He was wearing a wide straw hat and suspenders. “Since we’re going to be neighbors, thought I’d come by to say hello. Phil Tatum’s the name.”

“Caleb Jaxon.” They shook.

“We’re just on the other side of that ridge. Been there a bit, before most folks. There’s me and my wife, Dorien. We got a grown boy just started his own place up toward Bandera. Did you say Jaxon?”

“That’s right. He’s my father.”

“I’ll be damned. What are you doing way out here?”

“Same as everyone, I guess. Making do.” Caleb removed his gloves. “Come in and meet my family.”

Pim was sitting in a chair by the cold hearth with Theo on her lap, showing him a picture book.

“Pim,” Caleb said, signing along, “this is our neighbor, Mr. Tatum.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Jaxon?” He was holding his hat against his chest. “Please, don’t get up on my account.”

I’m very pleased to meet you.

Caleb realized his error. “I should have explained. My wife is deaf. She says she’s pleased to meet you.”

The man nodded evenly. “Got a cousin like that, passed a while back. She learned to read lips a little, but the poor thing just lived in her own world.” He raised his voice, the way a lot of people did. “That’s a fine-looking boy you have, Mrs. Jaxon.”

What’s he saying?

You’re beautiful and he wants to go to bed with you. He turned to their guest, who was still fingering the brim of his hat. “She says thank you, Mr. Tatum.”

Don’t be rude. Ask him if he wants something to drink.

Caleb repeated the question.

“Have to be home before supper, but I reckon I could sit for a bit, thank you.”

Pim filled a pitcher with water, added slices of lemon, and placed it on the table, where the two men sat. They talked about little things: the weather, other homesteads in the area, where Caleb should get his livestock and at what price. Pim had gone off with Theo; she liked to take him down to the river, where the two of them would just sit quietly. It became clear to Caleb that the man and his wife were a little lonely. Their son had gone off with a woman he’d met at a dance in Hunt, barely saying goodbye.

“Couldn’t help notice your wife is expecting,” Tatum said. They had finished the water; now they were just talking.

“Yes, she’s due in September.”

“There’s a doc in Mystic when the time comes.” He gave Caleb the information.

“That’s very kind. Thank you.” Caleb sensed the presence of a sad history in the man’s offer. The Tatums had had another child, perhaps more than one, who had failed to survive. This was all far in the past, but not really.

“Much obliged to you both,” Tatum said at the door. “It’s nice to have some young people around.”

That night, Caleb replayed the conversation for Pim. She was bathing Theo in the sink. He had fussed at the start but now seemed to be enjoying himself, batting the water around with his fists.

I should call on his wife, Pim signed.

Do you want me to go with you? He meant to translate for her.

She looked at him like he had lost his mind. Don’t be ridiculous.

—

This conversation stayed with him for several days. Somehow, in all his planning, Caleb had failed to consider that they would need other people in their lives. Some of this was the fact that with Pim he shared a private richness that made other relationships seem trivial. Also, he was not innately social; he preferred his own thoughts to most human interaction.

It was true, as well, that Pim’s world was more limited than most people’s. Beyond her family, it was confined to a small group of those who, if they could not sign, were able to intuit her meanings. She was often alone, which did not seem to trouble her, and she filled much of this time by writing. Caleb had peeked at her journals a few times over the years, unable to resist this small crime; like her letters, her entries were wonderfully written. While they sometimes expressed doubts or concern over various matters, generally they communicated an optimistic view of life. They also contained a number of sketches, though he had never seen her draw. Most depicted familiar scenes. There were a great many drawings of birds and animals, as well as the faces of people she knew, although none of him. He wondered why she had never let him see them, why she had drawn them in secret. The best ones were the seascapes—remarkable, because Pim had never seen the ocean.