“So, Grace won’t have much to do with this, apparently, since she’s sound asleep, but Mrs. Hutchinson said I could stay and take care of you.  She trusts that I won’t give you bad habits or ruin your minds, but what does she know.  In any case, I need everyone to have an opinion, yes or no.  Let me remind you that saying no is always an option, one that I use all the time.”

“Yes,” Ada said.

“Yes,” Brewster said, “but is there more?”

“Wait.  Jeremy gets his turn.”

“Yes,” Jeremy said, looking confused as to what he was having an opinion on.

“Here’s the way I see it so far then, but if anyone has a better idea, I’m listening.  Always.  We’ll have school, I’m thinking, and we’ll do our own cooking so as to avoid whatever’s in that pot.  I’ll make bread, I hope, to earn our keep.  If any of you have any other schemes involving our welfare, don’t keep them to yourself.  We’ll wash every day and do laundry and take care of the horses.  That’s as far as I’ve got.  Is that enough for you, Brewster, for the moment anyway?”

“It’s enough.”  She could tell he was worried sick about the future.  She was fully aware that if she let herself think about it for even one minute, she’d be worried too.

“Now if it’s all right I’ve got to bring some of my belongings in from the wagon.  I’ll be back.”

When she walked out the door, Brewster followed her.  She shook her head.  Where had these children come from?

Charlotte transferred blankets, the saddle, the velvet coat, everything she needed for sleep with one exception.  She brought cooking utensils and enough food for breakfast.  The oil lamps.  Two buckets of water from the well and a bar of her lilac soap.  Somewhere in the wagon was a metal bathing tub that they’d make good use of.  She’d find it later.

Last and most important were the guns.  While Brewster watched, she broke open each gun, clicked through the chambers, made absolutely certain all of them were empty.  The Spencer was still there.  Why hadn’t he taken it, she wondered.

In the room, everyone stared in awe.

“Those are yours?” Ada said.

Charlotte wanted to mention her father, if only to say they were his not hers, but mentioning anyone’s father, or mother, didn’t seem right, not just yet anyway.  It occurred to her also that Grace could never be called the baby.  Another child was the baby, another child who was gone.

“They are mine and I double-checked that they’re not loaded.” She picked up the Colt.  “This is the best revolver you’ll ever find.”  She handed it to Ada and it sank to the floor.

“It’s so heavy.  Who could shoot this thing?”