“We’ll be going in early anyway.  I’ll start this afternoon.”

Brewster hesitated.  “Will there maybe be some left over?”

“I think there’ll always be some left over.”

But at their quarters, the door was open, which made Charlotte pause.  She held back the children and stepped cautiously into the room.  Seated at the table was a man as tall as her father but younger and leaner, his dark hair disheveled, his face marked by sad eyes and a drooping moustache.  Maybe he was still missing the big wife.

“Uncle Tobias,” she said.

“You remember me,” he said, “and I haven’t seen you since you were a child.  I wouldn’t have known you except you’re the spitting image of your mother.” Charlotte closed her eyes.  This was all she needed.  She could feel the presence of the children in the doorway.

“I suppose you have things you want to say to me.”

“I suppose I have things Samuel wants me to say.  At least now I can tell him I found you.  If letters could burst into flames, his would have been doing that.  He was frantic. Pardon my asking, but where in God’s name have you been?”

“So many places.”  She turned and motioned the four of them into the room.  Ada had picked up Grace.  “This is my Uncle Tobias.  Tobias, I want you to meet my children.  They didn’t start out to be mine, but fate’s taken us in that direction.  This is Ada, Brewster, Jeremy and Grace.”

“There’s a husband waiting for you,” Tobias said quietly.  “Out in the desert.  There are responsibilities involved.  You of all people know that.  You’re his daughter.”

“That husband’s going to have to find someone else.  I’m not going.  You can try using force if you want, but I promise you I’ll put up more of a fight than you’d ever hope for.”

“Force?  Look at you.  There’s been enough of that already.  That’s not who we’re supposed to be.”

“Let all of them back there know that.”

Charlotte could feel the wide eyes behind her.  Thank heaven she’d told Ada, just in time.

Tobias scanned slowly around the room, seeing the papers tacked up on the walls, books piled up in the corners, plates and cups stacked on the sideboard, the cooking grate in the fireplace.  Then his eyes rested on each of the children in turn.  Charlotte considered that he seemed gentler than her father, so much quieter.

He studied the young woman who shared his history.  “I don’t understand anything,” he said.  “I assume you realize that.  But I don’t see that I can do much about it either, at least at the moment.  So I guess for now I’ll just head on out again.”

“Wouldn’t you at least like to stay for dinner?”