Jacob woke to screaming.
Not human screaming.
Horses.
He opened his eyes to an orange glow pulsing against the bedroom wall.
Then came Benjamin’s shout.
“Fire!”
Jacob was out of bed before he knew he had moved.
He ran into the hallway.
Smoke already seeped beneath the front door.
“Everybody up!”
The children exploded from their rooms.
Rose grabbed Mary.
Benjamin counted.
“Samuel, Oliver, Hugh—”
Jacob threw open the front door.
The barn was burning.
Flames climbed the western wall.
Horses kicked against stall doors.
“Benjamin, get everyone behind the stone wall.”
“What about the animals?”
“I’ll get them.”
Samuel shouted, “I’m coming!”
“No!”
“I know the stalls!”
Jacob looked at him.
The boy was right.
“Stay behind me.”
They ran.
Heat struck like a physical wall.
Jacob kicked open the barn door.
Smoke swallowed them.
“Low!”
Samuel crawled beneath it.
The first horse kicked frantically.
Jacob released the latch.
“Go!”
The animal bolted.
Samuel opened the next.
Another horse escaped.
Then another.
Flaming timber fell.
Samuel screamed.
Jacob dragged him back.
“You hurt?”
“No!”
“Get out!”
“There are two more!”
“I’ll get them.”
Samuel hesitated.
“Go!”
He ran.
Jacob freed the fourth horse.
Then heard a sound beneath the crackling fire.
Crying.
A child.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Then again.
“Jacob!”
His blood froze.
Clara.
He turned.
“Clara!”
“Here!”
The voice came from the loft.
Jacob stared upward.
Flames covered part of the ladder.
“What are you doing up there?”
“Moses!”
Of course.
The old gelding had a stall near the rear, and Clara must have gone after him before Jacob arrived.
“Stay where you are!”
“I can’t!”
“Clara!”
The roof groaned.
Outside, Benjamin counted again.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—”
He stopped.
His face drained.
“Clara.”
Rose screamed.
Jacob climbed.
The ladder burned his hands.
Halfway up, a rung cracked.
He jumped to the loft.
Clara lay near a hay pile.
Her brace had caught beneath a collapsed board.
Moses struggled below.
“What happened?”
“I tried to climb down.”
Jacob grabbed the beam.
It was heavy.
Too heavy.
“Push your leg backward.”
“I can’t!”
“Try.”
Clara screamed.
Jacob lifted.
Nothing.
Smoke thickened.
“Again!”
She pulled.
The brace shifted.
The board rolled.
Clara came free.
Jacob lifted her.
No asking this time.
No time.
She wrapped both arms around his neck.
“The horse.”
“I know.”
They reached the edge.
The ladder had fallen.
Below them: fire.
Clara looked at Jacob.
“How?”
He looked toward the hay door.
Outside, Benjamin appeared below.
“Jacob!”
“Get blankets!”
“What?”
“Wet blankets!”
They understood.
Within seconds, the children and ranch hands who had arrived from a neighboring property stretched heavy wet quilts beneath the loft door.
Jacob kicked the door open.
Cold night air slammed them.
The drop was nearly twelve feet.
Clara stared.
“No.”
“You trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He held her tighter.
“Wait—”
They jumped.
Clara screamed.
They hit the blankets.
Pain exploded through Jacob’s back.
But they were alive.
Clara rolled.
Jacob stood.
“Moses.”
Before anyone could stop him, he ran back inside.
He reached the final stall.
The gelding was trapped behind fallen timber.
Jacob used an axe.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Fire spread across the rafters.
“Come on!”
The beam broke.
Moses bolted.
Jacob followed.
The roof collapsed behind him as he crossed the doorway.
Children screamed.
Jacob stumbled into the snow.
Clara reached him first.
She hit him again.
Apparently hitting Jacob had become her preferred method of expressing affection.
“You idiot!”
He coughed.
“You went into a burning barn first.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I’m a child!”
He stared.
She realized what she had said.
Jacob began laughing.
Clara tried to stay angry.
Failed.
Then they both collapsed into coughing.
The barn burned to the foundation.
Every horse survived.
No person died.
But the fire was no accident.
Sheriff Keller arrived before dawn.
Near the western wall, he found an oil-soaked rag.
“Arson.”
Jacob looked toward the sleeping children inside.
“Vane?”
“In jail.”
“One of his men?”
“Possibly.”
The answer came two days later.
One of Silas’s former associates, a man named Warren Pike, had escaped arrest after the attack.
Pike believed Jacob’s testimony had destroyed the smuggling operation.
He had set the fire hoping to frighten Jacob into abandoning the adoption case.
Instead he nearly killed Clara.
That changed the town.
Until then, people had admired Jacob’s rescue.
After the fire, they became protective.
Neighbors arrived with lumber.
The blacksmith donated nails.
The church brought blankets.
A sawmill owner offered timber at cost.
Women from town prepared meals.
Ranchers helped rebuild.
Even Reverend Croft, the placement committee chairman who had wanted to split the children, arrived carrying tools.
Jacob stared at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Attempting humility.”
“Any good at it?”
“No.”
Jacob handed him a hammer.
“Start with nails.”
The man stayed all day.
Clara watched the community rebuild around them.
For most of her life, adults had been people who decided where she went.
Now adults were asking where she wanted windows.
“What do you think?” Jacob asked.
She looked at the new barn frame.
“Bigger hayloft.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently you climb into burning haylofts.”
“That happened once.”
“Once is sufficient.”
She smiled.
June arrived.
So did the adoption hearing.
This one felt different.
There were no hostile committees.
No uncle from Boston.
No Silas Vane.
The courtroom was full of neighbors.
Judge Rourke entered.
“Mr. Mallister.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I have reviewed the evaluations.”
Jacob waited.
“Your finances are stable.”
“Yes.”
“Your home is suitable.”
“Yes.”
“Your character references are, frankly, excessive.”
Sheriff Keller grinned from the back.
The judge continued.
“Thirty-seven letters.”
Jacob looked behind him.
The town smiled.
“Didn’t ask for them.”
“I suspected as much.”
The judge looked at the children.
“Each of you understands what adoption means?”
Benjamin answered.
“Yes.”
“It means Jacob becomes your legal father.”
Mary raised her hand.
The judge blinked.
“Yes?”
“He already is.”
Several people laughed softly.
Judge Rourke smiled.
“Legally, Mary.”
“Oh.”
She considered.
“Then the paper needs to catch up.”
The judge removed his glasses.
“I believe that may be the finest explanation of adoption I’ve heard.”
Clara sat straight beside Jacob.
Her brace had been adjusted twice.
She could now walk the length of the courtroom without assistance.
Rourke looked at her.
“Clara Whitmore.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You understand that adoption does not erase your birth parents.”
Her eyes softened.
“Yes.”
“You may keep your surname if you wish.”
She looked at Jacob.
He had never asked her to change it.
That mattered.
“What if I want both?”
The judge smiled.
“Both?”
“Clara Whitmore Mallister.”
Jacob looked at her.
She shrugged.
“I told you growing up doesn’t mean leaving.”
His eyes filled.
He made no effort to blame snow this time.
Rourke approved.
One by one, each child chose.
Benjamin Hale Mallister.
Rose Avery Mallister.
Samuel Quinn Mallister.
Clara Whitmore Mallister.
Oliver Bennett Mallister.
Hugh Bennett Mallister.
Mary Carter Mallister.
Elsie Ward Mallister.
Eight histories.
One new shared name.
When Judge Rourke signed the decree, applause erupted.
Jacob sat motionless.
He had thought the moment would feel triumphant.
Instead it felt terrifying.
These children were his now.
Not temporarily.
Not until someone better arrived.
His.
And he was theirs.
Clara leaned toward him.
“You look scared.”
“I am.”
“Good.”
He looked at her.
“Why good?”
“Means you know it matters.”
Jacob laughed.
Outside, the children ran down the courthouse steps.
Clara walked.
She was slower.
But she walked.
Jacob stayed beside her.
Not ahead.
Not carrying her.
Beside her.
At the bottom, she stopped.
“Jacob?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask something?”
“Always.”
“What happens when things are happy?”
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“In stories, something bad always happens after people get happy.”
Jacob looked toward the others.
Benjamin arguing with Samuel.
Rose fixing Mary’s ribbon.
Oliver chasing Hugh.
Elsie holding Thomas’s wooden horse.
He understood.
Clara was waiting for loss.
Because every good thing she had known had disappeared.
Jacob knelt.
“Bad things will happen.”
Her face fell.
“That’s not very comforting.”
“I’m not finished.”
He took her hand.
“Storms happen. Cattle die. People get sick. Barns burn.”
Clara listened.
“But happiness isn’t the part before something terrible.”
“What is it?”
“It’s what we build between the terrible things.”
She looked toward the family.
“And if something happens?”
“We face it.”
“Together?”
“Together.”
Clara nodded.
Then suddenly smiled.
“Race you to the wagon.”
Jacob stared at her brace.
“That seems unfair.”
“To who?”
“You.”
She took off.
Her gait was uneven.
Slow.
But determined.
Jacob let her win.
She knew he let her win.
They argued about it the entire ride home.
And for the first time in Clara’s life, she was certain there would be another ride tomorrow.