Scarlett Rose's Arc

Chapter 15 of 57

The wall came down over three days. Clayton framed the new room himself, and Scarlett watched him mark studs with a carpenter's pencil tucked behind his ear. On the fourth morning, she stood at the sink and counted months in her head. Twelve since the flood. Twelve since he'd hung his hat by the door. She wanted a baby. She had wanted one since Sunday supper, maybe before. She hadn't said it out loud, and every day she didn't say it, the words got heavier. She rehearsed at the sink. She rehearsed while feeding the chickens. She opened her mouth twice at breakfast and closed it. Clayton noticed. He always noticed. "You've been chewing on something," he said that evening. He was on the porch step, scratching the bloodhound's ear. "Say it before it swallows you." She sat down beside him. The sun was low over the ridge. She pulled her knees up. "I want a baby," she said. "With you. I've wanted to say it for a month." Clayton went still. He set his hand flat on his knee. He looked at the pasture, then at her. "Come with me," he said. He stood and held out a hand. She took it. He walked her past the barn, past the garden, toward her grandmother's glass house. The panes caught the last light. He opened the door for her. Inside, on the potting bench, sat a bouquet of blue roses and purple lilies, tied with twine. Beside it, a small ring box. "Was going to do this Saturday," he said. "Had a speech." "Clayton." "I already told my mother." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I already told Duke." A pink butterfly drifted from the ferns and landed on the bouquet. Scarlett laughed once, wet. He opened the box. A plain gold band with one small stone. "I want the room for a nursery," he said. "I was going to ask you after. Figured I'd get one yes at a time." "Ask me now." "Marry me. Have a baby with me. Same question, twice." "Yes," she said. "To both." He slid the ring on. His hands weren't steady. That surprised her more than anything. They walked back to the cottage in the dark. The hat was on the hook. The framed wall smelled of new pine. Clayton stopped in the doorway of the empty room and looked at it a long time. "Crib on that wall," he said. "Window seat under there." "Alright." She leaned into his shoulder. The silence she'd carried for a month was gone. In its place was a room that needed painting and a date that needed setting, and a hundred small things she suddenly had permission to say out loud.