“If your husband wants the truth about his father’s decisions,” the doctor said, “that is where I would begin.”
For the next two weeks, Gideon rested at home.
The inflammation slowly subsided. He took his medicine, followed the doctor’s instructions, and avoided strenuous work.
Rosalie cared for him with a tenderness that surprised them both.
She changed his dressings, prepared his meals, and read aloud from the few books in the cabin, even though he could not understand most of her words.
Sometimes she sat beside him and described the weather, the cattle, or the birds gathering near the stream.
She knew he could not hear her clearly.
She spoke anyway.
One evening, Gideon watched her talking while she folded a blanket.
When she finished, he opened the notebook.
I wish I could hear your voice.
Rosalie stopped folding.
She sat beside him and wrote:
I wish you could, too.
