She had remained safely ensconced at her mother's house, communicating with her husband largely by letter, save for when she and Gwenog met him at Padmore Park as the Pettigrews worked to mend fences. He had said he would set things right, promised to do his level best, and the South Bartonburg house was certainly a step in that direction.

A fresh start, albeit one in which Gwenog's wooden train might roll slightly on its own.

Still, uncertainty gnawed at her like a stray dog on a bone. Desdemona's expressions and feelings, in Art's presence, had been granted only in small dollops in the weeks since their estrangement; should she give too much of herself, after all, she would fall yet again into the human sinkhole that was her husband. She had to be sure, but she couldn't, be sure, and he was asking her to be sure—

"You're certain we can afford it?" she asked softly, tone skeptical but kind.