"No, of course. That makes sense." Reuben was the third son, after all, and the one least likely to be favorably remembered. Melody hadn't particularly wanted to use their names anyway but was more thinking of what he might like. Her cheeks flushed from the awkward embarrassment they now found themselves in; what a foolish, presumptuous question for her to ask.

That he didn't in turn ask if she would like to use a name from her family was a stinging reminder that she had no family. Melody could hardly name a daughter Margaret after her sister and it not be immediately recalled by all of society that she had no lasting connection to her sisters. Nor grandparents. Nor cousins or uncles. Not even parents, even if her mother was willing to see her earlier this year. It was better that Reuben hadn't asked, for she likely would have burst into tears at their tiny kitchen table.

Music was an easier idea to latch onto, not that Melody had any inclination to name their child after an instrument she halfheartedly played for a year or two. Viola was pretty, she supposed, though it didn't speak to her the way she hoped a name might. "It's a thought...I'm not really a musical person, though. What about something literary? Or just a name you heard in passing that you liked?"

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