As the week wore on, Rosa noticed a huge improvement in her sister's health.

“You see, it was the lack of meat,” she crowed. “Your body needed it.”

Elise made a face at the large steak on her plate. “I can't eat such a massive piece, Rosa,” she protested. “Not even the hands consume such a thing.”

However, Rosa would not be dissuaded and practically stood over her while she ate. John chuckled a little, a similar piece of meat in front of him. His children all had smaller pieces, more to the size that Elise would normally eat.

“You sure know how to cook,” he complimented. “Just like your sister. I expect your mother was real good in the kitchen too.”

Both women smiled a little, sadly at first, but then they laughed.

“What's the joke?” John wanted to know.

“Oh, well, you are right that my mother was a good cook,” Rosa began in her careful English. She generally spoke Italian when John was out working and the children were at school, but as soon as another person entered the house, she switched languages. “But she was not always so. My father's mother was hard on her for many years and would constantly complain. Then, when Nona passed away, my mother seemed to become a better cook overnight. We found out years later that she had been cooking poorly on purpose. She did not want to show off in front of our father's mother.”

It was a touching story, and the two sisters smiled softly.

“She was a humble and gentle woman,” Elise murmured. “Always patient and loving.”

Tears came to Rosa's eyes. “And you are just like her, mia sorella.”

“As are you, cara,” Elise replied.

She shook her head but said nothing. Elise was convinced that she was as sweet and kind as their mother, but Rosa knew it wasn't true. Instead, she was more like their father—strong-minded, assertive, and sometimes abrupt.

“Will you make some of her recipes for the party?” John asked, his question breaking into through their nostalgia.

“Oh, I don't know. Do you have the ingredients for bucatini or alfredo sauce?”

John nodded. “Sure. Elise makes Italian food all the time and we love it. Don't we, kids?”

The children clamored, announcing their devotion to the food of their mother's homeland. Rosa gave a little laugh.

“Well then, I will do what I can and hope the neighbors are as fond of my country's food as you are.”

It lightened her heart to think about the recipes she would make, with the help of Elise, whose health now allowed her to resume her daily tasks. She was terribly grateful for her sister's recovery, but at the same time, she wondered if she would become redundant in the household. What would she do then? There was still quite a bit of money left from her inheritance. Perhaps she could move to town and open some kind of business. That was what spinsters in Italy did. That, or move in with kind relatives and help the family in any way they could.

As she looked around the table of smiling faces, she realized that she would rather do the latter than the former, and hoped that they would all feel the same. Her family back in Italy didn't need her, they had each other, but Elise was on her own and had been for many years.

Rosa felt a sense of purpose well up in her chest. She didn't need a husband or children. Her sister's family would become her own and she would give them everything she had.

And that would have to be enough.

“You look happy,” Carl observed after dinner that evening. “I'm glad things turned out for you today.”

The three men had not only made changes to the ownership documents but had also stayed for dinner to talk about their plans for Falls Creek Ranch. They'd made some contacts in town regarding the purchase of some Thoroughbreds and had gone over some details at the Bowman home before leaving just about an hour before.

“I feel like it's all coming together,” Jacob said, a smile of satisfaction stretching across his face. “For so long, I was just drifting along. Nothing was clear to me, and I couldn't see my future. Now, I think I can.”

An image rose in his mind. He could see himself working with horses, training them and then coming home to a warm house that held loved ones. It was still a bit early to picture the woman he would marry, but he couldn't help seeing someone that looked an awful lot like Rosa.

“That's such a blessing, brother. I've been praying for you, you know, ever since you came here.”

Jacob started a little. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, well, I knew that God had good things for you. Did you think that you would come halfway across the country just to work for me? Nah. When I prayed for you, I saw you coming into your own, being a leader of men and having a good life. It's coming a little later than I expected, but everything in God's own time. God is so good.”

The way his brother kept referring to God began to irritate him.

“Well, it's also thanks to you and your confidence in me, not to mention working myself to the bone for the past ten years.”

Carl gave him a peculiar look. “But, Jacob, who do you think planted the idea in my head to bring you here? Who gave you the ability to work hard and allowed you to find out about the horses?”

He swallowed hard and tried to think of an answer that wouldn't be a lie but also wouldn't offend his brother or lead to a long conversation about his lack of faith.

“Each man is born with ideas,” he said carefully. “But it's up to him whether or not he's going to work to make them become real. Lots of men on this ranch could have had what I had, but they went to town once or twice a month and spent all they earned, gambling it away and whatnot. I never did. I wanted to sometimes, but I held myself back.”

A light of understanding entered Carl's eyes as they widened with shock. “You really believe that, don't you? You don't give God credit for anything?”

Now he was stuck. Jacob had never lied outright to his brother, but he had allowed Carl to think that his own faith ran much deeper than it did. At this point, it was almost nonexistent.

“Not everybody thinks the same about things,” he answered in a low, apologetic voice. “Is there a God? Maybe, but I don't see what He has to do with me. And the story of Jesus? I never really understood it. It doesn't make sense to me that someone else would take away my sin by dying. He doesn't even know me. I'm sorry, Carl. I know that you believe this, but I just can't wrap my head around it.”

“Cocoa?” Amanda asked, entering the front room with a tray. “There might be some cookies too.”

She set the tray down between them, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.

“Thanks,” Jacob said, reaching for a steaming mug. “This is a treat.”

After handing a mug to her husband, Amanda turned and beamed at him. “It's not every day that a man buys into a ranch, is it? We need to celebrate your future. Now that you have some property, who knows what will happen? Perhaps you'll have the confidence to find a wife too.”

Jacob laughed, but it was forced. He was worried about his brother. “That's your idea of a happy life for me, right? Well, I agree with you. However, I'm not sure that there's a woman around here who would be willing to marry an old grouch like me.”

“If you're meant to marry, God will bring her to you, or vice versa,” Amanda declared and then turned to her husband and laid her hand on his. “No one would have thought that a homely schoolteacher would have found love in the mountains of Colorado, but here we are.”

Normally, Carl would have vehemently protested his wife’s description of herself, but he was still in a state of shock. “Jacob doesn't believe in God,” he informed her dully. “He thinks he's done everything on his own.”

The alarm on Amanda's face made Jacob feel deep shame, and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably, directing his focus to his mug of cocoa.

“Jacob?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is this true?”

He didn't know what to say, but again, he couldn’t lie. “I never said I don't believe in Him exactly. I'm just not sure about everything the way that you both are. I—I never felt a, what should I say, a deeper understanding about the whole thing.”

Amanda set her mug down, slowly and carefully. “You were raised in church, Jacob. You know everything there is to know about God's love for you. Are you saying you never believed it?”

“I—I don't know. I don't think so. I mean, when I was young, I believed because everyone else did, but then it just kind of faded. When my pa lost his job and we had to leave home because there was no money, I guess that's when I lost whatever was left.”

What should have been an evening of celebration now felt like a funeral until Amanda suddenly brightened and gave him a warm smile.

“Well, then. Now I know how to pray. Carl, stop looking like your brother has died in his sins. He's still alive, my love, and there's still hope. And please stop acting so disappointed. It's not Jacob's fault that he doesn't believe. You know that. Faith is a gift from God, not something a person can earn on his own.” She picked up the plate of cookies and held it out to Jacob. “I love you like you're my own brother. Thank you for telling us what is on your heart. Now, I have to warn you that I believe something is going to happen to you. Carl and I are going to pray with all our might that God reveals Himself to you, so don't be afraid when it happens.”

Jacob wasn't sure what had brought about the sudden shift in mood, but Carl's despair lifted and he gave his brother a bit of a grin.

“Well now, you heard my wife, didn't you? Alright then. Amanda, you're right of course. Jacob, prepare yourself.” A small chuckle sprang forth. “When Amanda says she's going to pray, amazing things happen. Tonight, let's celebrate, not just for what you have today, but for your future. God will bless you, brother. You'll see.”

In that happy moment, Jacob almost wished that he could believe, but it was going to take a lot more than some encouraging words and a mug of cocoa.

It was going to take a miracle.