She's already gone a touch paler when he says her name, and lowers her hands from the chemise she's hung to dry them on her apron. She nods silently, in the manner of one too tense to speak-- the little one stands and hugs around her leg, and she bends to pick them up with a tight squeeze.

"I'll come," she says finally to Byerly, bringing the child and murmuring something to the oldest girl, who extends her arms to hold them.
"Tell your da," comes the command to her other daughter, who takes off running, "I'll be back when I can."

With the way things set into motion, there has clearly been some preparation involved; perhaps they knew about the undertaking, and have been awaiting the worst.
"Got to grab a few things," Prudence says, clipped, over her shoulder to Byerly as she moves toward the house. There's a sack inside the door, already packed, waiting for her.

The children from the well have come around the side of the house to gawk, staring at Byerly and the horses and whispering.