“Enough.”
“I’m fine.”
“You're bleeding.”
“Occupational.”
“Sit.”
“Clara.”
She pointed.
“Sit.”
He did.
She cleaned his hands.
His fingers were enormous compared with hers.
Callused.
Scarred.
She applied salve.
Elias watched her.
“You always this bossy?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Her eyes lifted.
“Good?”
He smiled.
“I like knowing what to expect.”
Clara tied cloth around his palm.
“Expect pain if you reopen this.”
“I'll behave.”
“That would be new.”
His good hand touched her wrist.
Very lightly.
Clara stopped.
He could have pulled her closer.
He did not.
“Can I?”
The question mattered.
Clara looked at him.
“Yes.”
Elias leaned forward.
Their first kiss was nothing like the joking had promised.
No hunger.
No roughness.
Just warmth.
Slow.
Careful.
Clara's fingers touched his beard.
He kissed her again.
Deeper this time.
Then stopped.
His forehead rested against hers.
“I should probably say something noble.”
“Don't ruin it.”
He smiled.
She kissed him again.
Outside, snow slid from the roof.
The war remained.
Silas Crowe still existed.
Debts remained.
Thomas remained dead.
Men remained buried in Virginia.
None of those things disappeared.
But for several minutes, Clara allowed herself to want something that did not solve a single practical problem.
Elias.
When the road cleared on the fifth morning, he should have left.
He saddled his horse.
Clara stood near the barn.
Neither looked pleased.
Elias tightened the girth.
“My orders require Harrisburg.”
“I assumed you weren't carrying love letters.”
“One could be.”
“Government seal?”
“Very romantic department.”
She smiled.
Then became serious.
“When?”
“When what?”
“Will you return?”
Elias paused.
He could lie.
Soon.
A week.
Spring.
He did not.
“I don't know.”
Clara nodded.
Good.
Painful.
But good.
He walked toward her.
“I want to.”
“Want isn't geography.”
“No.”
“I know.”
He touched her cheek.
Clara leaned into his hand despite herself.
Then hoofbeats sounded from the road.
Three riders.
Elias's posture changed immediately.
He stepped between Clara and the approaching men before she could object.
She moved beside him deliberately.
Not behind.
He noticed.
Said nothing.
The riders stopped.
The leader wore a long brown coat and expensive gloves.
Silas Crowe.
Forty-five.
Clean-shaven.
Thick sandy hair.
Merchant.
Landowner.
Man who never seemed short of anything during shortages.