“That’s what worried me.”
“They were looking for something.”
Clara thought of her trunk.
Her mother’s comb.
Old photographs.
Then one memory surfaced.
A small key Gideon had once accused her of stealing.
She had not.
At least, not knowingly.
Her hand went to her throat.
Ethan noticed.
“What?”
Clara stood.
“My sewing box.”
They went to bedroom.
She opened the trunk.
Removed dresses.
A folded shawl.
The sewing box lay beneath.
Plain walnut.
Her mother’s.
Clara opened it.
Needles.
Thread.
Buttons.
Thimble.
A hidden compartment beneath the spool tray.
She had known it existed since childhood.
She lifted it.
Inside lay a brass key.
Ethan looked.
“You know what it opens?”
Clara’s mouth went dry.
“Yes.”
Jonah moved closer.
“What?”
“A safe.”
“Whose?”
“Gideon’s.”
The room went silent again.
Clara remembered the night.
Gideon drunk.
Throwing papers across his study.
Demanding to know where the key was.
Accusing servants.
Accusing Clara.
Later her mother’s sewing box had appeared in the hallway after a maid packed belongings from the study.
Clara had never opened the hidden compartment.
Not once.
Because after Gideon’s death, anything connected to him became something she wanted gone.
Jonah whispered:
“Where’s the safe?”
Clara looked toward him.
“In Boston.”
Ethan sighed.
“Of course.”
Morning came without anyone sleeping much.
Jonah took the chair by the stove.
Ethan remained near the door.
Clara lay beneath blankets alone.
She heard every movement.
At dawn Ethan entered carrying coffee.
He set it beside her.
She looked at him.
“You haven’t asked.”
“Asked what?”
“If our marriage is legal.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
Clara continued.
“If Gideon’s alive, it isn’t.”
He sat at edge of chair.
“You didn’t know.”
“That doesn't change law.”
“I didn’t marry law.”
Clara stared.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you didn’t deceive me.”
“If another man is alive somewhere, we’ll deal with it.”
“Ethan.”
He looked directly at her.
“You want to leave?”
The question hurt.
“No.”
“Then don't decide for me that I want you gone.”
Her eyes filled.
“I brought this to your door.”
“You brought yourself.”
“Trouble followed.”
“Trouble does that.”
“You may lose your land.”
“Maybe.”
“You say that like it’s nothing.”
“It isn’t.”
He leaned closer.
“But neither are you.”
Clara looked away because tenderness still embarrassed her more than cruelty ever had.
Ethan hesitated.
Then asked:
“Can I touch you?”
She nodded.
His hand covered hers.
Large.
Scarred.
Gentle.