Clara leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.
For the first time since leaving Cedar Falls, she felt that she might be safe for a few minutes.
But sleep did not come.
Instead, she remembered the day Amos had proposed.
It had been early spring, beneath a flowering apple tree behind her aunt’s house. Amos had arrived in a clean black coat, carrying a small box wrapped in blue paper.
He had spoken of a home, a garden, and a life together.
He had said he admired her quiet nature, her patience, and her ability to make a place feel warm.
She had believed him.
Now she wondered whether he had chosen her because she was gentle, because she was young, or because he believed she would not question the documents he placed before her.
The thought made her feel foolish.
Then Silas’s voice came softly from the other side of the room.
“Clara?”
She opened her eyes.
“Yes?”
“You’re not foolish for believing someone who told you he loved you.”
She stared at him.
She had not realized she had spoken aloud.
Her throat tightened.
“I should have known.”
“No.”
“I should have asked more questions.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t make his choices your fault.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Silas did not move closer.
He simply stayed where he was, letting her cry without demanding that she explain herself.
And that quiet restraint, more than any promise, made her trust him.
At dawn, the storm had weakened.
The snow still fell, but the wind had dropped to a low moan through the pines. The cabin roof held, and the horses stood beneath the porch, their coats dusted white.
Silas went outside to inspect the trail.
Clara remained by the stove, wrapped in the blanket.
When he returned, his beard was rimed with frost.
“We can make it to the lower road if we leave soon.”
“Will Bell still be there?”
“Maybe.”
“Should we go another way?”
“There’s a narrow trail to the old logging station. It joins the main road below the ridge.”
“Is it safe?”
“Safer than the pass, today.”
Clara looked toward the door.
“Then we should go.”
Silas nodded.
He packed bread, dried meat, and a small tin of coffee into a canvas bag. Clara gathered her things, including the folded letter from Amos and the ring still tucked inside her valise.
Before leaving, she looked at the chair where she had spent the night.
The leather belt lay beside it.
Silas noticed her gaze.
“You can leave it here.”
She picked it up.
“I think I’ll keep it.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“It’s not a particularly fine belt.”
“It helped.”
He did not argue.
She folded it carefully and placed it in her bag.
Then Silas opened the door.
Cold air rushed inside.
The world beyond the cabin was transformed. Snow covered the trail, the trees, and the low stone wall near the porch. The sky was a pale, washed-out gray, and the mountains rose beyond the forest like immense shadows.
Clara stepped outside.