“Not everyone does.”
He had no answer to that.
Clara walked to the table and set down the folded blanket.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why do you live so far from town?”
Silas’s gaze moved toward the mountains.
“After Mary and our boy died, I couldn’t bear the house in the valley.”
Clara’s expression softened.
“How long ago?”
“Six years.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
“For a while, I thought the mountains would make the grief quieter.”
“Did they?”
“Sometimes.”
He looked at the stove.
“Other times, they only gave me more silence.”
Clara understood more than she wanted to.
Grief had isolated her too, even when she had been surrounded by family.
She stepped closer, then stopped at a respectful distance.
“Do you still miss them?”
“Every day.”
“Does it ever become easier?”
Silas considered the question.
“It becomes different. You learn how to carry it without letting it decide every step.”
Clara looked down.
“I hope I can learn that.”
“You will.”
She wanted to believe him.
And, for the first time, she found that she did.
By April, Clara had found work at the Bellwether general store.
The owner, Mrs. Pike, needed someone to keep the accounts while her husband recovered from a broken arm. Clara had been educated at a small school in Cedar Falls and was skilled with numbers, handwriting, and careful records.
The work suited her.
She entered purchases, balanced the ledger, sorted invoices, and helped customers who came in from the surrounding farms.
The income was modest, but it gave her independence.
She rented a small room above the store and began saving money.
Silas continued his ranch work and occasionally brought her supplies from the valley. Their friendship deepened through ordinary moments: conversations after work, shared meals at Mrs. Harlan’s table, and walks along the creek when the weather grew mild.
Neither hurried to name what was growing between them.
Clara was careful not to mistake safety for love.
Silas was careful not to turn kindness into expectation.
One evening, as they walked beneath the first green leaves of spring, Clara asked him whether he intended to remain in the mountains forever.
Silas looked toward the ridge.
“I used to think so.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m not certain.”
She smiled.
“That’s a change.”
“Yes.”
They walked in silence for a while.
Then Silas said, “You could go home, Clara. Your aunt wants you back.”
“I know.”
“You don’t owe this town anything.”
“I know that too.”
He glanced at her.
“Then why stay?”