It was not exactly comforting, but she sensed no cruelty in it.
They continued in silence.
After an hour, Clara noticed that Silas kept glancing toward the ridge above the trail.
“What are you watching?”
“Snow.”
She followed his gaze.
The slope looked smooth and white, broken only by dark trees.
“Can snow be dangerous when it isn’t falling?”
“Especially then.”
She did not ask more.
A little later, the wagon jolted over a buried rock. Clara caught the edge of the seat, and Silas steadied the reins.
“Hold on,” he said.
She did.
The horses rounded a bend, and the trail narrowed beside a steep drop.
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“Is there another road?”
“Not until we reach the valley.”
“What happens if the snow blocks this one?”
“We turn around.”
“And if we can’t?”
Silas looked at her.
“Then we find shelter.”
The calm certainty in his voice made her feel both safer and more afraid.
By late afternoon, the storm thickened.
Snow began striking the wagon sideways, stinging Clara’s cheeks and collecting in the folds of her cloak. The horses slowed, lowering their heads against the wind.
Silas stopped near a stand of firs and climbed down.
He examined the road ahead, then returned to the wagon.
“We’re not making the pass before dark.”
“Then we should go back.”
“Can’t.”
Clara stared at him.
“Why not?”
He pointed behind them.
The trail had disappeared beneath a fresh drift, and a section of snow-covered slope above it had begun to shed loose powder.
“We’d be turning into the same weather with less daylight.”
“Then what do we do?”
“There’s a cabin about half a mile north. I used it last winter when a storm trapped me above the valley.”
“Is it yours?”
“No. Belongs to an old trapper who’s been gone three years. He lets me keep the stove stocked.”
Clara looked toward the forest.
“Will it be safe?”
Silas’s expression remained serious.
“Safer than sitting in this wagon.”
He turned the horses onto a narrow track between the trees.
The cabin appeared through the snow as a dark shape beneath a steep roof.
It was small, built of rough logs, with a single chimney and a porch almost buried beneath drifted snow. A stack of split wood rested under the eaves, protected by a sagging tarp.
Silas climbed down and tied the horses beneath the porch roof.
“Stay in the wagon until I clear the door.”
Clara nodded.
He disappeared into the storm.
She watched him struggle against the wind, his coat flapping around his legs. He used his shoulder to push snow away from the entrance, then forced the door open.
A moment later, he returned.
“Come on. Quickly.”
He helped her down without touching more than her gloved hand and elbow, then led her inside.
The cabin smelled of cold ash, old pine, and dried herbs.
A black iron stove stood near the far wall. There was a narrow bed, a wooden table, two chairs, a washbasin, and a shelf holding tin cups, a kettle, and a few jars.
The windowpanes were cloudy with frost.