She stared at him through tears.
He lowered himself beside her chair, leaving a careful space between them.
“Then crush that belt in your hands. Nothing in this cabin gets to hurt you.”
She gripped it hard.
The pain came in waves, and she squeezed until her knuckles whitened. Silas stayed beside her, speaking softly when she needed reassurance and remaining silent when she needed to concentrate.
For a little while, the storm seemed distant.
Then the knocks came.
Three heavy blows against the door.
And with them, the voice that had told Clara her future husband was dead.
Silas rose and moved between Clara and the door.
“Stay back from the windows,” he told her.
She was already clutching the belt against her chest.
“Who is he?”
“Bell.”
“Why would he come here?”
Silas looked toward the entrance.
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
Outside, the wind swallowed the sound of movement. Then came another knock.
“Silas! Open up!”
Silas called through the door.
“You can tell me what you want from there.”
“I’ve come for the girl.”
“She’s resting.”
“She belongs with her husband.”
Clara’s face drained of color.
Silas’s jaw tightened.
“You told her he was dead.”
A pause.
Then Bell answered, “That was a misunderstanding.”
Clara stood too quickly, and pain shot through her feet. She caught the table, biting back a cry.
Silas glanced at her.
“Sit down.”
“He said—”
“I heard him.”
The clerk’s voice rose above the storm.
“Clara! You need to come out. Amos is waiting.”
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
Silas looked at her.
“You don’t have to answer him.”
Bell pounded again.
“Clara, you’re making this much harder than it needs to be.”
Silas stepped close to the door but kept the bar in place.
“Leave.”
“I have papers.”
“Slide them under the door.”
“I’m not handing them to you.”
“Then you can keep them.”
Bell cursed.
Clara sat down again, trembling.
The voice outside sounded so ordinary, so familiar, that the fear it carried seemed worse than a stranger’s threat.
She remembered Bell standing on the depot platform, his hat held solemnly against his chest as he delivered the telegram.
She remembered him telling her that the western station had confirmed Amos’s death.
She remembered asking if she could see the telegram itself.
He had said it was a company document and not for public circulation.
At the time, grief had made her too exhausted to argue.
Now she wondered what else he had hidden.