He corrected her grip.
His hand closed around hers.
Both stopped.
Lavinia looked over her shoulder.
Amos released her as though burned.
“Again.”
She did.
Better.
By the third day, she could make fire without him.
By the fourth, her wound was healing.
She was not useless.
That surprised him less each day.
She knew how to sew.
Could inventory supplies faster than he could.
Recognized medicinal herbs.
She spoke French, apparently.
Amos had no use for that but respected the discipline.
She also had opinions on everything.
“Your chimney draws poorly.”
“It works.”
“Your shelves are crooked.”
“They hold jars.”
“You keep salt too close to moisture.”
“Still salt.”
“You own one chair.”
“Only one of me.”
“Until now.”
Amos looked at her.
That ended that conversation.
The storm cleared on the fifth morning.
Sun struck the snow so brightly Lavinia shielded her eyes when Amos opened the door.
The world glittered.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
He stepped outside.
Something was wrong.
Tracks.
Fresh.
Horse.
Two riders.
They had approached within sixty yards of cabin during night.
Then turned back.
Amos crouched.
Lavinia appeared behind him fully dressed.
“What is it?”
“Inside.”
She saw tracks.
“Someone came.”
“Inside.”
“Were they looking for me?”
He stood.
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
“Lavinia.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“My driver lied about the bridge.”
“He abandoned me.”
“Now riders have come near the cabin.”
“You know my father.”
“I am done being told nothing.”
Amos stared down at her.
She looked small against him.
Not fragile.
Small.
There was a difference.
“Why were you going to Redstone?”
he asked.
She hesitated.
“Business.”
“That word hides more than mine.”
She looked toward tracks.
Then:
“My father left property outside Redstone.”
“What kind?”
“Rail property.”
Amos’s face changed.
“A depot?”
“An abandoned maintenance spur.”
“Where?”
“Black Hollow.”
Amos went still.
Lavinia saw.
“You know it.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Trouble.”
“That is not helpful.”
Amos walked inside.
She followed.
He opened a floor chest Lavinia had never seen him touch.
Inside lay old clothes.
A rolled canvas.
A rusted badge.
A leather notebook.
And a photograph.
Amos took the photograph.
For years he had not looked at it.
Two men stood beside a locomotive.
One was Amos.
Young.
Clean-shaven.
Smiling.
Lavinia almost did not recognize him.
Beside him stood another man.
Elegant even in work clothes.
Dark hair.
Straight posture.
Her father.
Lavinia sat.
“My God.”
Amos put photograph down.
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“You worked for him.”