Then October brought the first snow.
Not enough to stay.
Enough to warn.
Colum studied the western sky.
“Bad winter.”
Martha rolled her eyes.
“Everyone says that every year.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I mean bad.”
“How do you know?”
“Cloud line. Early geese. Pine cones.”
Martha stared.
“You read pine cones now?”
“I spent sixteen years above eight thousand feet.”
She looked toward the barn.
“How bad?”
Colum’s expression changed.
“Bad enough you need twice the hay you have.”
Martha’s stomach sank.
She could not afford it.
Amos had stolen hundreds.
The fire had destroyed stored feed.
Winter supplies were low.
“What do we do?”
Colum thought.
Then pointed toward the north slope.
“You have eighty acres of prairie grass nobody cuts.”
“Ground’s rough.”
“Build sled runners.”
“With what?”
“The ruined wagon frame behind the barn.”
“That thing hasn’t moved since Elias died.”
“We don’t need it to move like a wagon.”
“What then?”
“Drag.”
The next three weeks became relentless.
Martha cut grass.
Colum designed a wide drag sled that distributed weight over uneven soil.
She hauled.
He bundled.
She cursed him.
He corrected her knots.
She threatened him with murder.
They filled the loft.
Not enough.
But closer.
Then Colum examined the house.
“South wall leaks.”
“I know.”
“You’ll freeze.”
“I haven’t yet.”
“This winter will be different.”
Together they insulated it with packed straw between outer boards.
Colum designed removable shutters.
Martha built them.
He showed her how to stack firewood in staggered windbreak walls.
She showed him where Elias kept iron hinges.
By November, the farmhouse looked less like a lonely widow’s property and more like a fort.
People noticed.
So did Amos.
He arrived one cold afternoon.
Martha met him by the gate.
“What?”
“Friendly visit.”
“No.”
Amos laughed.
“He still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Shame.”
Martha took one step forward.
Amos lifted his hands.
“Kidding.”
“You don’t joke well.”
His gaze moved toward the house.
“You’ve changed things.”
“Winter.”
“Word is the cripple’s useful.”
“His name is Colum.”
“Word is he’s got ideas about my land.”
Martha went still.
“Your land?”
Amos smiled.
“East pasture.”
“Mine.”
“Paper says otherwise.”
Her pulse accelerated.
He knew.
“Then take me to court.”
His smile widened.
“Maybe I will.”
He rode away.
Colum appeared in the doorway.
“You should stop standing behind curtains.”