“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I was strategically positioned.”
Martha snorted.
Then her face became serious.
“He knows we know.”
“Yes.”
“What do we do?”
Colum held up a letter.
“Judge Ellison agreed to review the deed.”
“When?”
“December third.”
Martha exhaled.
Three weeks.
“Can we keep it safe that long?”
Colum looked at the dark clouds gathering over the mountains.
“I’m more worried whether we can get there.”
The storm arrived early.
November twenty-sixth.
Snow began before dawn.
By noon, fences disappeared.
By nightfall, the barn door had to be dug open from inside.
Wind screamed across the plains hard enough to shake window frames.
Martha had experienced blizzards.
This was different.
Colum knew immediately.
“White death.”
“What?”
“Mountain term.”
“Comforting.”
“Means you don’t go outside unless the building’s burning.”
The storm lasted thirty hours.
When it stopped, the world had changed.
Snowdrifts climbed nearly to the eaves.
The road vanished.
One cottonwood had split.
The north fence disappeared completely.
Martha dug a tunnel toward the barn.
Colum used a rope line from the porch to guide her back whenever whiteout returned.
The livestock survived.
Because of the windbreaks.
Because of extra hay.
Because Colum had insisted.
Martha looked at him differently after that.
Not because he had saved her.
Because they had saved each other.
The town fared worse.
Three roofs collapsed.
Two barns were lost.
Dozens of cattle froze.
One family was stranded five miles from food.
Martha and Colum took in six people.
Then ten.
Then fourteen.
Her parlor filled with bedrolls.
The same people who had laughed about the enormous widow and crippled mountain man now ate Martha’s stew beside their stove.
No one joked.
Colum organized sleeping positions by medical need.
Martha rationed food.
A child developed fever.
Colum remembered where Harrison stored willow-bark medicine in his traveling chest.
Martha sent two strong men to retrieve the doctor by sled.
The storm taught Willow Plains its first lesson.
Winter did not care who had been mocked in summer.
A second storm came four days later.
Then a third.
The road to the county seat remained closed.
Judge Ellison could not reach them.
December third passed.
No hearing.
Amos smiled again.
He came during a brief clearing.
Martha met him outside.
“Court delayed.”
“I know.”
“Shame.”
“You enjoying this?”
“Just nature.”
Colum rolled onto the porch behind her.
Amos looked at him.
“You’re harder to kill than expected.”
Silence.
Martha slowly turned toward Colum.
He said nothing.
Amos smiled.
Too late.
The words had escaped.
Martha looked at Amos.
“What did you say?”
Amos’s face changed.
“Figure of speech.”
“No.”
Colum’s voice became cold.