Wonderful.
Caleb looked angry.
“Are you replacing Pa?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
She knelt despite knees protesting.
“Because loving someone new does not erase someone dead.”
Caleb looked away.
“Feels like it.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
Martha let that stand.
Maybe she did not.
Caleb’s grief belonged to him.
She said:
“You don't have to love Gideon.”
“You don't even have to like him.”
“He doesn't get your father’s place.”
“No one does.”
Caleb swallowed.
“Would you marry him?”
“I don't know.”
“But maybe.”
“Yes.”
The boy walked away.
Martha worried all day.
That evening Caleb did not speak to Gideon.
Gideon noticed.
Martha told him quietly.
“He saw us.”
Gideon looked toward boy splitting kindling.
“Ah.”
“What do we do?”
“Nothing.”
Martha frowned.
“He’s hurting.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“Let him.”
She stared.
Gideon continued:
“Not alone.”
“But don't rush him because feeling makes us uncomfortable.”
Martha looked at him differently.
“You’re annoyingly wise sometimes.”
“Rare.”
The next morning Gideon asked Caleb to walk trap line.
Caleb almost refused.
Then went.
They returned six hours later.
Both silent.
Martha waited until Gideon removed boots.
“Well?”
“He hates me less.”
“How?”
“We talked.”
“About?”
“His father.”
Martha’s chest tightened.
“What did you say?”
“Not much.”
“Gideon.”
He sighed.
“Told him I’m not his father.”
“He said good.”
Martha almost laughed.
“Then?”
“Told him his father being dead means boy gets to be angry.”
“And?”
“He cried.”
Her eyes filled.
“Did you…”
Gideon looked uncomfortable.
“I stood there.”
“Did you hug him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He didn't ask.”
Martha closed eyes.
Of course.
Later, Caleb came inside.
He walked straight to Martha.
Hugged her.
Hard.
Then whispered:
“Gideon said Pa doesn't disappear if you marry.”
Martha held him.
“No.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Yes.”
Caleb nodded against her.
After that, he began calling Gideon by name instead of “him.”
Progress.
Winter deepened.
The first true blizzard came in December.
Snow sealed them in three days.
Martha discovered she was not afraid.
Not exactly.
The cabin groaned under wind.
Windows rattled.
Gideon checked roof every few hours.
Children stayed close to fire.
Martha baked bread.
The world disappeared outside.
By second night, she understood why Gideon once said the mountain could become too quiet.
There was intimacy in isolation.
Danger too.
But mostly intimacy.
After children slept, Martha and Gideon sat beside fire.
She leaned against him now without thinking.
His arm around her shoulders.
“Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Why four beds?”
Gideon frowned.
“We discussed.”
“No.”
“Why did you really build mine?”