He looked at flames.
“Because I thought if you came, you’d be scared.”
Martha waited.
“Why?”
“Town said your husband was good man.”
“He was.”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Martha smiled sadly.
“He never hurt us.”
“But he wasn’t saint.”
“People become saints after death because living people feel guilty speaking truth.”
Gideon nodded.
“That sounds right.”
Martha continued:
“He was impatient.”
“Sometimes cruel with words.”
“Loved children.”
“Loved me.”
“But he also thought marriage meant a wife followed.”
“Not always asked.”
Gideon’s jaw tightened.
“He forced?”
“No.”
She thought.
“Not like that.”
“But choice wasn’t something we discussed.”
“Things were expected.”
“I did them.”
“Because that's marriage.”
Gideon looked at her.
“And you were scared I’d expect same.”
“Yes.”
He rubbed thumb slowly over her shoulder.
“Reasonable.”
Martha laughed softly.
“You never defend yourself.”
“Against what?”
“My suspicion.”
“Suspicion kept your children alive.”
“Why insult it?”
Her eyes filled.
“Careful.”
“What?”
“You keep saying things like that.”
“And?”
“I may fall in love with you.”
Gideon went absolutely still.
Martha immediately regretted saying it.
Too soon.
Too exposed.
Then he looked down at her.
His voice quiet.
“I think I already did.”
The storm outside became irrelevant.
Martha stared.
“Since when?”
He thought.
“When you insulted my manners.”
She laughed.
“That fast?”
“No.”
“Maybe when you moved salt.”
“Terrible answer.”
“Maybe when you made Bess eat slower.”
“You did that.”
“Then I’m in love with myself.”
Martha laughed harder.
Gideon smiled.
Then became serious.
“Maybe there wasn’t moment.”
“Just happened while cabin got louder.”
Martha’s eyes burned.
She kissed him.
This time nothing cautious about first contact.
Still respectful.
Still hers as much as his.
When they separated, she whispered:
“I’m not ready for your bed.”
“Okay.”
“I may be soon.”
“Okay.”
“You can sound more excited.”
Gideon’s mouth twitched.
“I’m trying not to frighten you.”
Martha touched his beard.
“You’re doing poor job.”
He laughed.
The fourth bed remained hers until January.
Then one night Martha stood in Gideon’s doorway.
No dramatic clothing.
No special plan.
Her hair was loose.
She wore plain nightdress and shawl.
Gideon sat on bed reading badly.
He looked up.
“Martha?”
She closed door behind herself.
His book lowered.
“I don't want my room tonight.”
Gideon did not move.
“Cold?”
“No.”
“Bad dream?”
“No.”
Understanding arrived slowly.
His breathing changed.
Martha smiled.
“You ask too many questions.”
“I was told choice matters.”
“It does.”
She crossed room.
Stopped before him.
“I’m choosing.”
Gideon stood.
He was so large she had to tilt head.
She placed both hands against his chest.