“That was implication.”
She laughed again.
“Oh, this is cruel.”
His expression changed.
“I’m not joking.”
“That makes it stranger.”
Gideon said nothing.
Martha pointed toward herself.
“Have you looked at me?”
He did.
Not quickly.
Not with embarrassment.
His gaze met hers first, then took in the rest of her without the familiar hesitation men used when trying not to be caught judging.
“I’m looking.”
“I have three children.”
“I counted.”
“I’m broke.”
“I gathered.”
“I’m large.”
Gideon’s eyebrows moved slightly.
“Yes.”
No apology.
No false reassurance.
No “not that large.”
Just yes.
Martha stared.
He continued.
“I work trap lines.”
“Timber.”
“Some hunting.”
“Sometimes gone most of day.”
“Cabin gets cold.”
“Food needs cooking.”
“Clothes tear.”
“Garden needs keeping.”
“So.”
Martha tilted her head.
“You want a servant.”
His answer came sharp.
“No.”
Bess flinched.
Gideon immediately lowered his voice.
“A partner.”
Martha watched him.
“I provide food.”
“Shelter.”
“Protection.”
“You keep hearth when I’m gone.”
“Help with cabin.”
“Children eat.”
“They stay warm.”
“And I get what?”
The question was not about food.
Gideon understood.
His eyes remained on hers.
“Your own word.”
Martha frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means nothing happens because I bought flour.”
The air changed.
He had heard.
Inside the store.
Everything.
Martha felt heat rise into her face.
Anger first.
Then shame.
Then anger at being ashamed.
“You listened.”
“Couldn't help hearing.”
“You stood there while Abernathy—”
“Yes.”
“While everyone—”
“Yes.”
She wanted to strike him.
Instead she asked:
“Why me?”
Gideon looked toward the town.
People had begun watching.
Of course.
A mountain man proposing marriage to the town’s poorest widow was better entertainment than weather.
He looked back at Martha.
“These people think being delicate means being good.”
“And being pretty means being useful.”
Martha laughed bitterly.
“I’m not pretty either.”
His face changed.
“You’re wrong.”
The words were simple.
Martha stopped.
Gideon continued before she could respond.
“But that isn’t why.”
“Then why?”
“You held those children together.”
“You walked out of that store with three pennies and didn’t let them see you break.”
Martha’s throat tightened.
“You don't know anything about me.”
“No.”
“At least honest.”
“Yes.”
He looked at Caleb.
“Boy’s angry.”
“Good.”
“Need kindling split.”
Caleb glared.
Gideon almost smiled.
Then his gaze returned to Martha.
“I leave in ten minutes.”
“You’re assuming I said yes.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“I’m assuming your youngest is shivering.”
Martha looked down.
Bess had both hands tucked under her arms.
Sarah’s lips were pale.
Caleb was pretending not to shake.
Tomorrow they would have nowhere to sleep.
Pride was expensive.
Children should not pay for it.