“Fine.”
“No hitting children.”
His face hardened.
“I don’t hit children.”
“Good.”
“No drinking until you become another man.”
“I don’t drink.”
“None?”
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“Why?”
“My father did.”
Enough.
“Money.”
“What?”
“If I work, I want part.”
“Of what?”
“Cabin income.”
“Furs.”
“Timber.”
“Garden.”
“Whatever we build together.”
Gideon nodded.
“Half household profit.”
Martha stared.
“I was going to ask quarter.”
“Then you should have asked faster.”
She almost laughed.
“Children stay with me no matter what.”
“Yes.”
“If marriage fails, they remain mine.”
“They already are.”
“Bedroom stays mine unless I say otherwise.”
“Yes.”
“You knock.”
“Yes.”
“I can leave.”
“Yes.”
“Any time?”
Gideon looked at her.
“If weather allows.”
She smiled despite herself.
“Fair.”
He added:
“One rule.”
Martha stiffened.
“What?”
“You eat.”
She frowned.
“I do eat.”
“Not enough.”
Her face changed.
Gideon continued before she could defend.
“You fed kids first yesterday.”
“Normal.”
“You barely finished bowl.”
“I was tired.”
“You look like woman who’s been skipping.”
Martha stared.
A bitter laugh nearly came.
Everyone in Oak Haven had looked at her size and assumed excess.
This man had watched one meal and noticed hunger.
“I’m large.”
“I have eyes.”
“Then you know I don't need—”
“Body size doesn't tell me when you last ate.”
Martha stopped.
Gideon leaned back.
“Food is here.”
“No counting.”
“No saving your share for children.”
“I can provide enough.”
“You don’t trust that yet.”
He was right.
She hated him for it.
Her eyes filled again.
Gideon looked away.
Not to avoid emotion.
To give privacy.
Martha whispered:
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“That’s your rule?”
“Yes.”
“You’re strange.”
“So I’m told.”
The arrangement began.
Days formed routines.
Gideon rose before sunrise.
Martha cooked breakfast.
Not because ordered.
Because children woke hungry.
Caleb split wood under Gideon’s instruction.
Sarah gathered eggs.
Bess followed everyone and accomplished nothing.
Martha reorganized pantry within three days.
Gideon did not complain until he spent twenty minutes looking for salt.
“You moved it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because salt beside lamp oil is foolish.”
“It’s been there nine years.”
“That explains nothing.”
He stared.
Martha stared back.
Caleb watched from doorway.
Gideon finally said:
“Where is it?”
“By flour.”
He grunted.
That evening he moved lamp oil.
Martha considered victory.
She discovered Gideon could cook, badly.
Repair anything, well.
Wash clothes, terribly.
Read, slowly.
Write, worse.
He knew weather by smell.