Could set a broken animal leg.
Could find lost trail under fresh snow.
He spoke little.
But when he did, children listened.
Not because he demanded.
Because he did not waste words.
Bess loved him first.
Of course she did.
Three-year-olds had no loyalty to emotional complexity.
On the fifth morning, Gideon returned from barn carrying her.
Bess had one tiny arm around his neck and was wearing his hat, which covered half her face.
Martha stopped stirring oatmeal.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Why is she on you?”
Gideon looked down.
“She climbed.”
Bess declared:
“Horse.”
“You are not horse.”
“Horse.”
Gideon looked at Martha.
“What do I do?”
Martha laughed until she had to hold counter.
Gideon looked offended.
“Help.”
“Walk in circle.”
He did.
Bess kicked her feet happily.
Sarah joined.
“Me next.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You’re seven.”
“I can still ride.”
Gideon sighed.
Martha watched giant mountain man become transportation system for children before breakfast.
Something in her chest softened.
Caleb resisted longer.
He obeyed chores.
Spoke little.
Watched Gideon constantly.
One afternoon, Gideon handed him a small hatchet.
Caleb’s eyes widened.
Martha stepped outside.
“No.”
Gideon looked at her.
“He’s ten.”
“Exactly.”
“He needs learn.”
“He can learn with something smaller.”
Caleb said:
“Ma.”
“No.”
Gideon held hatchet out toward Martha.
She took it.
Inspected.
Sharp.
Heavy.
“Too big.”
Gideon nodded.
No argument.
Next day he returned from shed with shorter handle.
Adjusted weight.
Handed to Martha first.
She tested.
Better.
Then gave it to Caleb.
The boy looked at Gideon.
“You changed it.”
“Yes.”
“For me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Your mother was right.”
Caleb stared as if adults were not supposed to say those words.
Then he practiced.
Respect grew there.
Slow.
Uneasy.
Real.
Two weeks passed.
Snow deepened.
Oak Haven felt far away.
Martha began sleeping.
Actually sleeping.
Then one night she woke from a dream of Arthur coughing.
She sat upright.
Could not breathe.
For several minutes she was back in their shack.
Holding a rag red with blood.
Listening to him say he was fine.
Knowing he wasn't.
Martha got out of bed.
She walked toward kitchen.
Gideon sat by fire.
Awake.
He looked at her.
“Bad dream?”
She nodded.
He did not ask more.
Good.
Martha sat across.
Fire popped.
After long silence:
“Do you ever miss anyone?”
Gideon looked toward flames.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My sister.”
“Dead?”
“Yes.”
“Long?”
“Twelve years.”
Martha waited.
He continued.
“Her husband beat her.”
Martha’s expression changed.