He had tried.
Not enough.
But not nothing.
The young rider asked, “Did you hate him?”
The frontiersman looked at the letter.
“I don't know.”
“My father hated himself.”
The stranger understood that too well.
He handed the paper back.
The young man shook his head.
“He wanted you to keep it.”
The frontiersman hesitated.
Then folded it carefully.
“Thank you.”
The rider left.
That night, the stranger sat outside beneath the stars.
The daughter joined him.
He handed her the letter.
She read it.
When finished, she looked at him.
“You never told me the captain threatened you.”
“I forgot.”
“No.”
He stared into the darkness.
“I didn't think it mattered.”
“It mattered.”
“Not compared with what happened.”
“Both can matter.”
He laughed softly.
“Your aunt said that once.”
“She is wise.”
The daughter leaned against him.
For a long time they sat without speaking.
Then the frontiersman whispered, “I spent years afraid that forgiving myself would dishonor them.”
The daughter understood immediately.
“And now?”
“I think maybe refusing to live dishonored them more.”
She took his hand.
“You are learning.”
“Slowly.”
“Very slowly.”
He smiled.
Above them, stars spread across a sky too large for any one man's shame.
Chapter Twenty — The Trap on the Wall
Many years later, travelers passing through the mountains sometimes stopped at the cabin.
By then it had become more than a home.
There was a small trading room near the front.
A forge beside the stable.
A covered area where travelers could sleep during storms.
The frontiersman had grown gray around the temples.
The daughter had silver beginning to appear in her hair.
Their son was nearly grown.
The chief had died peacefully several winters earlier.
His son—forever the warrior who had once been carried through a blizzard—had become an older man with his own children.
He still limped.
He still blamed the trap for creating the marriage.
Nobody had managed to stop him.
One November afternoon, snow began falling.
The same kind of snow.
Heavy.
Quiet.
The frontiersman stood beneath the porch roof.
His wife joined him.
She followed his gaze toward the trail.
“Thinking?”
“Yes.”
“Dangerous.”
He smiled.
A traveler inside the cabin noticed the broken piece of iron hanging above the fireplace.
He asked their son about it.
“What is that?”
The young man looked at his parents.
His father answered.
“A bear trap.”
“Looks old.”
“It is.”
“Why keep it?”
The frontiersman entered.
He removed the iron from the wall.
Time had darkened the rust.
One side still showed where the jaw had broken beneath a stone.
The traveler waited for a dramatic story.