The second note was clearer.
Then another.
Slowly, a melody emerged.
Simple.
Sad.
Beautiful.
Clara sat beside the fire and listened.
The tune reminded her of something.
A song her mother used to hum while sewing.
She began quietly singing the words.
Elias stopped.
He stared at her.
Clara looked up.
"What?"
"How do you know that song?"
She smiled.
"My mother sang it."
He shook his head.
"Jonah learned it from our mother."
Clara laughed softly.
"Then perhaps they knew the same tune."
He looked at the violin.
Then at her.
"Would you sing it again?"
She nodded.
He began playing.
This time, the notes came more easily.
Clara sang.
Outside, the wind moved through the pines.
Inside, the fire burned steadily.
And for several minutes, neither thought about forged accounts, dead brothers, abandoned lodges, or the possibility that someone was hunting them.
There was only music.
When the final note faded, Elias lowered the violin.
He looked toward Clara.
Her eyes were shining.
"That was lovely," she whispered.
He gave a small, embarrassed smile.
"Jonah would have played it better."
"Perhaps."
Elias looked surprised.
Clara continued.
"But he wasn't here tonight."
She stood and approached him.
"So I'm glad you played it."
For a moment, he simply stared at her.
Then he gently took her hand.
"Thank you."
Their fingers remained joined longer than necessary.
Clara became aware of the warmth of his skin.
The closeness of his broad shoulders.
The quiet attention in his eyes.
He looked down at her.
She looked up.
For one dangerous moment, she thought he might kiss her.
And for an even more dangerous moment, she wanted him to.
Then Elias stepped back.
He carefully returned the violin to its case.
Clara felt a faint, irrational disappointment.
He looked toward the fire.
"Better put another log on."
She nodded.
"Of course."
But that night, lying beneath the heavy quilts, she could not stop remembering how gently he had held her hand.
The next morning, Clara woke to the sound of a rifle shot.
She sat upright.
For a moment, she thought the noise had come from a dream.
Then a second shot echoed across the valley.
She hurried toward the window.
Elias was nowhere in sight.
Copper stood inside the stable, restless and stamping.
Clara pulled on her boots.
Her feet had improved enough that walking no longer caused sharp pain.
She wrapped herself in the burgundy shawl, grabbed Elias's spare lantern, and opened the door.