Elena looked at Caleb.
“They’re accusing you.”
“Yes.”
“You knew they would.”
“Yes.”
“Does it bother?”
“Less than what they say about you.”
She hated that answer because it was romantic.
“Stop being good at this.”
“At what?”
“Nothing.”
The hearing was set for March.
Winter settled around them.
Elena remained in Caleb’s cabin.
She told herself it was because roads to basin were unsafe and legal work required cooperation.
That explanation lasted perhaps two weeks.
Then she admitted she liked him there.
Caleb still slept in loft.
He never suggested otherwise.
Elena began reading aloud at night because he read slowly.
He would sit near fire carving spoons or repairing tack while she read newspapers from Helena.
One night she caught him watching.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Caleb.”
He looked down.
“You sound happy when angry at editorials.”
She laughed.
“I am usually angry at editorials.”
“I know.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Yes.”
She folded paper.
“Bad compliment.”
“I’m learning.”
“You have a long way.”
“Apparently.”
The romantic tension between them did not arrive as lightning.
It accumulated.
His hand brushing hers over coffee.
Her noticing he shaved before going to town when she accompanied.
His noticing she wore chestnut hair loose one evening and then deliberately looking away because staring embarrassed her.
Elena learned he liked sweet coffee despite pretending otherwise.
Caleb learned she hated eggs overcooked.
He brought wildflowers once and looked so uncomfortable she almost rescued him.
Almost.
“What is this?”
“Flowers.”
“I see that.”
“They were there.”
“Outside?”
“Yes.”
“You brought them in.”
“Yes.”
“For?”
He stared.
“Elena.”
She took them.
“Thank you.”
He exhaled.
“You fought a bear easier?”
“Much.”
She laughed.
In February, Elena asked:
“Do you want annulment?”
Caleb’s carving knife stopped.
“No.”
He answered so quickly she smiled.
“Then why do you keep telling Avery you’ll sign?”
“Because you might.”
“What if I don’t?”
Caleb looked toward fire.
“Then I would be grateful.”
Elena’s voice softened.
“What do you want, Caleb?”
He was silent for a long time.
Then he set the knife down.
“You.”
The word was almost a confession.
Elena’s heart hammered.
He continued.
“I want mornings.”
“You reorganizing things I knew where to find.”
“You telling me my accounts are disgrace.”
“They are.”
“I know.”
“I want you reading.”
“Arguing.”
“Laughing.”
“I want to know what you build at White Pine.”
He looked at her.
“But wanting does not give me a vote.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know how to believe someone wants me without wanting something from me.”
Caleb did not look wounded.
He looked sad.
“Then don’t believe yet.”
“What?”
“You have time.”
She stared.
He picked his carving knife up again.
That restraint hurt more beautifully than any declaration.
March brought the hearing.