The more she read, the more furious she became.
One evening, she sat beside the fireplace holding the last letter.
The mountain man was sharpening a tool nearby.
She looked up.
"Did my father ever love me?"
The question stopped him.
He slowly set the tool aside.
"I don't know."
She swallowed.
"He must have."
The mountain man remained silent.
"He was my father."
He leaned forward.
"Being someone's father doesn't automatically make a man good at loving them."
Her eyes filled.
She looked down.
"Perhaps I was difficult."
His expression hardened.
"Don't."
She flinched.
He immediately softened his voice.
"Don't blame yourself for the way he treated you."
She stared at him.
He continued.
"You're his daughter. You didn't choose your body. You didn't choose his debts. You didn't choose what he told people."
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
He looked directly into her eyes.
"None of that makes you responsible for his cruelty."
She tried to answer.
But her throat closed.
For a long time, she simply cried.
The mountain man remained beside the fire.
He did not rush to touch her.
Did not tell her to stop.
Did not make promises he could not guarantee.
He waited.
Eventually, she wiped her face.
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head.
"For what?"
"Crying."
He looked almost offended.
"You're allowed."
She laughed weakly.
He smiled.
"And if anybody ever told you otherwise, they were wrong too."
That made her cry again.
But this time, through the tears, she smiled.
The storm broke on the fourth morning.
Sunlight appeared between the clouds.
The mountains emerged from the gray sky, their peaks glittering beneath fresh snow.
The woman stood beside the window.
She had never seen anything so beautiful.
The valley stretched below them.
Dark pines.
White ridges.
A narrow creek winding through the snow.
Far beyond, the distant mountains rose like enormous blue walls.
She pressed one hand against the glass.
"It's beautiful."
The mountain man stood behind her.
"Yes."
She turned.
He was looking at her.
Not the mountains.
Her cheeks warmed.
He quickly glanced toward the window.
"The country can be dangerous."
She smiled.
"I noticed."
"But it has its moments."
She looked outside again.
"More than moments."
For the first time since leaving St. Louis, she felt something unexpected.
She wanted to stay.
Not forever.
Not yet.
But long enough to see what the mountains looked like when the snow melted.
Long enough to hear the creek in spring.
Long enough to learn whether the enormous, frightening man beside her was truly as gentle as he seemed.