Never attended church.
Never danced.
Children watched him from behind their mothers’ skirts.
Clara had never spoken to him.
He closed the door behind himself.
Harlan looked almost relieved to have another problem.
“Rourke.”
Silas removed heavy gloves.
“Pike.”
“Storm coming?”
“By morning.”
“How bad?”
“Enough.”
Silas stepped toward the counter.
His eyes passed over Ephraim.
Then Clara.
He stopped.
For the first time Clara saw one of the frightening mountain man’s expressions break.
Only slightly.
Concern.
He looked at her shoes.
Then her face.
Then the barrel beneath her.
Ephraim noticed.
An idea moved through him so clearly Clara nearly heard it.
“It must be lonely up there,” her father said.
Silas looked at him.
No answer.
Ephraim tried again.
“A man with a cabin could use a woman.”
Harlan’s head snapped up.
“Ephraim.”
Clara felt the room shrink.
Her father gestured toward her.
“She’s strong.”
Clara stared.
“Quiet.”
Harlan said, “Stop.”
“Doesn’t eat much.”
Something inside Clara broke quietly.
Not all at once.
It felt more like a thread snapping.
Her father still did not look at her.
“Take her for the winter.”
Harlan slammed one palm onto the counter.
“That’s enough.”
Ephraim ignored him.
“Or keep her.”
Clara’s heart seemed to stop.
“It makes no difference to me.”
Those words hurt more than the proposal itself.
She had spent twelve years trying to keep this man alive.
Cooked when food existed.
Washed his clothes.
Sold her mother’s sewing box after he drank away the winter kerosene money.
Walked three miles through snow to tend Mrs. Avery’s children for coins.
Sat awake during his fever.
Dragged him from the porch one autumn night after whiskey left him unconscious in frost.
It made no difference to him.
Ephraim pointed at Harlan’s ledger.
“Pay for my supplies.”
No one spoke.
Wind scraped snow against the building.
Harlan’s face had reddened.
“I’m not writing a woman into a store ledger.”
Ephraim laughed bitterly.
“Then don’t.”
He looked at Silas.
“You pay.”
Clara finally forced herself to look at the mountain man.
She expected something in his face.
Desire.
Amusement.
Possession.
Anything that would tell her what kind of man she had just been offered to.
Silas looked at her as though he had been struck.
Then he turned toward Harlan.
“Fifty pounds flour.”
Ephraim’s shoulders sagged with relief.
Clara stopped breathing.
Silas continued.
“Ten pounds salt pork.”
“Coffee.”
Harlan stared.
Silas said:
“Two pounds.”
Ephraim quickly added:
“Three wool blankets.”
Silas nodded.
“Three.”
Harlan’s voice was low.
“Silas.”
Silas reached into his coat.
Placed a gold coin on the counter.
“The supplies are for Ephraim.”
Clara’s throat closed.
Silas looked at Harlan.
“His account ends today.”
Harlan stared at the coin.
It was worth more than the debt.
“You know what he’s saying.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Silas turned toward Clara.
For several seconds he did nothing.