Amily watched from beside the fireplace.
Every time the wind struck the walls, she flinched.
Harlon noticed.
He didn't tell her to stop being frightened.
Instead, he explained what each sound meant.
The low rumble above the roof came from wind moving across the ridge. The sharper knocks near the eastern window were loose pine branches. The occasional groaning of the timber frame was normal during severe cold.
“Cabin's been through worse,” he assured her.
Amily looked toward the door.
“And the men?”
His expression became serious.
“They may return.”
She swallowed.
“Tonight?”
“Unlikely if they're sensible.”
Then he smiled faintly.
“Though they've already demonstrated some weaknesses in that department.”
Amily laughed unexpectedly.
The sound startled her.
She hadn't realized how desperately she'd needed to laugh.
Harlon looked pleased.
Then he placed a kettle on the stove.
“Something hot before bed?”
She nodded.
“Please.”
He prepared tea while Amily carefully folded her mother's letter.
She placed it back inside the sewing purse.
Then looked toward the map resting on the table.
A life she'd never known seemed to be unfolding in front of her.
Her mother had possessed land rights in Colorado.
Harlon's father had spent years searching for evidence of a fraudulent transfer.
A mining company wanted access to a creek.
And men had attacked a stagecoach because someone believed she might possess papers capable of challenging the company's claim.
She stared toward the fire.
Two days earlier, her greatest worry had been whether she could find steady work in Silverpine.
Now she was afraid she might never reach the town alive.
Harlon set a cup beside her.
“Careful. It's hot.”
She smiled faintly.
“Thank you.”
He sat opposite.
For several minutes, they listened to the storm.
Then Amily asked, “Why did you build a cabin so far from everyone?”
Harlon glanced toward the window.
“My father owned this upper parcel. I spent summers here when I was young.”
She nodded.
He continued.
“After Thomas died, I couldn't stand being in town.”
Amily looked up.
His voice had changed.
She hesitated.
“You don't have to tell me.”
Harlon stared into his cup.
For a long time, he remained silent.
Then he spoke.
“My brother was twenty when Blackstone started cutting the new service road above Coldwater Creek.”
Amily listened.