Then she gathered the papers.
Caleb watched her wrap them carefully.
He noticed she was keeping them close.
He didn't ask her to hand them over.
He understood that the documents represented the little protection she'd managed to preserve while escaping Missouri.
Instead, he helped her find a dry wooden box where they could be stored safely until she needed them.
That night, they spoke little.
But the silence was no longer empty.
It held questions they intended to answer together.
The next morning, Caleb rose to find Martha examining a small ledger she'd discovered among his supplies.
He stopped beside the table.
"What's wrong?"
She looked up.
"Nothing. I was checking how much flour and lamp oil we have left."
He glanced at the page.
Her handwriting was neat and precise.
She'd listed the supplies, estimated how long they would last, and noted which items could be obtained from the neighboring ranch if the road remained blocked.
Caleb studied the figures.
Then he smiled.
"You've managed the winter better in a month than I have in five years."
Martha looked embarrassed.
"I only wanted to be useful."
He sat opposite her.
"You are."
She looked down.
Caleb waited.
Then he added, "But usefulness isn't the price of staying here."
Martha's eyes filled.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she whispered, "It's difficult to believe that."
He nodded.
"I imagine it is."
He didn't ask her to explain.
He simply poured coffee into the second mug and sat with her while the morning light slowly reached the windows.
The storm continued for another two days.
By the third morning, the wind had eased, but snow lay so deep across the lower trail that Caleb couldn't safely take the wagon to town. He spent much of the day clearing access to the barn and checking the animals while Martha worked inside, drying blankets and preparing provisions.
In the afternoon, they heard an unfamiliar sound.
A distant shout.
Then another.
Caleb stepped onto the porch.
He listened.
The sound came from the direction of the creek.
He gathered his coat and rope.
Martha appeared beside him.
"What is it?"
"Someone's calling from the lower trail."
She looked toward the trees.
"Do you think it's the Porters?"
Caleb frowned.
The neighboring ranch family sometimes used the lower crossing when traveling between their home and the main road. During a storm, the route could be dangerous, especially where the creek narrowed beneath an old wooden footbridge.
"I'll find out."
He started toward the barn.
Martha followed.
"I can help."
Caleb looked back.
"The snow's deep."
She stared at him.
For a moment, something familiar passed across her face.
The same hurt she'd felt at the stagecoach.
Caleb recognized it immediately.
He stopped.
Then he said, "I know you're strong enough. I'm worried about the footing."
Martha's expression softened slightly.
He continued.