On the morning they departed, the sky was clear and pale. Snow covered the mountain slopes, but the wind had eased, and the lower trail was firm enough for the wagon to travel slowly. Martha sat beside Caleb beneath a heavy blanket, her hands tucked into the new wool stockings and mittens he'd helped prepare.
For the first hour, they spoke little.
Then the road curved above the valley, revealing the creek, the sheltered meadow, and the pines stretching toward the distant ridge.
Martha looked toward the landscape.
"It's beautiful."
Caleb nodded.
"It is."
She glanced at him.
"Do you ever think of leaving?"
He considered the question.
"Sometimes."
"Why?"
He smiled faintly.
"Winter makes a man question most of his decisions."
Martha laughed softly.
Then she looked toward the trees.
"But you always stay."
Caleb nodded.
"My father taught me to think of land as something a man owns. Living here taught me it's something a man is responsible for."
Martha considered that.
He continued.
"The creek runs through that lower meadow. If a logging road changed its course or filled it with mud, the ranchers downstream would suffer too."
She looked toward him.
"So refusing the road isn't only about your property."
Caleb shook his head.
"No."
For several minutes, they rode quietly.
Then Martha said, "I think that's why Harlan doesn't understand you."
Caleb looked at her.
She continued carefully.
"He believes everything has a price."
Caleb felt the truth of the statement.
He remembered his half-brother's ledgers, the men who never seemed to receive their full wages, and the way Harlan spoke about people as though they were costs attached to a business.
He took a slow breath.
"That's why we need to understand what he's doing before he gets near the valley."
Martha nodded.
Then she looked toward the road ahead.
For the first time since leaving Missouri, she wasn't traveling simply to escape something.
She was traveling toward a decision she intended to help make.
They reached Bitter Creek in the early afternoon.
The main street was busy with wagons, horses, and merchants preparing for the coming holiday season. Smoke rose from chimneys, and a group of children were building a crooked snowman beside the church fence.
Caleb secured the horses outside the livery stable.
Martha stepped down carefully.
Several people looked toward her.
She recognized one of the men who'd laughed when she arrived on the stagecoach.
He glanced at her and whispered something to his companion.
Martha's shoulders tightened.
Caleb noticed.
He turned toward the men.
For a moment, Martha feared he might start an argument.
Instead, he simply held out his hand.
"Ready?"
She looked at him.
Then she took it.
They walked toward the general store together.
The gesture was small, but it changed the way the men looked at her. Caleb wasn't dragging her through town out of obligation. He was walking beside her openly, as though her presence required no explanation or apology.
Martha lifted her chin.
For once, she didn't lower her eyes.