She had spent twenty-eight years watching people decide what she could accomplish before giving her the opportunity to try.
She'd been too large to wear the fashionable dresses other young women enjoyed.
Too heavy to dance gracefully.
Too broad to be considered delicate.
And according to several employers, too undesirable to expect kindness from a husband.
She had hoped the West might be different.
She had imagined that a place requiring physical labor would value competence more than appearances.
Now, standing in the cold beside a stagecoach that had already begun preparing to depart, she realized she might have traveled across half the country only to discover that the same cruelty followed her wherever she went.
Caleb looked toward the driver.
The man was securing the baggage.
The stagecoach would continue west before nightfall.
There would not be another suitable connection for weeks.
Caleb looked toward Martha again.
"Get in the wagon."
She stared.
"Are you certain?"
He sighed.
"We've got eighteen miles to travel before reaching the cabin. I don't intend to spend the night standing in the street."
Martha nodded.
She climbed into the wagon without asking for assistance.
Caleb noticed.
But he said nothing.
The journey into the mountains was long and cold.
The wagon moved slowly along a narrow road bordered by pine trees and patches of frozen grass. Snow gathered in shallow drifts beneath the wheels, and the horses leaned forward against the traces as the path began climbing.
Martha sat beside Caleb with her hands folded tightly in her lap.
She had wrapped a thin shawl around her shoulders, but it did little to stop the wind.
Caleb noticed her trembling.
For several minutes, he considered offering his spare blanket.
Then he told himself she ought to have prepared better.
The thought made him uncomfortable, but he didn't examine why.
They traveled in silence.
Finally, Martha spoke.
"How far is the nearest neighbor?"
Caleb glanced toward her.
"Six miles by the lower trail. More when the creek freezes unevenly."
She nodded.
"And the nearest town?"
"Bitter Creek."
"How often do you travel there?"
"When I must."
She looked toward the mountains.
"Then I suppose there won't be many visitors."
"No."
For a moment, she seemed disappointed.
Then she smiled faintly.
"I've always enjoyed quiet places."
Caleb didn't answer.
He had expected complaints.
Questions about the isolation.
The cold.
The lack of comfort.
Instead, she simply studied the landscape.
After another mile, she pointed toward a cluster of pines near the creek.
"Those trees are sheltered from the wind."
Caleb glanced over.
"So?"
She hesitated.
"If your cabin needs repairs, the timber there might be easier to cut and haul in winter than the trees farther up the ridge."
He looked at her.
She quickly lowered her hand.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interfere."
Caleb returned his attention to the road.
"Do you know timber?"