Caleb took a slow breath.
"I wish I could make those memories disappear."
Martha smiled sadly.
"I know."
He looked toward her.
Then he said, "I can't. But I can listen when you want to speak, and I can give you room when you don't."
Her eyes filled.
Caleb continued.
"You don't have to become somebody else to be welcome here."
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she whispered, "Do you really mean that?"
He nodded.
"Every word."
Martha looked toward him.
Then she slowly reached for his hand.
He accepted it gently.
They stood beside the window while snow drifted through the trees.
For the first time, Martha allowed herself to rest her head against his shoulder.
Caleb became still.
Then, carefully, he rested his cheek against her hair.
Neither spoke.
The moment didn't require words.
They remained that way until the fire began burning low.
Spring came slowly to the mountains.
The first signs appeared near the creek, where water began moving beneath thinning ice. Then patches of brown earth emerged along the southern slope, birds returned to the trees, and the snow retreated toward the higher ridges.
Caleb and Martha spent their mornings repairing winter damage and preparing the land for planting.
The Porter family visited often.
Jonah helped carry supplies.
His father assisted with the bridge repairs.
And his mother brought seeds and cuttings for the garden.
One afternoon, Martha stood beside the new planting beds, carefully arranging small stones along the edges.
Caleb approached carrying a wooden box.
"Got something for you."
She looked up.
He placed the box on a nearby stump.
Inside were packets of flower seeds.
Martha smiled.
"Where did you find these?"
"Esther sent them."
She examined the labels.
Marigolds.
Poppies.
Sweet peas.
And a few varieties she hadn't grown before.
Caleb looked toward the garden.
"Thought we could put them along the path."
Martha stared.
Then she smiled.
"I'd like that."
They spent the afternoon planting together.
Caleb dug the beds while Martha arranged the seeds and explained which plants needed more sunlight. Their hands became covered in soil, and by the time they finished, the cabin path looked as though someone had finally begun imagining a future there.
That evening, Caleb sat beside the stove watching Martha write a letter to Esther.
She thanked the older woman for the seeds, described the garden, and promised to send dried herbs once the plants were established.
Caleb watched the movement of her pen.
Then he asked something he'd been considering for weeks.
"Would you ever want to keep accounts for a business again?"
Martha stopped writing.
She looked up.
"What sort of business?"
Caleb hesitated.
"The ranchers have been talking about organizing a cooperative timber and supply arrangement. Nothing large. Just a way to purchase materials together and avoid paying inflated prices to freight companies."