It disappeared almost immediately.
Martha lowered her head.
"Thank you for being clear."
He frowned.
"You're not disappointed?"
Her fingers tightened around the handle of her carpetbag.
"I didn't come here expecting promises you weren't willing to make."
He studied her.
For the first time, he noticed how carefully she kept her distance from him.
How her shoulders tightened whenever he moved too quickly.
How she seemed prepared to apologize even before making a mistake.
But he was tired.
The road had been difficult.
And he didn't want to think about the uncomfortable possibility that something was wrong.
So he nodded toward the stove.
"There's wood outside. I'll bring some in."
Martha stepped aside.
"I can help."
Caleb glanced at her.
"Better let me handle it."
Her face fell.
He noticed.
Then he added awkwardly, "It's dark. You don't know the ground."
She nodded.
"Of course."
He went outside.
When he returned with an armful of wood, he found her kneeling beside the stove, carefully examining the draft and the position of the iron damper.
She looked up.
"May I adjust this?"
He frowned.
"Why?"
"The fire won't draw properly with it turned that far."
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
She adjusted the damper and added kindling.
Within minutes, the stove began burning evenly.
Caleb stood watching.
Martha rose slowly.
"There. It should hold through the night."
He looked at the fire.
Then at her.
"Thank you."
Her expression changed.
It was the first kind word he'd offered since she arrived.
She smiled.
"You're welcome."
That night, Caleb lay in the chair beside the stove while Martha slept beneath the wool blankets.
Or tried to.
He heard her turn several times.
Once, near midnight, she whispered something in her sleep.
"No, sir. Please."
Caleb opened his eyes.
The cabin was dark except for the faint glow beneath the stove door.
Martha shifted beneath the blankets.
Then she made a small, frightened sound.
Caleb sat upright.
For a moment, he considered waking her.
But when he rose, she flinched in her sleep.
He stopped.
He stood beside the chair, listening.
Eventually, her breathing settled.
Caleb returned to his seat.
He stared at the stove until dawn.
He told himself the woman was frightened because she'd traveled far from home.
Because she was living with a stranger.
Because the mountains were unfamiliar.
He didn't yet understand that her nightmares had names, faces, and memories she'd spent years trying to bury.
The first morning began before sunrise.
Caleb dressed quietly, pulled on his boots, and prepared to leave for the traplines.
He expected Martha to remain asleep.
Instead, he found her in the kitchen area, stirring porridge over the stove.
She had dressed in her old wool skirt and a plain blouse, with her brown hair pinned neatly behind her head.
A kettle was heating.
Two bowls waited on the table.