For several minutes, neither spoke.
Rain began outside.
Not snow.
Spring.
Penny rested her head against his shoulder.
He said:
“Do you ever regret testing the curse?”
She looked up.
“Which part?”
“Me.”
She pretended to consider.
Declan narrowed his eyes.
Penny smiled.
“No.”
“Never?”
“Sometimes when you snore.”
“I do not.”
“You cannot hear yourself.”
“That is unfair evidence.”
She laughed.
Declan took her hand.
“The first night you found that pipe…”
“I thought I would lose you before I had you.”
Penny remembered.
Thin chemise.
Warm fire.
His hand at her waist.
Metal flakes in water.
Fear interrupting desire.
She whispered:
“I thought the same.”
Declan looked toward her.
“You were never afraid enough.”
“Oh, I was.”
“You didn't show it.”
“That is different.”
Penny squeezed his fingers.
“Courage is not absence of fear.”
Declan smiled.
“Doctor wisdom?”
“No.”
“Mine.”
“More expensive.”
He laughed.
The cabin had changed.
Extra rooms.
Larger kitchen.
Medical shelves.
Children's height marks carved into one doorway.
Photographs.
Clean spring-water pipe.
The old stove tank sat outside as a rusted planter.
Penny had filled it with red flowers.
Declan originally objected.
“Bad memory.”
Penny answered:
“Exactly.”
She wanted life growing from it.
One summer, a journalist from Denver arrived.
He wanted the famous curse story.
Penny refused.
Declan refused more strongly.
The journalist persisted.
“Seven brides.”
“Poison.”
“Murder.”
“The eighth bride solves it.”
Perfect newspaper material.
Penny disliked the framing.
“I did not solve seven women.”
The journalist frowned.
“What?”
“They were people.”
“Not a puzzle.”
“But you identified the poisoning.”
“Yes.”
“You exposed Silas.”
“With many others.”
“You saved Mr. Frost.”
“He survived himself.”
The journalist became frustrated.
Stories wanted heroes.
Penny had become suspicious of stories that required simplifying real people.
Eventually she allowed one interview under condition:
Every dead woman named.
Their known histories included.
No “curse” in headline.
The paper ignored the last condition.
Headline:
THE EIGHTH BRIDE WHO BROKE THE FROST CURSE
Penny threw the newspaper into the stove.
Declan rescued it.
“Why?”
She glared.
He smiled.
“For grandchildren.”
“You are impossible.”
“I learned from you.”
Years passed.
Twin Rivers grew.
Rail line.
Telephone office.
Electric lighting in some buildings.
The old stories became history.
Young people barely knew Silas Frost.
But everyone knew Dr. Penny.
At sixty-two, she still treated patients.
Slower.
Still sharp.
One winter evening, a young woman arrived at the clinic.