That night he put an extra blanket over her bed.
Clara pretended not to notice.
The sleeping arrangement continued.
That became a problem.
Not immediately.
At first Clara was grateful.
Then curious.
Then embarrassed.
Then irritated.
Every night Elias spread his blanket beside the stove.
Every morning he folded it before she emerged.
He never entered the bedroom without knocking.
Never touched her unnecessarily.
Never looked at her while she braided her hair.
Never behaved like a husband who wanted his wife.
Clara began wondering whether his restraint had a simpler explanation.
Perhaps he genuinely did not find her desirable.
That would make sense.
Respect did not require attraction.
Kindness certainly did not.
Maybe Elias had wanted companionship and practical partnership.
Maybe that was all.
The thought hurt more than she expected.
One night, after three weeks of marriage, Clara stood behind the canvas screen changing into her nightdress.
Elias was folding the same blanket for the tenth time.
She stepped out.
“Elias.”
He kept folding.
“Yes?”
“That blanket cannot possibly require this much attention.”
His hands stopped.
Clara folded her arms.
“What?”
He looked at her.
Nothing dramatic.
Her nightdress covered her from throat to ankle.
Still his eyes moved away almost immediately.
Interesting.
Clara’s pulse quickened.
“Why do you keep sleeping there?”
“Because it's comfortable.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He looked offended.
“I'm not.”
“You're sleeping on a floor.”
“Good floor.”
“Elias.”
He sighed.
“Clara.”
“We took vows.”
“I remember.”
“Do you regret them?”
His head lifted sharply.
“No.”
The speed of the answer startled her.
“Then what?”
He looked toward the bedroom.
Then at the stove.
Finally:
“Marriage gives me responsibilities.”
“Yes.”
“It doesn't give me permission to frighten you.”
Clara stared.
“Frighten me?”
“You traveled across the country to marry a man you'd never met.”
“Yes.”
“You arrived here alone.”
“Yes.”
“I’m twice your size.”
“Not twice.”
“Close enough.”
Despite herself, Clara nearly smiled.
He continued.
“You should be allowed time to decide whether being near me feels safe.”
Clara's throat tightened.
“You paid my fare.”
“So?”
“You married me.”
“Yes.”
“I am your wife.”
His expression became harder.
“Not a debt.”
Silence filled the cabin.
Clara looked away.
Every kindness in her first serious courtship back in Ohio had eventually become a ledger.
Flowers meant expectation.
Dinner meant obligation.
A carriage ride meant he was owed affection.
She had ended the relationship when the man told her she should feel fortunate anyone was willing to overlook her figure.
Clara had never told Elias.
Somehow he understood anyway.