Walnut frame.
Polished glass with slight silvering around the edges.
Clara stared.
“I thought you didn't like mirrors.”
“I don't remember saying that.”
“You own none.”
“Had no reason.”
“And now?”
He shrugged.
“Thought you might want one.”
Clara ran her fingers over the carved frame.
There were small leaves at the corners.
“You made this.”
“The frame.”
“When?”
“Barn.”
“That explains why you've been disappearing.”
He looked uncomfortable.
Clara carried the mirror to the bedroom.
Then stopped.
“Elias?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
She wanted to kiss him.
She did not.
Not yet.
That evening she arranged the mirror beside the window.
For the first time in months, Clara studied herself carefully.
Round face.
Full cheeks.
Dark eyes.
Soft figure beneath the blue dress.
She heard old voices.
Pretty girls shouldn't stand beside Clara.
Such a shame about her weight.
Beautiful hair, though.
Kind face.
Clara touched her cheek.
Then she noticed Elias standing in the doorway behind her.
Their eyes met through the mirror.
He immediately looked away.
“Sorry.”
He disappeared.
Clara stared after him.
Something was wrong.
Or something was very right.
She simply did not understand which.
January brought colder weather.
And illness.
Elias came home from timber work one afternoon looking gray.
Clara touched his forehead.
Burning.
“Bed.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bed.”
“Livestock.”
“Fed.”
“Wood.”
“Inside.”
“Clara—”
“Do you want me to physically fight you?”
Despite fever, he smiled.
“That I'd like to see.”
“Bed.”
He obeyed.
The fever worsened overnight.
Clara barely slept.
She cooled his forehead.
Measured herbs.
Kept water near him.
Listened to his breathing.
Near dawn he began talking in his sleep.
Mostly nonsense.
Fragments.
His mother.
A brother.
Then:
“Don't leave.”
Clara froze.
Elias’s eyes remained closed.
“Please.”
She took his hand.
“I’m here.”
His fingers closed around hers.
He slept.
Clara sat beside him until sunrise.
The fever broke the next evening.
When Elias woke fully, he found Clara asleep in the chair, her head resting against the mattress, one hand still inside his.
He did not move for a long time.
When Clara woke, his gray eyes were watching her.