“Could I sell it?”
“Yes.”
“For enough to clear what I still owe?”
Jonas hesitated.
“More than enough.”
Miriam turned sharply.
“How much?”
“If the road company offers fair value for the right-of-way and the timber separately…”
He paused.
“Perhaps twelve thousand.”
Miriam stared.
Twelve thousand dollars.
More money than she had ever possessed.
Enough to return east comfortably.
Enough to buy a house.
Enough to never wash another stranger’s sheet for money.
“Why didn’t you tell me before the wedding?”
Jonas looked miserable.
“Because I thought you would believe I married you because of the land.”
Miriam stared at him.
“It is my land.”
“I know.”
“Then marrying me would not give you the right to hide it.”
“No.”
“Jonas, you continue trying to protect me by deciding what I am allowed to know.”
The accusation struck him.
She continued.
“That is what Philip did.”
Jonas’s face changed.
Not anger.
Pain.
Miriam regretted the cruelty instantly.
But she did not retract it.
He needed to hear it.
“So what do I do differently?” he asked.
The question surprised her.
“What?”
“Tell me.”
He stood in the snow facing her.
“What do I do differently?”
Miriam looked at him.
“You tell me the truth even if you think it will make me leave.”
Jonas nodded.
“You let me make choices you dislike.”
Another nod.
“You stop thinking kindness gives you the right to manage my fear.”
“Yes.”
“And you never again hide something because you are ashamed.”
His eyes lowered.
“That may be the hardest.”
“Then practice.”
For the first time that day, Jonas smiled.
Small.
Tired.
Real.
“I will.”
They rode home after dark.
The next weeks were not romantic in the way either had imagined marriage might become.
They were something more difficult.
Honest.
Jonas slept beside the stove.
Miriam kept the bed.
They ate together.
Worked together.
Argued.
Often.
She learned he had the infuriating habit of repairing things before admitting they were broken.
He learned she hated being asked if she needed help but appreciated someone simply carrying the heavier water bucket without comment.
Miriam learned he spoke to horses more easily than people.
Jonas learned she sang while kneading bread when she thought no one listened.
He did not mention it.
He only started splitting wood near the kitchen window at the same hour she baked.
One evening Miriam caught him listening.
“You enjoy my singing?”
“No.”
She stared.
He smiled.
“A little.”
She threw a dish towel at him.
He caught it.
The distance between them changed slowly.
Not vanished.
Changed.
One night Jonas returned from checking traps with blood on his sleeve.
Miriam met him at the door.
“What happened?”