Caleb looked almost amused.
She was not.
"What helps?"
"Heat."
Eleanor heated cloth near the stove.
Pressed it gently to the scar.
Caleb exhaled.
The pain eased slightly.
She changed the cloth repeatedly.
After an hour, the second rhythm slowed.
Caleb's breathing normalized.
Eleanor sat beside him.
"You need a doctor."
"No."
"That wasn't a question."
"No doctors."
"You trusted one bad doctor nineteen years ago."
"My father trusted him."
"Your father was betrayed."
"Exactly."
"That does not make every doctor the same."
Caleb's face closed.
Eleanor recognized the wall.
She did not push.
Not yet.
The storm lasted three days.
By the second night, they were talking easily enough that silence no longer felt defensive.
Caleb told her about trapping seasons.
Eleanor told him about growing up above her father's dry-goods store.
He admitted he had read every book in the cabin at least twice.
She discovered he owned Shakespeare, a Bible, three medical books, a damaged atlas, and a romance novel he claimed belonged to his father.
Eleanor held it up.
"Your father read The Lady of Blackwater Hall?"
Caleb's face turned red.
"Maybe."
"You've read it."
"No."
"Twice?"
Silence.
Eleanor laughed until she cried.
Caleb threatened to burn the book.
She hid it.
On the third evening, Eleanor found a trunk beneath the loft stairs.
"What's this?"
Caleb looked over.
Then froze.
"My father's."
"May I open it?"
He hesitated.
"I haven't in years."
"Then we don't."
Eleanor stood.
Caleb looked at the trunk.
"Wait."
She stopped.
He crossed the room.
Knelt.
The lock had rusted.
Caleb broke it with one twist.
Inside were shirts.
A hunting knife.
A Bible.
Old receipts.
Letters.
And a leather-bound journal.
Caleb stared.
"I didn't know he wrote."
Eleanor sat beside him.
"Want me to leave?"
"No."
He opened it.
The first pages contained weather.
Trap counts.
Supply lists.
Then Caleb's name.
Boy's pain worse.
Another entry.
Doctor says second tissue has circulation. Says another operation may help. Do not trust his excitement. He looks at the boy like a specimen.
Caleb's breathing changed.
Eleanor watched him.
He turned pages.
Men returned. Offered money. One said the boy could earn more in a season than I earn in five years. Wanted him shown in Denver, Kansas City, maybe farther east. Nearly killed the bastard.
Caleb whispered, "He never told me."
More pages.
Then one entry written days before they left Missouri.
I have decided to take him where no one can find us. God forgive me if I make a prison while trying to build shelter.
Caleb stopped.
Eleanor's eyes filled.
He read again.
Slower.
A prison while trying to build shelter.