Their hands touched.
Neither pulled away immediately.
Martha looked at him.
Gideon looked back.
The fire crackled.
Snow continued tapping against the window.
Then Martha smiled.
"You really remember that night?"
Gideon's expression changed.
"Yes."
"I don't remember much."
"You were exhausted."
"So were you."
"I remember."
"What happened?"
"You mean before or after we slept beside the oven?"
"Before."
Gideon leaned back.
"We were coming home from the northern pasture."
Martha nodded.
"The storm."
"Yes."
"You said we'd make it."
"We did."
"Eventually."
"We made it."
"You lost a horse."
"I found him."
"Two days later."
"He was stubborn."
"Like you."
Gideon smiled.
"Like me."
Martha looked at the fire.
"I remember being so cold."
"I know."
"I couldn't feel my fingers."
"I know."
"You put my hands against your chest."
Gideon nodded.
"You were shaking."
"I was scared."
"I know."
Martha looked at him.
"I never told you that."
"You didn't have to."
She smiled.
"That's what you always say."
"Because it's true."
She leaned back.
"Tell me what you remember."
Gideon looked toward the oven.
"I remember carrying you inside."
"You did not carry me."
"I did."
"I walked."
"You stumbled."
"I was tired."
"You nearly fell."
"I did not."
"You did."
Martha laughed.
"Fine."
Gideon smiled.
"You were exhausted."
He continued.
"The wind was screaming outside. The door wouldn't close because snow had packed against it. The horses were terrified."
Martha nodded.
"And the roof?"
"Leaking."
She sighed.
"Of course."
"We had one blanket."
"Two."
"One blanket and a coat."
"Two blankets."
"One of them had a hole."
"It still counted."
Gideon laughed.
"Fine. Two blankets."
Martha smiled.
"You were so cold."
"So were you."
"But you gave me the thicker blanket."
"You were smaller."
"I wasn't that small."
"You were."
She pointed her fork at him.
"Careful."
Gideon raised his hands.
"I'm only telling the truth."
Martha lowered the fork.
"And then?"
"We built the fire."
"Then?"
"The oven was still warm."