“Silas.”
“Yes?”
“Stay until I fall asleep.”
He hesitated.
“Here?”
“Chair.”
He nodded.
“Chair.”
He sat.
Clara opened journal.
First page:
For my daughter, Clara, if she ever returns to Silver Spring.
Her hands shook.
She began reading.
By third page she was crying too hard to see.
Silas quietly handed cloth.
No words.
She read until sleep took her.
At dawn, storm eased.
Clara woke with journal against chest.
Silas slept sitting in chair.
His head leaned against wall.
Fire nearly out.
For several minutes she watched him.
Nobody had ever looked safe before.
She disliked how much she wanted that feeling.
Clara moved.
Bed creaked.
Silas woke instantly.
“Morning.”
“Do mountain men always wake like gunshots?”
“Yes.”
“Terrible.”
He smiled faintly.
“Hands?”
She held them out.
No trembling.
“Warm.”
“Good.”
She touched journal.
“My mother knew Price would come.”
Silas nodded.
“She wrote that if trust activated, Charles or Price might try to challenge.”
“She didn't know what form.”
“She wrote that Father did love her.”
Silas said nothing.
“She believed he became afraid of losing control.”
“Yes.”
“She kept returning because she hoped he would change.”
Silas looked toward fire.
Clara continued:
“She blamed herself.”
“People often do when someone they love becomes cruel.”
Clara studied him.
“That sounded personal.”
“My father drank after she left.”
“Cruel?”
“No.”
“Sad.”
“He died believing he failed to protect her.”
Clara looked at photograph.
“Maybe they did love each other.”
“Maybe.”
“Did that bother you?”
“Why would?”
“Because you…”
She stopped.
Silas looked at her.
Clara forced:
“You seem protective of her.”
“She saved my life.”
“What?”
“When I was nine, I fell into frozen creek.”
“Eleanor pulled me out.”
“My father was trapping two miles away.”
“She kept me warm in spring.”
“That’s why…”
Silas looked toward hatch.
“Yes.”
“She called it the mountain’s second heart.”
Clara smiled sadly.
Her mother had once called Clara her second heart.
Now she understood origin.
“Silas.”
“Yes?”
“Why have you stayed here all these years?”
He looked away.
“Promise.”
“To?”
“Father.”
“What promise?”
“Keep land intact until you came.”
Clara stared.
“You spent your life guarding property for a woman you never met?”
“I have lived other life too.”
“Barely.”
“You don't know.”
“Then tell me.”