He pointed.
A small wood-cutting hatchet rested near the hearth.
Clara almost smiled.
“You are giving me a weapon?”
“You already struck one man with a rock tonight.”
“You saw?”
“The blood on your sleeve isn't yours.”
Her face changed.
Silas’s gaze sharpened.
“You said three men stopped the stagecoach.”
“Yes.”
“One tried taking you.”
“Yes.”
“You ran.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Clara expected a lecture.
You should not have run alone.
You should have waited.
You should have done something different.
Silas only said:
“They may follow.”
Fear returned.
Clara looked at the door.
Silas noticed.
“They won't find you tonight.”
“How can you know?”
“Because half the mountain can't find this cabin when the weather is clear.”
He put on his gloves.
Clara finally nodded.
“Thank you.”
Silas opened the door.
A blast of snow swept inside.
Before stepping out, he looked back.
“Clara.”
She stiffened.
He had not used her name before.
“Yes?”
“You are not too big.”
The words were simple.
She looked away.
Silas continued.
“You're cold.”
“You're frightened.”
“You've been running for hours.”
“Those are problems.”
“Your size is not the problem tonight.”
Clara’s eyes burned.
She hated that kindness could hurt worse than cruelty.
Cruelty was familiar.
Kindness required surrender.
Silas stepped into the storm.
The door closed.
Clara stood alone.
For several seconds she listened.
Nothing.
Then she looked down toward the spring.
Warm vapor curled around the stone steps.
She unbuttoned her soaked dress carefully.
The fabric clung.
Her fingers were numb.
It took time.
She had learned to dress herself without assistance because accepting help often came with comments.
A maid in Baltimore once whispered that lacing Clara’s bodice required “two women and prayer.”
Clara had dismissed her.
Then cried alone.
Tonight there was nobody watching.
She removed the thin burgundy dress.
Her wet underlayers followed.
She wrapped herself briefly in a blanket Silas had left.
Then descended.
The stone steps were wide.
Unusually wide.
Clara noticed.
The handrail was heavy iron.
The lower chamber opened larger than she expected.
The spring itself was nearly twelve feet across.
She lowered herself carefully into the water.
Heat surrounded her.
Clara gasped.
Not pain.
Relief.
Her muscles seemed to unclench all at once.
She sat on a submerged stone ledge.
Her trembling slowly eased.
For several minutes she simply breathed.
Then she noticed the carving.
An eight-point flower.
Cut into the wall beside the steps.
Clara stared.
Her hand moved automatically toward the silver pendant hanging at her neck.
Her mother’s pendant.
She had worn it since she was sixteen.
Eight petals around a tiny star.
Exactly the same.
Clara stood too quickly.
Water moved violently around her.
“No.”