Lydia shook her head.
"No."
She smiled through tears.
"It was lovely."
That night, Lydia read aloud.
The book was a small collection of poems bound in dark green cloth.
Gideon sat beside the stove sharpening a wooden tool handle.
Lydia sat in her wide chair, the book resting comfortably in her lap.
Her voice filled the cabin.
At first, she felt awkward.
Everett had disliked being read to.
He said she pronounced words too carefully and made him feel as though he were back in school.
But Gideon listened.
He stopped working when a line caught his attention.
Occasionally, he asked her to repeat something.
Once, he frowned at a metaphor about roses and death.
"Why couldn't the fellow just say he missed her?"
Lydia laughed.
"Because it's poetry."
Gideon shook his head.
"Seems like a great deal of trouble."
She smiled.
"Perhaps."
Then she looked toward him.
"But sometimes ordinary words don't carry enough."
Gideon considered that.
He set down the wood.
"Would you read it again?"
Lydia looked at the page.
"The whole poem?"
He nodded.
She smiled.
"Of course."
Outside, snow began falling again.
Inside, Lydia read.
And Gideon listened as though her voice were something he had waited all his life to hear.
Three mornings later, a rider appeared at the edge of the clearing.
Flint barked first.
Then Fern.
Gideon stepped outside carrying a length of split wood.
Lydia followed to the doorway.
A man sat on a dark horse near the gate.
He wore a heavy black coat and a broad-brimmed hat.
Harris Crowe.
The same man who had confronted them near the survey cabin.
Gideon's expression hardened.
"What do you want?"
Crowe smiled.
"Morning, Hayes."
"It's afternoon."
Crowe glanced toward the sun.
"So it is."
His gaze moved toward Lydia.
"Mrs. Hayes."
She did not answer.
Crowe reached into his coat.
Gideon shifted slightly.
The rider noticed.
"Easy. Just paper."
He withdrew a folded document.
"Mr. Rusk would like to settle a misunderstanding."
Gideon remained still.
"What misunderstanding?"
"The North Fork boundary."
Crowe extended the paper.
"He's willing to compensate you for access."
Gideon did not move.
"I haven't offered to sell."
"Then perhaps you'll reconsider."
Crowe looked toward the cabin.
"New wife. Winter supplies. Could be a hard season."
Lydia felt anger rising.
She stepped forward.
"Gideon has already answered."
Crowe turned toward her.
His smile widened.
"Ah. The lady speaks."
Gideon's face darkened.
Lydia held her ground.