The room seemed to grow colder.
Gideon looked toward the tin box containing the letter.
Then back at Lydia.
"We need somebody who knows the law."
She nodded weakly.
"But what if they tell me I was never free?"
Gideon's expression changed.
He leaned forward.
"Lydia, listen to me."
She looked up.
"No matter what happened to Everett, you are not a parcel of freight to be collected because a man says he owns the bill."
A sob escaped her.
Gideon continued.
"You came here believing you were a widow. You made your choice in good faith."
She shook her head.
"But if the marriage isn't lawful—"
"Then we'll learn what needs doing."
Her voice broke.
"And if I have to leave?"
Gideon went quiet.
For a moment, his face showed something like pain.
Then he answered.
"If you choose to leave, I'll help you travel safely."
Lydia stared.
"You would?"
"Yes."
"Even after everything?"
He nodded.
She looked toward her wedding ring.
"And if I want to stay?"
Gideon swallowed.
"Then we'll find a way for you to stay."
She held his gaze.
"Even if I cannot be your wife?"
His answer came quietly.
"Even then."
Lydia began crying.
Gideon moved closer.
"May I?"
She nodded.
He knelt beside the chair.
Lydia leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.
For the first time, she held him without hesitation.
Gideon closed his arms around her carefully.
She could feel his heart beating beneath the wool shirt.
He rested his cheek against her hair.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Then Lydia whispered something he would never forget.
"I don't want to go back to him."
Gideon held her a little closer.
"You don't have to make any promise to Everett tonight."
She drew a shaky breath.
"And I won't let anyone decide your life without hearing what you want."
The following week, Gideon traveled alone to Calder's Crossing.
The weather had improved.
The road remained difficult but passable.
Lydia wanted to accompany him.
He would have allowed it.
But she had developed a fever after their long ride to North Fork, and Ruth insisted she stay warm.
"It's not worth riding eighteen miles with a cough," the older woman declared.
Lydia protested.
"I can manage."
Ruth gave her a look.
"So can a mule. Doesn't mean it ought to."
Gideon tried not to smile.
Lydia glared at him.
"You aren't helping."
"Didn't say a word."
"You looked amused."
"Can't help my face."
Ruth laughed.
By the time Gideon left, Lydia had reluctantly agreed to rest.
Ruth stayed with her.
The two women spent the morning sewing and discussing the valley.
Ruth brought a basket of winter apples.
Lydia baked them with cinnamon and a little brown sugar.
The cabin smelled wonderful.
While the apples cooked, Ruth examined the old sewing book.
She ran one finger along the tiny marks.
"You hid numbers in dress patterns?"