“You are not dying.”
“You don't know.”
“I dragged you across half Montana.”
“You are not allowed to make that wasted labor.”
A faint laugh escaped him.
Then pain.
Adelaide stroked his hair.
“Sleep.”
“Adelaide.”
“Yes?”
“If I live…”
“You will.”
“If I live, I need to tell you something.”
Her heart raced.
“You can tell tomorrow.”
“No.”
His eyes struggled open.
“The marriage.”
“What?”
“I registered deed in town.”
“Yes.”
“I changed it.”
“When?”
“Before Christmas.”
Adelaide frowned.
“Changed what?”
Gideon tried reaching bedside chest.
She stopped.
“Stay.”
“Bottom.”
She opened.
Under papers was legal envelope.
She pulled it out.
The deed to homestead.
A filing copy.
Gideon had added her as co-owner.
Equal one-half interest.
Adelaide stared.
“This was before storm.”
“Yes.”
“Before I said…”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Gideon’s voice barely audible.
“Because I brought you here under bargain.”
“You made it home anyway.”
“And I wanted you to know spring wouldn't leave you with nothing.”
Adelaide began crying.
“You idiot.”
“Probably.”
“You thought land was easier than apology?”
“Yes.”
She laughed through tears.
Then pressed forehead to his.
“Live.”
“I have several arguments left.”
Gideon closed eyes.
The fever lasted two days.
Adelaide did not sleep more than an hour at a time.
On third morning, temperature broke.
Gideon woke to sunlight.
Storm gone.
Adelaide asleep in chair beside bed, one hand still resting on his chest as if confirming breathing.
He watched her.
The woman he had rejected in a train station.
The woman he had humiliated through silence.
The woman who had dragged him through waist-deep snow.
His wife.
Not temporary anymore, at least not in his heart.
He moved.
Adelaide woke.
“You're alive.”
“Disappointed?”
She hit his good shoulder lightly.
He smiled.
A real smile.
“I love you.”
Adelaide stopped.
Gideon looked terrified.
Good.
She made him wait.
Then:
“You have terrible timing.”
“I've been unconscious.”
“Excuse.”
“I love you.”
She looked into gray eyes.
“Prove it.”
His expression fell.
Then she smiled.
“Not with strength.”
“Not with land.”
“Not with suffering.”
“Just keep choosing me when nobody is watching.”
Gideon’s eyes filled.
“I can do that.”
Spring came late.
When Dry Creek thawed, Amos Pike returned.
Gideon saw him approaching porch.
Adelaide was kneading bread.
Amos entered without knocking.