“In the chair?”
“Mostly.”
Gideon closed his eyes.
“You should’ve left me.”
Adelaide went still.
“No.”
“After what I did…”
“Do not start this again.”
“I need to.”
“You need to recover.”
“I need to say it while I can.”
Adelaide’s face hardened.
“You are not dying.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I dragged you through half a mile of snow.”
“It was less.”
“I will drag you back outside and measure it if necessary.”
A faint smile.
Then serious again.
“Adelaide.”
She looked at him.
“I was wrong from the moment you stepped off that train.”
The words were simple.
No fever.
No desperation.
No excuse.
Adelaide did not answer.
Gideon continued.
“I saw you and decided I knew what kind of woman you were.”
“Yes.”
“I decided your body told me what you could endure.”
“Yes.”
“I made you feel as if the right to stay in your own marriage had to be earned.”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“I watched you work your hands open trying to prove me wrong.”
Adelaide swallowed.
“And when Amos said what he said…”
Gideon looked away.
“That was the worst thing.”
Her voice was quiet.
“I know.”
“No.”
“You don't.”
She stood.
Pain shot through her knees after so many days sitting.
She ignored it.
“Amos was cruel.”
“I've met cruel men before.”
“I knew what to do with him.”
“I knew his opinion was worthless.”
“But when he laughed, I looked at you.”
Gideon’s jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“I waited for you to say one word.”
“I know.”
“And you looked down.”
“I know.”
Adelaide’s voice broke.
“That silence sounded like agreement.”
Gideon closed his eyes.
She pressed one hand against her mouth.
Then continued.
“I would almost have preferred you laugh too.”
His eyes opened.
“Don't say that.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn't think what he thought.”
“But I couldn't know that.”
“No.”
Gideon breathed carefully.
“When Amos insulted Abigail years ago, I threw him out.”
Adelaide waited.
“You told me.”
“I defended her like a man protecting something he believed belonged to him.”
“I made it a contest.”
“Me against Amos.”
“Abigail heard everything.”
“She spent months afterward proving she wasn't what he called her.”
Gideon’s voice dropped.
“When Amos insulted you, I heard him.”
“But I also heard Abigail.”
“I saw her leaving in that storm.”
“And for one stupid moment I thought if I said nothing, maybe you wouldn't feel the need to prove anything.”
Adelaide stared.
The explanation was almost absurd.
“You believed letting a man humiliate me would protect me?”
“Yes.”
Gideon’s face twisted.
“I know how it sounds now.”
“It sounds idiotic.”
“Yes.”
“Cowardly.”
“Yes.”
“Cruel.”
“Yes.”
He accepted each word.
Adelaide hated how much easier anger would have been if he fought her.
She looked toward the fire.
“So you did nothing.”
“Yes.”