“You have nowhere to go.”
Matilda's heart hammered.
Maybe true.
For tonight.
Maybe longer.
She looked toward Jedodiah.
He did not speak.
Good.
This decision needed to be hers.
Matilda looked back at Abigail.
“I'll sleep in the snow before I work another day to make my debt larger.”
Jedodiah's brow moved.
He knew she could not safely sleep in snow.
He still remained silent.
Abigail laughed.
“You'll be back.”
Matilda felt fear.
Real fear.
Housing.
Food.
Money.
Her body.
The storm.
Black Ridge might be hers.
Might not.
Documents could fail.
Deeds could be false.
Promises could die with the people who made them.
Still.
She picked up the half-burned page.
“No.”
Abigail stared.
Matilda continued:
“If I'm back, it'll be to collect whatever you stole.”
Then she turned.
Walked toward the kitchen.
The room parted for her.
Nobody laughed.
That night, Matilda cooked the remaining stew.
Not for Abigail.
For fifty-three stranded people.
Nobody paid.
Nobody was charged.
When Abigail objected, three miners placed money on the table and told her to put it toward whatever imaginary bill made her happy.
One added:
“And write a receipt.”
Matilda nearly smiled.
She slept in the kitchen.
Not because Abigail allowed it.
Because leaving during the blizzard was impossible.
Jedodiah slept near the front door.
At some point near three in the morning, Matilda woke.