“Don't.”
The room went silent again.
Her expression sharpened.
“Don't what?”
“Whatever you just decided to do.”
“I have no idea what you're implying.”
He looked toward the narrow hallway leading to Abigail's private office.
“Then staying right there shouldn't trouble you.”
Abigail folded her arms.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
Matilda looked between them.
“What is happening?”
The trapper breathed out slowly.
Then looked at her.
“My name is Jedodiah Boon.”
“I know.”
Most people did.
Black Ridge trapper.
Mountain guide.
Freight rescuer.
The man who once walked twenty-six miles through a February storm after his horse broke a leg.
Stories multiplied around men like Jedodiah until nobody knew which were true.
He continued:
“Your mother saved my life in the winter of '69.”
Matilda stared.
“She never told me.”
“She wasn't the sort who would.”
“That sounds like her.”
For the first time, his mouth moved almost toward a smile.
Gone immediately.
He looked at Abigail again.
Then back.
“She also trusted me with something.”
“What?”
Abigail's voice cut through.
“This has gone far enough.”
Jedodiah turned.
Abigail moved toward Matilda.
“Your wages pay for a room and meals.”
“You're working.”
“You can gossip with mountain men after supper.”
Jedodiah's eyes darkened.
“Her wages are three dollars a month.”
Abigail froze.
Matilda looked toward him.
“How do you know?”
Nobody had told him.
Abigail answered too quickly.
“That is private household business.”
Jedodiah stared.
“Three dollars.”
“She receives room.”
“She receives food.”