Clara released his wrist.
Samuel picked up the cabbage.
Cold.
Not freezing.
Cold in the way vegetables were cold when lifted from a root cellar.
He turned it in his hands.
The stem had been cut cleanly.
Freshly.
No rot.
No soil.
Clara asked:
“Does it smell strange?”
Samuel lifted it toward his nose.
“It smells like cabbage.”
“Useful.”
He looked at her.
“What do you want cabbage to smell like?”
“Not like something dead.”
“I would have mentioned that.”
She took it.
The vegetable looked almost absurdly small between her broad hands.
Clara pressed one thumb against an outer leaf.
It snapped faintly.
Fresh.
Her eyes narrowed.
Samuel recognized that expression.
She was beginning to move from fear into irritation.
That was better.
Clara preferred mysteries when they could be insulted.
“Someone put this here.”
Samuel nodded.
“Obviously.”
“There is nobody here.”
“Less helpful.”
She turned toward the kitchen.
“Check the door.”
“It’s bolted.”
“Check it.”
He did.
The heavy wooden bar remained seated across the main door.
The smaller rear door beside the woodpile was latched.
Both windows were locked.
Samuel opened the front door anyway.
Wind shoved snow against his boots.
Cold exploded into the cabin.
He lifted the lantern.
Nothing.
Their own footprints from the afternoon had vanished beneath fresh accumulation.
No wagon tracks.
No boot prints.
No animal trail except for a narrow fox line disappearing toward the trees.
Samuel shut the door.
Clara stood near the table with the cabbage resting in front of her.
“Roof?”
He looked up.
“You think somebody came down the chimney carrying vegetables?”
“I think there is a cabbage on our table that neither of us put there.”
“Fair.”
He checked the loft.
Nothing.
Under the bed.
Nothing.
Behind the curtains.
Nothing.
The cabin was one large room below with the pantry and a smaller sleeping room partitioned near the rear. There simply were not enough places for another human being to hide.
When Samuel returned, Clara had cut the cabbage open.
He stopped.
“I thought you said not to touch it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“That quickly?”
“Yes.”
The knife had split the cabbage in two.
Perfect white interior.
No hidden object.
No strange discoloration.
No message.
No poison Samuel could see.
Clara lifted one half.
“Looks normal.”
“We are not eating it.”